trista_zevkia: (Girl Power)
[personal profile] trista_zevkia
Title: Bertie Wooster and the Trophy of Trouble
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/2
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster x Harry Potter-universe
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: for Indeed Sir, Yuletide fic exchange propt: Bertie was a rich wizard from an old wizarding family, and Jeeves was his very capable, very intelligent, not totally servile house elf.
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: I have to go out and be sociable in real life tomorrow, so I am posting today. Unbeta'd, b.c it's long and I'm slow. Apologies, and let me know if you would like to beta this and I'll gladly repost a shiny new version;)



I stagger into my apartment, uncaring that the sun is creeping up across the way and I’m just now getting home. I was quite pleased with myself, though Jeeves had actually won the day. The grey twill suit I was wearing was offset with a pale blue tie and matching waistcoat, matching even the small blue flower in the buttonhole. Jeeves had wanted me to wear full evening wear, and I’d remarked on if I wanted to wear tails I’d have been born some kind of fish creature.
Jeeves is standing before me, puffed into my path by a bit of magic, his face calm even as I show him my latest triumph. “I won, Jeeves!”

His intelligent eyes take in the small trophy with the liquid trapped in the cup, unspilled even by my sloshing myself across the Metrop to bring him the thing. The words glitter across the face of the thing Bertie Wooster, best Muggle costume.

“Well done, Sir.”

“Don’t act as if you are blameless in this thing, Jeeves. You dressed me, went against my suggestion of that zoot suit I saw.”

“Forgive me Sir, but the contest was for best Muggle, not best banana.”

“I don’t know why I doubted you, you certainly knew best.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“In fact, if it weren’t for you, I’d have been locked in the muggle loony bin years ago, dressing in my normal apparel.”

“You are very kind, Sir. Shall I help you ready for bed?”

“Oh, yes, with a bit of a nightcap.”

“Very good, Sir.” Jeeves says with a bow and I move past him to stagger to my bedroom.

I get there and have to let Jeeves help me out of the strange togs, not my usual robe and sundries. When I’m in my pajamas, climbing into my turned down sheets, already at the perfect temperature, I find the nightcap is sitting on my bedside table. I down it, before downing myself further into my bed.

“Thank you, Jeeves, everything is just topping.”

“Rest well, Sir.”

I’m about to tell him I will, when Morpheus takes a whack at my pudding of a head.

J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B


It’s after luncheon on a strangely balmy November first, before I remember the trophy from the previous evening’s Halloween bash, and I have to ask Jeeves for its whereabouts.

“I put it in your office, Sir.”

“Jeeves, by putting it in my office and not, say, on the mantle, are you suggesting it is not the thing to put up where everyone can see it?”

“It would not be my place, Sir. I merely thought you might want to hide it from covetous eyes until you used the wish inside.”

“There’s a wish inside?” I stand and go for a look, even though Jeeves would have brought it to me if I asked.

It’s on my desk and easy to spot, as I never use my desk and it’s immaculate. If it wasn’t for the glow on the top of the trophy, it could have been confused for a bog standard inkwell. My name and accomplishment are still on the front, but the smaller print is visible without eyes swimming in fire whiskey.

Included is one wish for what you truly want. To activate, press wand tip to surface.

“That’s rather a topping prize, isn’t it Jeeves?”

“It is interesting, Sir.”

“When you say interesting in that tone, I know all is not right with the world.”

“I would never presume to speak on the state of the world, Sir.”

“What’s wrong with the wish?”

“It is a powerful, single use spell. It is my understanding that it will give you what you want most, but only what you want most. Such a spell might find a desire that you are actually unaware of and as such you may not be able to handle the consequences, Sir.”

“Ye of little faith. You have no faith in the young master, do you?”

“On the contrary, Sir…”

“Save your answer, for I have found the flaw in your careful reasoning.”

“Indeed, Sir?”

“What you have overlooked, is that I want for nothing. I am from an ancient magical family. Though I will not be remembered for my magical skills or any contributions to the world, I have enough magic to get by and money enough in my vault. What does the spell do for those who want nothing, Jeeves? Answer me that.”

“Sir, everyone wants something, even if it is only a pair of wool socks, and even if they do not admit it to themselves.”

