One of the things that he had found the strangest about his Nan was the fact that she made him tidy his room all the time.

She never went into his room; it was in the attic, three flights of stairs more than she had the stamina to climb, yet she always seemed to know when it was a mess. It was like she had psychic powers or something. Why she wanted him to tidy his room was another question that bothered him, the guest rooms were on the floor below, as were two bathrooms, a reception room, and a study; there was nothing up in the attic to see, save for him, and it wasn’t like his Nan to introduce people to him deliberately. Why would she? After all, he wasn’t her family.

Alfred Balthazar Albert Cedrick Marmaduke Meriwether (As his Nan made a habit of calling him, as if using his full name might make him less rebellious), was in many respects a normal thirteen year old. Slim, clumsy, and in desperate need of visiting a barber (Or perhaps a long grooming with a comb). His Nan would often point this out to him, but insisted that Alfred was old enough to do it for himself as she didn’t have time to waste molly-coddling insolent children.

This was another thing that confused him, she never had time to waste grooming him, but she would spend hours on end sitting around with her face covered in some horrible grey stuff while she stared at the underside of some cucumbers, or grooming her dogs..

Alfred despised the dogs, yappy little terriers, though not as much as he despised his Nan. She wasn’t his real Nan anyway.

Alfred’s parent’s had disappeared when he was just six months old. They’d journeyed out to enjoy the clear autumn evening, when they got caught up in a freak storm which blew them out over the sea.

He wasn’t sure what had happened after that, his Grandma had never gotten further than that into the story, though Alfred didn’t know whether this was because she’d forgotten what the policeman had told her, or she didn’t want to tell him. He’d liked his Grandma, she’d always looked after him; it was just unfortunate that she’d forgotten who he was. She’d suffered from dementia ever since he could remember. It had begun with trivial things such as forgetting her wallet, missing appointments, occasionally forgetting to pick Alfred up from school, but nothing too serious.

One day, however, she was unlucky enough to forget to turn the gas stove off.

The house was just a pile of ash by the time he got back from school, and Alfred was shoved across to his second godparent.

Although Mrs Brywater (She’d always asked him to call her that, but he much preferred watching the wince on her face every time he said ‘Nan’) had been a caring and pleasant lady when she was younger, her age was beginning to show, and she had a lot of jealousy for anyone under the age of sixty; or at least anyone who looked under the age of thirty.

She preferred to spend her time with friends from her social club full of aged women nowadays anyway; she’d frequently have them over for bridge nights, or just snacks, drinks and conversation.

It was Thursday, and time for her bi-weekly bridge meeting, which was probably why Alfred had been banished to his room to try and combat the mess that was piling up there.

Any normal teenager would have crammed the mess into the wardrobe in the corner of the room, then tried to force the door shut, and seeing as how Alfred was a normal teenager, this was the first idea that came to mind.

By the time he’d finished picking each individual item, and forcing it at random into the growing pile of rubbish, the wardrobe was bulging with more things than Alfred could ever imagine fitting on his bedroom floor, let alone in a small wardrobe, but for completeness’ sake, he began forcing the door shut.

He managed to force it within an inch of the lock, before the struggle began. The pile of rubbish began to push back on the door, every time Alfred forced it a few centimetres closed, it would go ahead and push him a few centimetres back again.

Alfred was a veteran of these fights; he had a perfect record for shutting bulging wardrobes, and he wasn’t going to let his one ruin it.

Little did he know, but in the exact same place in a different dimension, were the restricted magical spells, charms and potions store of the Prime Minister of Country1.

((AN: I haven't come up with a name for the country yet...-___-;;))