Chapter 2

Harry Potter walked out of his common room happily, having destroyed his memory of the last few minutes of his life. He didn't know why, but something warned him against returning to his common room, and he had decided years ago to always trust his instincts. He was still pondering this when he came upon a muffin. Untouched. On the floor.

"Hmm," frowned Harry, wondering which idiot would leave such an exquisite substance unattended. The muffin lay still on the floor, perhaps pretending that it couldn't hear Harry's mumblings nor understand his dilemma. Or it just didn't care.

"Playing hard to get, eh?" questioned Harry with a slightly disappointed expression. His experience with women had made him painfully aware of the muffin's body language.

Before the muffin could respond, Harry picked up the muffin, his instincts telling him that food on the floor was still food, and would be treated as such. He always trusted his instincts. Even when the muffin began to glow an eerie blue, Harry still followed his feelings deep down that told him to trust this particular sweet. It was only when sparks of electricity appeared in his general vicinity, that Harry decided that this was now most certainly not typical muffin behaviour, and that he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Figuratively of course, as the curiosity aroused by the bluish glow had prevented him from viciously assaulting, and potentially even consuming the poor muffin.

So it was to the surprise of both Harry and the muffin, which deep down realised that it was at the bottom of the food chain and thus wished to remain inconspicuous, that the sparks of electricity grew to encompass the corridor. A large metallic clunking sound was heard, and the electricity immediately faded, leaving blackness behind. It was then that both Harry and the muffin fell unconscious.

The glass door was still quite angry at the harsh and inhumane treatment that he had received from the rude boy. Of course, one might be inclined to argue that the door was not completely human itself, and as such, it might be odd to treat it humanely, but the door would have digressed. Unaware of being discussed by the author, it continued to stare at Simon, who had progressed from looking as though he had lost his best friend and was now looking like a child who has just had revealed to him that the shopping mall Santa is really the janitor with a synthetic beard.

As minutes passed however, the door's expression began to fade slightly, miffed at Simon's unchanging expression. The boy on the other hand, was in thought. More than wondering how he had managed to be hit by a glass door of its own will, he was trying to figure out just what he had done to anger it. The injustice of it irked him! Maybe he was an odd child, but in this odd story, it would have been odd if he wasn't odd.

Of course, the door mistook the boy's staring into space for complete and utter shock, and was now beginning to feel somewhat sympathetic for Simon. Before the look of anger vanished from its face however, Simon snapped out of his thoughts, and the previous look of unrelenting anger was present once more. Simon was about to attempt a possible reconciliation with his attacker when the second slightly odd occurrence of his day showed itself.

With a few brief crackles of electricity, a metallic clunking sound, an accompanying gunshot followed by a wounded cry from the ice-cream compartment, a boy materialised from nowhere right between the door and Simon. Simon was completely in awe of what just happened, and for the first time that day, considered the option that he might be dreaming. The door was merely annoyed that it could no longer glare at its target, and cursed its inability to move.