Vernon Dursley was a very consistent man. He had the same lunch every day: pickled eggs, canned ham, and three filet mignons. He drove the same way to work every day, stopping at the same traffic light every day (regardless of the color it was displaying). He got up in the morning at the same time every day. But on Sundays, he would get up an hour early. This was the only thing different across his days. And Sundays were by far his favorite of all the days because that was when his favorite show came on.

He went downstairs immediately upon waking up, stomping upon every step, and landed on the couch. This was where Dobby found Vernon - on the couch watching his favorite show, Drill Talk. It should have been a quiet Sunday morning, but Drill Talk filled it with the loud yelling of men debating drills and drill-related topics. This episode of Drill Talk was especially interesting to Vernon because it dealt with the Boring company, who had recently asked if Vernon would consider becoming their Vice President. Vernon was mostly taken in by the show, but today he glanced up from the telly and let out a little surprised noise. He saw that the small man who had taken up residence in the cupboard under their stairs had decided to sit and watch the Drill Talk show with him. Vernon did not feel threatened by this small goblin and his cupboard. He still had room for his extra drills, and that's what truly mattered. He had several hundred drills that he enjoyed tinkering with, and they needed a few rooms of their own.

Drills. They were always on Vernon's mind. They spun. They made getting through rocks easier than just moving rocks with one's hands. Without drills, subways would be impossible (both the fast food restaurant and the means of transportation). Power drills allowed Vernon to do house work without exerting himself too much. They were what lesbians asked their parents to get them for Christmas. Drills were how he put up new drywall in the kitchen. Drills were his love, laugh and litmus test for new friends.

There were simply too many innovations in drilling technology that an ordinary person could never keep up. So when someone started talking about a fancy new drill-based idea, it was impressive. And there apparently was a new innovation. Vernon had been made aware of the Boring company. Now that was a name that Vernon could get behind. He, personally, knew that drills and drill-based technology were extremely exciting, but he didn't want the entire world to know that. He was like a guy who had been to Radiohead's first concert. He knew how cool they were, and hoped they wouldn't blow up and sell out. He knew how people were. Soon enough, drills and drill-based technology would become 'cool'. Suddenly, hipsters with horn-rimmed glasses would be attending his favorite conference. The International Association of Drilling Contractors' World Drilling Conference would be overrun by youth with a passing interest in drilling.

Vernon felt great anger as he remembered the year that Gurren Laggen came out. Suddenly, it was cool for middle schoolers to be into drills. Youth attended the conference in costumes of Japanese pop culture characters. But middle schoolers knew nothing of the recent advancements in drilling technology. Several times throughout the conference, Vernon attended Happy Hours with his long-term drill friends - his Dril-Heads, if you will. They all repeated this sentiment every day at happy hour.

Vernon, of course, felt bad for the middle school kid who genuinely loved drills, and not just anime about drills. He remembered seeing a twelve year old in a three-piece suit with a clipboard, looking very bored and attending a meeting on advances in the shapes of various drill bits. He looked at that boy, and thought, yes, drills will have a future. But then that boy shed his three-piece suit to reveal a garish red and blue costume, complete with goggles on top of a wigged head. It was at that moment that Vernon knew there was no future for those who truly loved drills. He wept on the floor of his hotel that night, cursing God with every tear.

But the small man taking up residence in his cupboard was not a bother to Vernon. In fact, he was quite nice. He'd listen to Vernon when there was new drill and drill-based technology news. He'd helped Vernon clean drills when he asked. He even watched ESPN's Drill Talk show, where four men calmly discussed their differing opinions on new drill and drill-based technology never spoke over each other, and you could understand each of their views clearly. This new resident was becoming a good friend of Vernon's, but not good enough that Vernon would learn his name. Vernon wasn't gay or anything.

"Well, I'm off to work," Vernon grunted proudly. He liked a man that valued his job.

Dobby was happy that Vernon seemed to like him, but personally, he hated Drill Talk. Dobby didn't know a lot about drills, but what he did know was that they went Vroom Vroom if they were plugged into the wall. He would have much preferred to watch a reality television show with Vernon. Dobby loved reality television. But he chose to spend the entire morning with Vernon watching Drill Talk, because sometimes that's just what friends do. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that this had made him late.

