I noticed a bucket. Filch’s bucket of wax to be exact. My foot slipped and I went tumbling down the stairs, my screams that probably half the people in France could hear bounced off of the walls, before landing in a heap at someone’s feet. I looked up and flinched. It was Oliver Wood. Damn. Chapter 2 in limbo

It’s those little, painstakingly annoying, things in life that remind us how human we are. However, a certain person must never have hear of these little things in their life. Yes, I’m looking at you, Oliver Wood. I mean, no one can think they’re that good, can they? Something must be very wrong if people can think, in today’s society, that they can just go around throwing Eggs Benedict on people, push them over chairs then send them to the hospital wing with a concussion, a broken wrist and a black eye.