Things had been a little off in their flat for weeks now. It had started innocuously, with hinges starting to squeak when they weren't old enough to merit it, or curtains moving from opened to closed over windows without anyone having moved them. Things graduated quickly enough to minor annoyances: windows finding their way open on frosty mornings; doors being stuck in their jams; the lock on their front door ceasing to function. Still, Alfred had been able to ignore everything that was happening. His standards for living arrangements were decidedly low, after living in the wilderness for years. If he had to apparate in and out of the bathroom because the door wouldn't open, well, he could deal with it. Dealing with a myriad of little annoyances was easier than having to put any effort into dealing with it, whatever it was that was causing things to go awry.

He was content to put it off indefinitely, but that afternoon he reached the limit of his patience. Alfred had apparated into the bathroom, done his business, and was just putting his pants back on when the door — which hadn't budged in days — decidedly to suddenly fall off of its hinges. He had to jump back to avoid being crushed by it. This left him wedged into the very small amount of floor space between the fallen door and the edge of the claw-foot tub, his trousers still unbuttoned, looking stunned. It took him a moment to process what had happened, and another moment to realize that his flatmate was staring at him from the hallway on the other side of the doorway.

Alfred hurriedly fastened his trousers. "We've got to do something about this," he said in exasperation.