The lights were turned off in the entire flat, only a weak beam moonlight that shone through thin curtains that were pulled over the window, lighten the room, playing a game with shadows on the floor every time when the wind shifts the curtains. There wouldn't be enough light for a stranger to roam around the room, but the man found his way around the room pretty well, never bumping in that few pieces of furniture he owned.
The man pulled a wand as he headed toward the table, a piece of furniture he used the most, pointed his wand toward the lantern that was, besides empty fruit bowl, the only object on the table, and lit the flame before sitting on one of two chairs. In the dim light, it became possible to identify the man as Benedict Chastain. Not that anyone would be surprised finding him here as this was the flat he has been renting ever since he switched continents. The man put an empty sheet of paper on the table, along with royal blue feather that came to life when it touched the paper and rose - ready to start writing whatever the man wanted.
He gazed at the paper as if the sheet of paper had offended him and he was trying to come with the best revenge. Yet, his breathing was calm, his posture was relaxed, with his hand rubbing the stubble on his cheeks, aside from his glare, he looked like a laid-back person, which indeed he was. Most of the times, at least.
"We invite you to the celebration of fift-", his voice was smooth, silent, only a few decibels louder than a whisper.
The feather started moving the second he began to recite, and was now standing, stopped in the middle of the word he hadn't finished, its front side turned toward the man as if it was impatiently waiting for him to continue.
"No, cross that out."
The feather moved, drawing one thick black line across the text before moving in the next row, waiting for his next attempt.
"A parrot Billy is thrilled to invite you all to the 50th anniversary of Bertie Bott's every flavour beans for pets"
Benedict sighed, thinking that his sentence still didn't sound as good as it should be S considering that he was writing one of the major articles for tomorrow's papers, one that will pay half of his next month's rent, if the editor in chief, chose his article as the best one. At this point that was highly unlikely since he still hasn't written a scratch, let alone a whole article. Merlin, he was having trouble with its title! A title, a one-liner title. What a journalist he was.
"Company behind of Bertie Bott's every flavour beans is organizing a big celebration of 50th anniversary of their most famous product for pets"
"Cross that out, too."
After another sigh, Benedict rose from a chair and walked toward the shoe closet near the entrance door. He opened it and pulled the first pair of sure. They were black, he knew although he couldn't see their colour in the dark, everything in his every closet was sorted by colour, that's the only way he could live here, in a building where electricity disappeared at least three times a day, or at least that was an excuse he used to fool others, or he was fooling himself too?
He returned to the living room and sat on the chair so he could pull the shoes on. After tying shoelaces, Chastain stood up and put his jacket on, checking left pocket for a wallet he left in there after he stripped the jacket earlier that day. When he made sure he had everything he needed, Benedict grabbed his wand, tucked it in the pocket, and headed for the door.
The article could wait, he needed some air to clear his head first.
Benedict exited his building and stepped on a Knockturn Alley. When he first got here he thought that renting a flat in such a notorious Alley was edgy, that it would be a smart move considering his line of work. Criminals should be all over the street, his job would be so easy since he would be the first journalist on the scene. Hah. Benedict soon realized he couldn't be more wrong.
He scanned the street, knowing it's better to check then end up seriously injured as this street wasn't exactly the safest, especially at night. Finding nothing suspicious he buried his hands deep in his pockets and started walking towards the nearest cafe.
The thing that Benedict loved the most about this cafe were those tiny little bells that started ringing whenever someone opened the door. More precisely, the complete lack of it.
Benedict greeted the bartender and scanned the menu, leaning on the bar.
"I'll have an orange juice."
While waiting for his order, he pulled some money from his wallet and paid for his order a minute before a glass of fresh orange juice was set in front of him.
"Thank you", he smiled and took his glass, heading toward the booth that appeared to be empty.
Benedict put his glass on the table and slid in the booth, coming face to face with a woman he could swear he saw before but couldn't remember where. Seems the booth wasn't empty, after all, a single thought crossed his mind while he was looking in those light blue eyes. After a second, his manners finally kicked in.
"I'm sorry for the interruption. I thought it's empty." One side of his mouth lifted upwards, the same way it did every time he was trying to get away without punishment when he forgot to turn in his article in time. "I'm sorry, again, I'll leave you now." Benedict rose once again.
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