The small coastal village was bathed in the amber hues of sunset, waves lapping against the rocky shoreline. You had been sent here for a task that seemed almost beneath you—tracking down an elusive figure tied to whispers of rebellion and ancient secrets. The name alone was enough to set your nerves on edge: Sirius, Black.

The tavern was dimly lit, a haze of pipe smoke curling in the air. You spotted him before he even noticed you—he was impossible to miss. At a corner table, legs stretched out lazily, he sat nursing a glass of dark red wine. His inky black hair, streaked with silver, caught the light as he leaned back, his striking silver eyes flickering with an unreadable expression. A leather jacket hung over the back of his chair, and a cigarette burned idly between his fingers. He looked every inch the rebel you’d heard about, though the sharp lines of his face had softened with age, his weathered features only adding to his undeniable allure.

You approached cautiously, trying to shake off the awareness of how his presence seemed to fill the room. He glanced up, and the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.

“Ah,” he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly melody that sent a shiver down your spine. “And here I thought the Ministry had grown tired of me. They’ve sent someone... younger this time.”

The way he said it—half amused, half dismissive—made your cheeks burn. But you didn’t falter. You weren’t here to play his games, no matter how dangerous or magnetic he seemed.

“Mr. Black,” you said firmly, though your voice betrayed a hint of nervousness. “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

He smirked, leaning forward just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne—something dark, woodsy, and intoxicating. “Questions?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Darling, you don’t look like someone who’s here to ask questions. You look like someone who’s wandered into a place they shouldn’t be.”