Baron Crossridge, for all the straight-backed dignity of his quiet and noble existence, was entirely out of his element. His young son, a student at Hogwarts school of... well, you know, had written home to request a new copy of book he apparently could not order "by owl". The boy of course expected a servant to purchase and send the text, but in an instinctive display of fatherly dedication, Djura had decided to do so himself. He regretted it. For he had a wizard in his employ for precisely this sort of world-crossing, and despite the wizard's skill it was a very uncomfortable spell that brought Djura Crossridge from his quiet home in Irvingly to one extremely odd alleyway in Charing Cross. He gruffly thanked his wizard escort, and proceeded to search for the bookshop on his own, frowning as his silver cane splashed down into a puddle of increasing rainwater.

He was a Colonel, a Baron, a decorated war veteran, yes, yes, this was all true — but he was still capable of foolish decisions, and actively choosing today's adventure was one of them.

What happened next did so quickly. An ethereal lady pausing outside the bookshop ahead was jostled suddenly by a shadowy figure, who then dashed in Djura's direction at a focussed pace. Limp forgotten, Djura's military instincts kicked in without hesitation as with whiplash quickness he grabbed the arm of the ne'er-do-well in a vice-like grip, and snatched back the handbag.

Successful though the rangy Baron had been, he was what these people called a "muggle". So as the thief drew what he knew to be a magic wand, Djura knew at once he was now outmatched almost by default...