Prompt: Jily Secret Society Muggle AU

James glanced down at the business card in his hand, just to triple check he was at the right address. The building front was nothing special to look at. And not at all what he was expecting, given the embossed business card that had brought him here, or the woman who delivered it. What was he thinking? Only an idiot would walk into a random building, whose address he'd gotten from a nondescript business card, for the slight chance at finding the woman he'd met the night before.

James downed his shot and turned, eager to get onto the dance floor to find a partner for the night. His sudden movement knocked him against a nearby patron and sent her drink splattering to the floor.

"Oh, sorry!" he apologized quickly, looking up to meet the most striking pair of green eyes he'd ever seen on anyone. The girl in question stared forlornly at her spilled drink before meeting his gaze and offering a soft smile.

"No worries. I should have been looking where I was going," she offered with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders.

"No, let me make it up to you! What are you drinking?" he asked, turning back towards the bar to order.

"If you really want to make it up to me, you could come dance with me instead?" she offered.

He turned back to face her again. The soft smile she'd offered in light of his apology pulled at the corners as it became the sultry smirk of a woman who knew how drop dead gorgeous she was. "Lead the way," he told her.

She took his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. Their one dance turned to two, then another, and another, until he'd simply stopped counting the songs– instead focused on the stunning woman pressed up against him. Every curve of her body molded to his as she looped her arms around his neck and swayed her hips in time to the beat of the song.

James was totally and completely lost to everything and everyone around him except for this woman. "What's your name?" he asked as he spun her around so that her back rested against his chest. She answered with an arch of her back, pressing her hips to his. He hissed through his teeth, and tightened his grip on her hips, keeping time to the music.

The song changed again, and she turned around, running her hands down his chest. "I'm going to get a drink," she told him, "Come with me?". He nodded, and followed her off the dancefloor, absolutely spell-bound by this woman.

She'd taken his hand to lead him from the dance floor, but with the crush of bodies around them, he quickly lost his grip– instead following her gleaming red hair. They made it to the bar, where it was quieter, and he turned to ask his mystery partner her name again. But when she turned, it wasn't her. James scanned the crowd, looking for her distinctive hair and the distracting sway of her hips, but couldn't see her anywhere.

He waited by the bar, hoping that she'd come back and find him, but she never showed. It was a quarter to one when he'd given up– after one too many pitying looks from the bartender. Alone, he made his way home, combing through the events of the night. He'd thought she'd enjoyed their dances. She seemed as interested in him as he was in her, but he couldn't find where it had gone wrong. He was still mulling it over as he dressed for bed, discarding his jacket and button down.

He was about to toss his jacket onto his desk chair, as he often did after a long night out, but something stopped him before he did. James held up his jacket, examining it to see what could possibly have caught his attention when he spotted it: in his breast pocket, with only the edge poking out, was a business card. An expensive business card, he noted, as he examined the card in question, with only an address embossed in the heavy cardstock.

A car honked on the street behind him, startling James out of his reverie.

Now or never. He straightened his shoulders and stepped forwards to knock briskly on the door.

His hand had barely returned to his side, when the door was pulled open by a middle aged man in a tuxedo. "Greetings, Mr. Potter," he said, "We've been expecting you."

"You have?"

"We have. I'm glad you decided to finally knock. May I take your coat?"

He found himself at a loss for words, and handed the man his coat silently.

"I'll escort you to meet The Wizard."

"The Wizard?" What kind of weird cult had he stumbled into?

"Yes," the man, who James concluded must be the butler, said, "But don't call him that to his face. It's more of a job description than anything."

James followed silently after the butler, trying to take in everything along the way. They reached a set of heavy oak doors, and the butler stepped aside– gesturing for James to enter. With a hand on each of the solid brass handles, James pushed open the ornate doors and stepped through. He was greeted by the sight of a pristine white room with monitors covering the walls, and an older man with gray hair and a long gray beard, who wore half-moon spectacles.

"Greetings," the man spoke, "I am Albus, though some may refer to me as The Wizard. Really, I'd rather you didn't."

James nodded and opened his mouth to introduce himself.

"Oh, I know who you are Mr. Potter, so why don't you let me tell you about our little organization here. You seem like a smart fellow with lots of questions."

Again, James only nodded.

"We were founded in the 18th century. We are a covert operation, working out of london and Northern Scotland. Currently, our cover remains as a boarding school for the brightest and most talented. We have gone by many names over the years, but our purpose has remained the same: we protect the interests of king and country against those who would threaten it. We protect those who cannot protect themselves; and we stop the dark spread of corruption before it can sink into the very foundation of this country. And we would be honored if you would consider joining our ranks. We–" he paused at a knock at the door, calling "Enter."

A woman with dark red hair walked into the room, her face turned down to focus on the tablet she carried, but James would recognize her anywhere. "Sir I have the data points you requested, but if I may–" she reached them and finally glanced up, catching sight of James.

"You" whispered James.

"Me." she stated very matter-of-factly.

"And of course, Albus chimed in– though neither was paying him any attention, "You have met our field operative, Agent Evans."