Disclaimer: This is based on the J.K. Rowling's World of Harry Potter. Everything you recognize belongs to her.
Midnight had come and gone and yet he continued to work. Three candles flickered around him casting eerie shadows that danced across the whitewashed walls.
His fingers were gnarled and twisted and his skin pallor as if it hadn't been kissed by the sun for years. Pain shot through his hands as he weaved the pages together and yet he continued to work.
If one approached close enough, one might see the mad gleam in the man's eyes and hear him muttering to himself over and over again. "I am a bookbinder. I bind books. For each book has a message. Find my message and join me in my search. I am a bookbinder. I bind books. . . ."
His clothing was simple, drab gray robes, too big for his skeletal frame. As he pushed the sleeves up yet again, one might notice his only jewelry-a ring. Simple with a dark stone in the middle. One might have questioned the scratches upon the stone, a circle circumscribed by a triangle and bisected by a line, but he knew better. They weren't scratches. They were a symbol, a symbol of his search for the others: His ultimate goal to unite the Deathly Hallows and become their master.
He had one: the ring and it never left his fingers. He had never tried to use its powers. Not out of fear or respect but due to lack of need. There was no one he needed, no one he loved, dead or alive.
Love, he scoffed at the idea. Neither his wife nor his son appreciated his search. They didn't understand the need, the passion of the Hallows. They laughed and mocked him behind his back, but he paid them little mind. They weren't worthy of being Gaunts and certainly not worthy of being Searchers.
"I am a bookbinder. I bind books. For each book has a message. Find my message and join me in my search." He finished the glueing and tapped the binding with his wand. A quick flash of light and the binding was done. He flipped through the blank pages of the book. Usually he bound regular books. That brought in the money, the paltry amount there was. In his spare time he bound blank books, potential journals for those who also searched. He had made hundreds, but not one Searcher had come to claim their right.
He added the usual enchantments to the book. As he stroked the binding, an eerie feeling overwhelmed him. Suddenly he knew, without a doubt, that this book was destined for great things.
He began to pant in anticipation. He pressed his face to the clean pages and breathed in the smell of fresh parchment. Yes, this diary would belong to someone worthy, sometime destined to do great things. He flipped to the back page, murmured the incantation as he pressed the ring to the page. The Deathly Hallows emblem burned like a ring of fire on the page and then turned black as coal. There it would stay until someone wrote about the Hallows in this book. Then the magic would be evoked and the Searchers could be united.
He held the book for a few moment more, smiling, a soft caress in his eyes. Then he set it gently aside. He had more work to do and the sun would rise soon. "I am a bookbinder. I bind books. For each book has a message. Find my message and join me in my search. . . ."
One day a boy would find the journal, buy it and write in it. During his years at Hogwarts. The bookbinder was correct in his predictions. The boy was, as Ollivander explained to Harry Potter years later, "destined for great things, terrible things but great." Eventually the journal's owner would desire one of the Hallows, desire it for its power, to make him victorious. He would be become one of the most infamous dark wizards to ever live, but he would never become a Searcher for "of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty and innocence" he "knows and understands nothing."
Direct quotes from The Deathly Hallows, Chapter 35, American Edition.