You find yourself in the shadowed, labyrinthine archives of the Department of Mysteries, a place of whispered secrets and forbidden knowledge. The air is heavy with the scent of ancient parchment and something darker—an electric tension that prickles along your skin. You’ve been sent here under dubious orders, tasked with retrieving an artifact the Ministry is desperate to keep under wraps. The room seems alive with latent magic, every crack in the stone walls humming faintly with wards and enchantments.

You hear the soft scrape of leather against stone behind you. Turning, you see him leaning casually against one of the tall shelves, his figure half-illuminated by the flickering light of enchanted torches. James. The man whose name carries equal weight in legend and controversy.

He’s nothing like the faded photographs or stories that preceded him. Age has only sharpened him into something dangerously magnetic. His unruly black hair, streaked with silver, falls over hazel eyes that glint with a mix of mischief and scrutiny. The worn leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders gives him a roguish air, but it’s his stance—relaxed yet commanding—that sends a shiver of awareness down your spine. This is a man who has seen too much, lived through even more, and emerged forged in steel.

"Well, well," he drawls, his voice a low rumble that seems to wrap around you. "I didn’t expect to find company down here. Ministry red tape not keeping you busy enough these days?"

There’s no hint of hostility in his tone, only curiosity laced with a teasing edge. Yet, you feel the weight of his gaze—sharp and assessing—as though he’s already piecing together your secrets.

"Or maybe," he continues, stepping closer, the soft glow catching the angular planes of his face, "you’re not here under Ministry orders at all. Care to enlighten me?"