EWW Seeking…domestic arrangement

Unlike their muggle cousins just over the wall who apparently regarded such interests as normal and necessary, the denizens of Diagon Alley were seldom bothered about The Weather. Nonetheless, there were few who would have argued that this day was particularly dyspeptic. Some noxious emanation seemed to have seeped up from the cobbles designing to meet the sky louring overhead; it had driven all the hearty indoors.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was stepping lightly through the gloomy vapours…Most of the wizarding world who were acquainted with Mr. Malfoy or his reputation might have said that he was generally an angry man (although no one would have said it to his face). Ambitious functionaries at the Ministry of Magic deferentially forwarded drafts of proposed decrees to "M" lest they risk a visitation from the Great Man himself. Shopkeepers cringed in horror when the whisper went up and down the Alley that He Himself was out and about. He seldom bought anything, but had a way of perusing merchandise that could drive a merchant out of existence – literally. The Board of Governors at Hogwarts School had tried, unsuccessfully, to hold their monthly meetings in different locations, at undisclosed times – He always knew where and when to find them, and what was worse never missed a meeting. As for his friends and relations…well, his relations never told tales out of school, and no one alive could remember anyone who would admit to being a friend.

However, Lucius Malfoy's step was light this day; his look was purposeful, and he was almost humming a little tune. He had formed a plan to solve an especially embarrassing problem, and so it was that he entered the offices of the Daily Prophet down at what one could describe as the "tap end" of Diagon Alley.

The doorbell tinkled as he swept inside. He gave the bell a look; it stopped ringing. Turning round, he took in the dusty heaps of old newspaper editions, dried out pots of ink, quills, many of them bent or broken, scattered across tables; in one corner sagged a stack of magazines – three deep and nearly man-high, windows besmeared milky-white. He saw that the hem of his robes had traced powdery swirls along the floor from the door. Disdaining to track away anymore of this plebian grime he held up his robes as he strode to the counter opposite the entrance.

There was no one in the office but a clerk – a wizened, gnomish thing with exceptionally thick glasses; completely bald except for tufts of fine white hair about his ears – who, although he was seated on a high stool, was barely higher than the counter itself. He was scratching away at a piece of parchment and did not notice his distinguished customer.

Lucius coughed discreetly to attract the clerk's attention. Then he grimaced. He drummed his fingers on the counter-top, and in a low, silken drawl began, "I've been given to understand…" There was no response.

There was a handbell setting on the counter. Lucius picked it up and shook it in front of the clerk.

With a start the clerk cried out, "Oh, bless me, sir! Didn't hear you come in."

"Clearly."

"What can I do for you, sir? It's…its Mr. Malfoy, isn't it?"

Lucius smiled a smile that could have sent banshees shrieking into the night. "I am given to understand that the Daily Prophet accepts advèrtisements from private individuals."

"Of course we do, sir! So you're wanting to put in a personal ad."

"Ah…Yes. I would like to place an advèrtisement for…ah…myself."

"Right you are, sir. What's it to be?" The clerk grinned helpfully and drew out a sheet of parchment from under the counter.

"I would like to advertise a situation for a …a…for a replacement house elf", he murmured.

"What's that? You're going to have to speak up, sir – I'm not as young as I used to be and well my hearing..."

"A house elf. I need a house elf." Lucius replied, raising his voice.

"house elf, you say!" The clerk exclaimed. Alarmed Lucius held up a hand to quell the outburst.

"You don't look like the kind of feller that'd be interested in house elves." The clerk gabbled. "Mind you, all types come in here. Replacement? What's wrong with the one you've got?"

Lucius shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the head of his cane, "It left my…um…employ."

"Now why'd he want to go and do a thing like that, sir?"

"Because I gave it a sock", Lucius gritted his teeth. This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. "Don't you have some kind of form?"

"Now see here, sir! It's not to wonder. Myself, I don't hold with abusing lesser creatures. I mean, they can't hardly defend themselves."

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the spot between his eyes. "I didn't sock it; I gave it a…sock. You know, hosiery."

The clerk, whose name was Tim by the way, drew back aghast and whispered horribly, "Hosiery with an elf?"

"I was turning to leave and there he was, holding it in his hands."

