Last night I had lost my passport, which I need to fly to faraway places (i.e. Stansted) tomorrow. It wasn't in my small rucksack where I last saw it. It wasn't in my slightly bigger rucksack (I often just shift stuff I don't want with me between the two bags rather than working out where it is supposed to be). It wasn't on the bookcase, where everything lives that is vaguely bookshaped and also some things that aren't. It wasn't in any Safe Place I could think of.
Today I was picking up my fiddle to go to my fiddle class, and thought I might as well look - mostly as a joke. And there it was.
I have no recollection of putting it there, or any reason why I would have done. I think it must be magic.