Dobby thought a lot about his favorite reality television shows while he ran to work. He got so distracted that he fell into another manhole. This angered Dobby a lot, but he did not know the proper means to complain about this situation. If there were no drills, there would be no manholes, Dobby thought to himself. Then he quickly took back the thought, realizing that he had no idea how manholes were crafted. Dobby, for the second time in two weeks, climbed a manhole ladder. He hoped that his colleagues would not complain about the sewer smell.

When he got to work, no one complained. In fact, Arnold even asked if he was using new perfume. Dobby said no, but thought about falling into manholes more often. Dobby was too weak to be able to move one of the covers on his own, so he'd just have to find more open manholes.

Dobby was busy washing dishes and thinking about manholes when Arnold tapped him on the shoulder and told him that it was time for his lunch break. Dobby loved the catfish soup, so that's what he had again. Dobby was just about to take a drink of steaming soup when she walked in. It was the same woman, the one that came in the store every day. She ordered the poached eel and began to look for a spot to sit down. But all the chairs had been used for the grease fire, so the only place to sit was next to Dobby.

"Hello, do you mind if I sit next to you?" The girl was carrying her raw pufferfish and clam fries to the table that Dobby was sitting at. It was the girl who came to the Fish Fry every day. Dobby became very clammy and nervous.

"Go ahead," Dobby stammered. He tried not to stare at her absolutely beautiful face. He poked at a chunk of ice in his catfish soup. He felt the woman lightly kick at his chair under the table. Then she kicked at his legs, which were, relative to hers, very high up. Dobby was a short little guy.

The girl took a bite of the pufferfish, chewed for a moment, and asked Dobby, "So… um, do you come here often?"

"I work here," Dobby said.

"Oh, like, often though?" the girl asked.

"Six out of seven days a week," Dobby responded.

"But do you think that's often?" the girl said with a small smile. She tugged at the bottom of her shirt and leaned in. Dobby got the cue and moved his foot towards hers.

"Um, yes. I do," Dobby would have used the word overworked, but he didn't want to seem like he was complaining during this flirting session.

"I come here seven out of seven days a week, so...I come here often," the woman said quietly, staring into her pufferfish. Her body was slowly having an allergic reaction to the fish. She didn't bring it up, though, so Dobby wasn't comfortable commenting on it.

"I didn't ask if you came here often," Dobby said.

"Well, it seemed like you wanted to know," the girl told him.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to feel my shirt," Dobby said, leaning towards the girl with some of his raggedy shirt in his hand. His shirt could have been used as a costuming element in an elementary school production of "Annie".

"Oh. Well, my hands are coated in fish oil right now, are you still cool with me touching your clothes?" the girl politely asked.

"Yeah, I mean, it's kind of necessary for this," Dobby said.

She reached over and felt Dobby's ragged shirt, which was already covered in fish oil.

"That's a… first date material… and manhole debris?" she said. She had a soft, confident smile. Dobby knew he had this effect on people.

"Oh, wow. Yes to both," Dobby said, with a charming smile on his face. He leaned into her touch. She leaned into him. They were basically two leaning towers of pizzas right next to one another, holding each other up. This is not a metaphor for their later relationship though, they are not codependent or anything, it's just a cute image.

"Well...my shirt is made out of second date material," the girl said.

"Don't put the fish before the boat," Dobby said.

The woman blushed.

Realizing he hadn't introduced himself, Dobby did just that.

"I am Dobby, the free house elf."

"I'm Elizabeth Olsen." Then after a moment, she went on and in a lower voice said, "The other Olsen sister."

"Oh, you're Angel Olsen's sister? And she wrote that song about you? I had always thought it was a metaphor. I didn't realize Angel Olsen had an actual sister," Dobby said. Dobby was very much into American indie music intended for mid-twenties lesbians.

"No, but I do love Angel Olsen and that song, though," Elizabeth Olsen said.

"Oh wait, you meant that you're Jimmy Olsen's sister?"

"No, I'm not fictional."

"Oh, I am."

"Hell yeah," she said.