"So-called superior classes!" Tim jeered under his breath. "Swanning about, bunch of nobs…sick, perverted..." Looking up, he asked, "So you handed him your…hose?"

"It wasn't mine!" Lucius snarled. "It was that Potter boy's."

"Potter's elf?

"No not his elf; mine! My elf!"

Just then the bell tinkled and a stocky, aged witch wearing a lurid red wig came in the door. She had a large parcel hefted up under her arm. "Hey-ya Tim! Got a parcel for you, but you'll have to sign for it." She thumped it down on the counter.

"Hey-ya Mabel. Just let me finish up with this gentleman and I'll be right with you." He added, sotto voce, "Mr Malfoy, here, is looking for an elf."

"It can't be!" She peered up at the illustrious man. "Why I remember you when you were just little Lucius, tagging along behind your dada in your wee short pants! I used to pinch your chubby little cheeks. Oh how I remember your dear old da. Now there was a whiz of a wizard if ever a wiz there was. Wholly charming." She smiled dreamily and sighed. "He really knew how to show a girl a good time." She jabbed Lucius with her elbow.

Lucius inhaled deeply and counted out the Unforgivable Curses as he let out his breathe, "Imperio, Crucio, Aveda Kedavra – was that it: three?" He went over them again – he was badly out of practice. Maybe he should go home and invent some more. "What?" The annoying clerk person was talking again.

"I see how it is – you liked this pot boy's elf so much, now you want to get one of your own." Tim was persisting.

"Pot-ter! And," Lucius clenched his teeth and drew back his lips, "it was my elf!"

"Oh. But…the elf…had your hose?"

"Not my hose, Potter's hose…sock. That that that brat," he stuttered. Pausing, he smoothed the front of his waistcoat to compose himself, "perpetrating a schoolboy hoax no doubt…" He laughed delicately. "Devised a ruse with this sock."

"Argal?" Mabel seemed to be choking on something.

"No. Just plain black."

"Elf?" Tim asked, even more perplexed.

"Sock! You see, I was trying to leave."

"Annoying you was he?"

"No. Well, yes."

"And you wanted to get rid of him?"

"Naturally."

"But now you want another one?"

"What?"

"Elf. Found you fancied them after all."

"No! Potter!"

"It was Potter you fancied?"

"I wanted the elf. It was Potter I was trying to dispatch! And he contrived this feint with the sock."

"He fainted?" Mabel asked. "Must have been the sight of you and the elf."

"And you tried to give him the slip and ended up with a sock instead?" Tim beamed with pleasure at his astute grasp of the situation. Mr. Malfoy was not pleased.

"It was Dobby who got the sock."

"Who's Dobby?"

"Dobby is…was…my house elf."

"But what are you wanting another house elf for, if you've already got one?"

"You do understand about house elves, don't you? About their special provisoes?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that sort of thing, sir! Always tried to live a quiet, decent sort of life I have."

Lucius gripped the edge of the counter with his free hand and began wondering whether the Wizarding World supported something like an alternative press, preferably the kind that employs thick planks of wood and unwieldy stones.

"We were leaving Hogwarts School."

"You and Potter?" Mabel, trying again.

"I and Dobby."

"I thought you were at a clothier?" Tim removed his specs and gave them a wipe.

"We were at Hogwarts School, Dobby and I." He shook his head. "I was at Hogwarts. I sit on the Board of Governors, you know. I had to see the headmaster."

"You weren't up to any of your old tricks, were you?" Mabel patted Lucius' elbow. "Dear old Abraxos told me about some of your – pranks he called them.

"So where do the socks come from?" Tim scratched his ear.

"Potter!"

"Harry Potter?" Mabel asked vaguely. "I know that name – isn't he…?"

"The-Boy-Who-Lived," Lucius spat out the words.

"Kept them in his pocket did he?"

Lucius leaned forward towards the clerk, fixed him a stare and said, "Potter slipped his sock into a book, chased me down a hall, and thrust it at me."

"I always heard he was such a nice boy," mumbled Mabel.

"It was filthy and slimy. I can't begin to imagine how even Dobby could bear touching that thing of Potter's."

"That's right. He survived You-Know-Who. So you know him?"

"The Dark Lord? Of course I don't…"

"Harry Potter."