“Tosh, Jeeves.”

“Forgive my interference, Sir.”

“Forgiven and forgotten, let’s get on with this experiment.”

“If you say so, Sir.”

Since I’ve got such long arms, Jeeves had made me a wand holster for the inside of my left arm. This meant that once he dressed me in the morning, until he undressed me at night, I was never without my wand. I lost the thing so often at Hogwarts Prof. put a locator charm on it, so all I had to do was ask him, he’d tell me where it was and I could go get the thing. I’d tried to come up a similar deal after leaving the school, but I’d found Jeeves’ solution to be much more elegant.

Elegant, now there is a word you don’t often find in reference to a house elf. Strange, how I hardly thought of Jeeves as a house elf, when Jeeves seemed to be a magical creature all his own, working miracles beyond the understanding of rest of the magical world. I’d never heard of another house elf doing the accounts and correspondence, but Jeeves had informed me that he could, so I let him. In effect, Jeeves had taken over my life since I’d been in this flat, and my life had never been better. It was a bit of an effort to even remember he was a house elf and not some mystical force that chose to present itself to me when words were necessary.

My Aunts didn’t like him, often complaining about how dependent I was upon a lowly house elf for, well, everything. He went were I went, and his tiny coughs were the vocal sounds of real magic about to be performed, the magic that kept me one of nature’s bachelors. Jeeves was special though, even if he didn’t really like to be praised that way. In fact, as I contemplate the wish in the trophy in my hand, I think the only thing I really wish for was others to see him for the special being he was.

A silly wish, as it should be obvious to anyone with eyes just how special he was. The house elves in my Aunt’s homes wore tea towels and bits of rags for clothing. My Jeeves had fashioned his allowed rags into a clean and pressed pair of trousers, over which he wore the tea towel toga of most of his kind. Jeeves has a thick patch of dark hair, kept carefully slicked back and a long, crooked nose. I’d asked about the way his nose darted to one side, but he’d always managed to not answer, without offending me.

I knew he was special, even if no one else ever would, and he didn’t like to be shown as special. It would have been very silly to waste a wish on letting the world see him as s., so instead I would prove to him that I didn’t need anything, that I was a wish free person, simply because I had him. With a smile, and no fear or worries, I poke the liquid with my wand. It boils, fizzes and nothing happens.

Triumphantly, I spin around to gloat about how right I was, automatically looking down to where a house elf tends to be. Not a house elf in sight, instead a naked man with slicked back black hair is kneeling and bent over, as if in great pain. Wand in hand, I kneel before him to see what I can do, and call for the only one who actually knows what to do.

“Jeeves!”

At my call, the man before me gives a real cough, as if forcing lungs to work, nothing like the delicate chirps of a distant doxy about to dash after a bowtrickle. Jeeves doesn’t appear, as he is compelled to when I speak his name, so I pound the man on his back and try to be helpful. My version of helpful, when summoning Jeeves doesn’t work, involves rambling.

“Dash it! He normally comes when I call, that’s what he does, right? Perhaps if you could tell me how to help you, whoever you are, I could do something more than ramble while you get your sealegs under you. Though, we’re not at sea, so land legs I suppose would be a more apropos expression, if apropos is the word I want. Where is Jeeves to tell me if that’s the word I want?”

“Sir.”

Jeeves’ deep rumble comes from the man before me, but I still don’t believe my ears. If my brain doesn’t know anything, why would my ears?

“Sir, I am Jeeves.” He knows I’m not ready to believe him, so he looks up and lets me see his face.

It’s the nose that proves it to me, and I fall back onto my billowy bits at what a bloomer I’ve made. “Oh, Jeeves, I’ve made a bit of a bloomer.”

“Indeed, Sir?”

He means it as one of the emotionless questions he often asked of me, when I made a weak argument he could refute with half his brain tied behind his back. It doesn’t reach that level of indifference, and it hits me like a physical blow.

“You’re right, Jeeves, as always. You said I wasn’t ready to use that wish and I should have listened but I wanted to prove you I was happy. I thought about wishing for the world to see how special you were, but decided you didn’t want that, so I wished for nothing. That is, I didn’t wish, I just poked the potion.”

