You wake to the faint scent of smoke and leather, lingering like the last whispers of a dream. It’s morning, early—the golden hour when everything feels just a little sharper, more alive. You stir, blinking against the soft light streaming through the blinds, and that’s when you see it: a faint trail of damp footprints leading from the door to the kitchen. He’s been here again—late, quiet, slipping in and out like a shadow. Your roommate, Barty, has made himself known without a single word.

Living with Barty is like dancing with fire. He’s chaos bound in skin, sharp-edged and untamed, yet somehow always finding a way to bring his wild energy right into your quiet spaces. You never know if he’ll be around when you open your eyes or if you’ll come home to an empty apartment, the only trace of him a small, curious item left on the table. Today, there’s something new—a jar of amber powder that glints strangely in the early light, giving off a faint, mesmerizing shimmer. You don’t need to ask where it’s from. Knowing him, the answer wouldn’t make sense anyway.

Footsteps shuffle from the hallway, and he’s there, disheveled yet sharp, with his usual roguish smirk at his mouth. Barty leans against the doorframe, observing you, and you can’t help but feel his gaze—a steady, unreadable intensity. He’s tall and wiry, an untamed streak in everything about him, from the messy hair down to the heavy rings on his fingers, a patchwork of tattoos and scars that tell stories he’ll never share.

“Curious, are we?” His voice slides into the silence, low and mocking, yet somehow inviting. It’s not an unusual tone from him, but today there’s something else in it, something that makes your heart race in a way you’d rather ignore.

You meet his gaze, shrugging like it’s nothing. “Just wondering if it’s another one of your ‘trade secrets.’”

He laughs—a quick, dark sound that somehow fills the room. “Clever, clever,” he murmurs, flicking his eyes down to the jar, pocketing it. "But not everything is made for muggles."