As far as invasions went, this one was expertly done and Hannibal hadn’t heard a thing until his soon to be creator had alerted him to it. Once done, he was ashamed to see how freely and obvious it was- even with magic covering the young man’s tracks.

He’d removed his shoes, savored the touch of silk against his fine carpets as he padded up the stairs to his second library. In truth, he had not used many magical wards for the same reason he never bothered with mundane ones- Hannibal was removed from the world and no one wise would dare cross him. Even if they did it was not for long and only ever once. Passing the Basiquats and Daxs, he made his way to the nearest leather recliner and skidded into it quietly but not too quietly that his uninvited guest wouldn’t take pause.

He'd waited until the man’s work was almost done (and in truth, Hannibal was impressed with the care and recklessness the thief worked.) To a blind eye, it would seem that he was flipping aimlessly through Hannibal’s collections looking for gilt and easy money but not so- the fox caressed each spine with the edge of his cotton gloved fingertips like a lover’s kiss; and each kiss was intention. He wondered if again it was through some magic that he could ascertain the knowledge held within.

And each book taken fit with the rest like a symphony. He knew what he was doing. Hannibal was almost willing to let him escape before something caught his eye.

“Oh no, not that one.” He started, reaching over to turn the light on in the dark room. The suddenness blinded the thief but didn’t cause him to break stride. Good. He’d come too far to be mundane like that. “You’ll find that copy was the counterfeit one put out by the Government when Franco took power. The one you want is in the shop being restored. Perhaps come back next week?”