Lucius grasped his cane with both hands. "Were all the lower orders like this?" He wondered as he swayed slightly. It had seemed such a good idea when he first thought of it. "Could we return to the matter at hand?"

"Yes…well…I'm very sorry you had to see a sight like that, sir. You hear a lot of stories about what goes on at these schools."

"Indeed."

"A most distressing tale. But you were wanting to put an ad in the Personals about…?"

"House elves."

"Ah. So you're really wanting more than one – looking for a threesome are we? Although, I don't think house elves come in twin sets."

Lucius replied blandly, "Just the one will do."

"Right. Let me think. We don't get much call for house elves. Come to think of it, you're probably my first house elf. Hmmm. Witches seeking. Wizards seeking. Other. I think we'd best go with Other Seeking Other."

"Yes, yes, whatever."

"Now you'll be wanting this elf for?"

"A domestic situation."

Tim lowered his voice and leaned forward, "I'm bound to tell you, sir, that the Ministry of Magic has issued decrees prohibiting the employment of non-wizarding species for immoral purposes. I mean, it's not like dropping by the Leaky Cauldron to get your wand polished, if you take my meaning." He tapped the side of his nose.

"I do not frequent such places as the Leaky Cauldron" sniffed Lucius.

"I understand, sir. You are a connoisseur. Madame Rosmerta's more your style, I imagine. Leather?"

"Leather? No! No leather! Just a garden-variety house elf. Something to do the ironing and fetch my slippers."

"I understand, sir. Nothing kinky. Just the basic 'bring your own armadillo'."

"Listen to me you fatuous little squib!" Lucius hissed.

"Who are you calling a squid? I don't care who you are; you can't come in here – a respectable place of business – and start inferring about decent people!"

"What are you babbling about?" Lucius replied, staring rather pointedly at Tim's hoary, glabrous pate.

"Squib, Tim." Mabel rejoined. "He called you a SQUI-B, not a squid."

"Oh squib is it, then? I'll have you know," said Tim, as he drew himself up, "that I am not a Squib. I am…I am…" He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "I am a Bolshee."

There was a long, awkward silence. Mabel offered Tim a card. He scribbled on it. She pushed the parcel closer.

Finally it was Tim who broke the silence. "House elves. House elves. Now that I think about it, there were something last week or so. Let me take a look." He disappeared behind the counter and came up with a box stuffed with various bits of parchment.

"Here it is. Looking for a placement. Curious chappy as I recall. Name of…hard to make out the writing…he was blubbing something you would not believe. Looks like Dobbin. I think he might be right up your…" He caught the daggers in Lucius' eye. "Perhaps you'd care to check it yourself." He held up the piece of parchment.

Lucius tore the scrap from Tim's fingers. His lips twitched as he deciphered the scrawl. "Dobby!" He struck his cane against the floor. A moment later there was a loud pop and the house elf appeared. He was wearing a neatly pressed stripped tea towel and a flowered tea cosy on his head. He looked up at his former wizard master and blenched. His ears drooped.

Contorting the front of the towel in his hands, he whimpered, "Dobby is free. Master freed Dobby."

Lucius leaned down and sneered, "And how do you explain this?" He thrust the scrap of parchment at Dobby.

"Dobby wants paying for services."

Mabel gasped. "I told you," Tim whispered. "Bunch of pervs."

"No one wants to pay Dobby for nice elf service." Tears began to leak out of his huge eyes. "Except Dumbledore. Dumbledore gives Dobby one whole golden galleon a week."

Tim looked at Mabel. Mabel looked at Tim.

"And what does Dobby think nice Master should give him?"

"Dobby wants…wants…Dobby should have 17 sickles." He flinched as he spoke.

Lucius drew a velvet purse from his pocket and shook coins from it. He tossed these at Dobby, and then turned abruptly towards the door. "Come Dobby; we're leaving. And that," he pointed at the tea cosy, "that will have to go."

Tim rubbed the window glass so he and Mabel could watch as Lucius retreated with Dobby scurrying behind him. Dobby tried to take his hand, but Lucius slapped him away, so he settled for holding fast to the edge of the wizard's sleeve.

Tim shook his head. "First against the wall, Mabel. I'm telling you. First against the wall when the revolution comes."

Fin.

(Evil White Wizard)