Theodore strolled along the second floor corridor towards the end of a long day of classes, his book bag and arms laden with tomes for his varied, challenging courses. Being a "smart" kid wasn't always fun and games, and those of intellect nearly always ended up with shoulder and back problems from the books that they constantly lugged around, but Theodore didn't complain. It was only this particular pair of robes, which always skimmed the ground and threatened to cause an embarrassing tumble, that got on the sixth year's nerves.

Just as he began to pass one of the large, rusty suits of armor, Theodore ungracefully tripped over a small crack in the stone floor. Landing flat on his back, the five, large tomes he had been carrying in his arms had gone flying here, there, and everywhere. It took the fifteen-year-old a moment to realize what had happened. It was only as he heard the squeaky, rusty, clanging laughter emanating from the suit of armor, and thus echoing inside of it's hollow depths, that brought him to his sense. He tried to move, but he struggled like a caterpillar in a cocoon: his overly-large cloak had wrapped him up like a burrito. Only Theodore's curly head peeped out from the black, satin tortilla that was his school robes.