The man stared at his pallid reflection in the translucent pane of glass. Heavy bags lay under his eyes, dark in contrast to his pallor skin. The signs of exhaustion were etched deeply into his features.
The man had eyes that flickered like dying charcoal, and a mass of untidy, short black hair.
Around him, the narrow street of Diagon Alley, bordered on either side by a number of mysterious shops, lay silent beneath the inky black sky, stars dotting its expanse.
The man, just for safe measure, chucked a glance to his left and right, his heart purring with pleasure due to the absence of human company on the street behind him.
A light, warming satisfaction settled over him like a blanket. All the planning had been worthwhile. Hadn't he had doubts? Of course, any normal man would. But yet, in his strive for greatness, he overcame doubt, and that made him feel powerful.
Seizing the moment as it came so gracefully into his midst, the man reached into the shabby black cloak he was wearing. He retrieved his black, sleek wand. Power seemed to emanate from it like radiation.
The corners of the man's mouth began to pull into a triumphant smile as he raised it the glass before him, and with a moment of relishing in his pride, he muttered "Diffindo."
The moment the words slithered from his tongue, a long, thin crack sliced vertically down the pane, distorting the man's reflection. Excitement course through his veins as he stowed away his wand carefully back within the confines of his cloak.
It seemed even the stars waited with hushed silence, watching the man intently, watching him achieve what he hungered for. So close the man thought zealously.
The man then, without magic, drove his bare fist through crack he had caused and the pane of glass shattered to a myriad pieces, his reflection now truly lost.
The shatter seemed to reverberate off the squat gray buildings around him, but the man did not care.
The store he had just broken a window from was called Flourish and Blotts. The man remembered coming here when he was a child, getting his books. He remembered the cloud of happiness around him, everyone eager to learn until their brains wore dry. There was still so much to learn though, the man knew that much.
The man then proceeded through the broken pane, his heavy black boots crunching leftover glass beneath his feet.
With one last glance at Diagon Alley, the man receded into the dark hole that was Flourish and Blotts.
It was cast into blackness, yet the smell of books lingered. He could tell just by sniffing the air a little more that it was fairly dusty. The owner, from what the man knew, was asleep upstairs on the second landing.
With a stalking grace like that of a predator, an apex one at that, the man began to approach a door marked For Shop Owner Only. It lay behind the desk where books were purchased.
Every ounce of him willed against the owner awakening. For what the owner would do if he found a man sneaking into the employee door, the man did not know, and wasn't particularly keen on finding out.
So the man continued with his light footed grace. Finally, before he even knew it, he had reached the door, its knob gleaming vulnerably at him. The man extended his hand and tried to open it, but it was locked.
Silently, the man withdrew his wand once more and pointed it at the knob. "Alohomora," said the man as quiet as his throat would allow.
A peaceful jet of yellow and orange light lit the knob and the feint sound of a lock unlocking could be heard audibly.
The man then sheathed his wand yet again, and pulled the knob. It opened to a room. But this room was much different then the one outside it.
The walls were stone, where the walls outside this room were stacked high to the ceiling with endless volumes and books.
The room had an uncomfortable smell to it, a damp and musty stench. But the man did not care whether the walls were stone or the odor was wet… he cared for what lay in the middle of the room, glinting at him as if it wanted to be taken.
Concealed within a translucent glass box upon a stone column the height of the man's waist was a book, bound in a parchment like leather.
Beaming down upon it was a skylight, moonlight slicing in and illuminating it a beautiful silver.
The man's smile was nothing compared to what it was now, full of manic glee and joy. At last he thought.
The man took time to bask in his own reverie, his own accomplishment that rendered him caught in a euphoria of pleasure.
But soon, catching the encased book with his dark brown eyes whisked him out of his stupor quickly.
Still grinning, the man approached the entrapped book, his eyes flickering with on edge happiness.
Without even daring or bothering to use his wand, the man raised two fists and shattered the glass like he did the pane outside only this time, like said before, without a wand.
Above him, the owner jerked awake so suddenly he thought he might have died right there. Not even taking a moment to let the waking up so quickly phase him, he dashed to the door of his room, threw it open, and scuttled downstairs to the first landing, shelves of books growing taller as he descended.
Once he reached the bottom, the first sign of something amiss and peculiar was the shattered window, only he knew that he also heard the sound right below his room, and his heart sunk horribly as a single throat drifted to the topmost part of his head: The Book.
Flooded with fear, the man turned around and with already sinking horror noticed the employee door open and he ran into it and found the missing book and glass surrounding the empty podium.
His eyes wide, he dashed back outside and headed straight for the store's front door and wrenched it open, and the last thing he could see was the swishing of a black coat at the corner of Diagon Alley, and then whoever took his beloved treasure was gone.