“I shall be better directly, Sir.”

“Tosh, Jeeves. You should just take it easy, and tell me what I should do.”

“It may reverse on its own, Sir.”

“It may not, what do you want me to do?”

“Perhaps you should go to the club, and find out who made the trophies. They may be able to reverse this.”

“I’ll go now. If you’re sure I can’t do anything to help?”

“Helping is my task, Sir.”

“And you do it wonderfully, did I ever tell you that?”

“Frequently, Sir.”

“Right-ho then, I’ll go do that.”

I fight to my feet, and walk around the kneeling figure, getting a different look at things. Those neat little pants he’d made hadn’t changed with his form. They’d retreated to a mud like puddle under him, and I suspected he was waiting for me to leave before risking standing. Why was that awareness tinged with disappointment?

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Are you sure you want to switch back?” At my question, he looks up and over his shoulder at me and something in my stomach decides to go for a brisk walk around the park.

“You can order me to do as you would prefer, Sir.”

“I want you to be happy, so I’ll do as you said and find out who made the trophies.” Saying the words, I force my eyes to the front fireplace.

The floo network gets me directly to the Drones, though normally I’d rather walk than risk messing up the address. Once, after Pongo’s birthday, I’d popped out of the fireplace of a muggle family starting their day. I was congratulated for finding the fault in the floo network, as the muggle family shouldn’t have even been on the network, but that didn’t help with the embarrassment. The muggle family all got their memories altered, but I had to remember it.

Since I’m going for a reason and not a drinking contest, I toss in the floo powder and head for the Drones Club. I hack up a cough as I dust myself off, stepping out of the fireplace at the drones. I’m presented with a glass of water, which I enjoy before speaking to the man handing it to me.

“Rogers, who made the prizes for the contest last night?”

“I can find out sir, if you would like to wait.”

“I’ll be at the bar, but please hurry.”

I make my way to the bar and order a butterbeer, taking it to the nearest table littered with people I know. “What ho. Do any of you know who made the prizes for last night?”

“My sister did.” Tartan looked up from his pint, with surprise in his eyes.

Tartan had been two years behind me at Hogwarts, and a different house, Sylitherin, I think, so I didn’t know him well enough to kn. how he would respond to what I had to ask.

“Tartan, old sport, don’t get me wrong, it was jolly decent of you, but I need my wish reversed.”

“Those were fantastic prizes, so what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing wrong with the prizes, as you said it was fantastic, but more than this blot could handle. I made a mess of it, and I need it reversed.”

“Fine by me, but you’ll have to wait.”

“Wait, wait for what?”

“My sister made the prizes over her summer holidays and left instructions to not be disturbed until Christmas. It’s her N.E.W.T. year.”

“Oh, surely an owl wouldn’t be too much of a distraction? You could just ask for the info another wizard would need to reverse the effects.”

“I’ll ask, if…”

“If? Go on, ask away, I need to fix this.”

“If you get that house elf of yours to give me the recipe for his hangover cure.”

“I’ll ask, but I’m sure he’ll do it, I’ve messed up that bad.”

“Just order him to Bertie, and I’ll send the owl now.”

“Oh.” I supply to the conversation, and everyone began to laugh.

They made jokes at my expense, while I drink my butterbeer and try to smile. My friends often mocked me for how I treated Jeeves, the lowly house elf I asked to do things and rewarded with gifts. Most house elves had a bed of rags in cupboard somewhere, but I’d told Jeeves he could use the furnished butler’s pantry that came with my apartment. When I found out he liked to read, I bought him books, even some from muggle bookshops. Maybe this was way I wanted Jeeves to be seen as special, so I wouldn’t be seen as a fool.

“Send the owl, Tartan, and I’ll get you a hangover recipe. Must dash, got a bit of a mess to deal with.”

Nobody asks, as they seem more interested in mocking me, but I head back to the fireplace and meet up with Rogers.

“Mr. Wooster, I saw you talking with the gentleman who brought in the prizes.”

“Yes, he says his sister made them and he needs to send her an owl at Hogwarts. Could you assist him with this?”

“If he requests, I can assist him, sir.”

“Anything you can do, I’d appreciate. I messed up and my house elf has caught the short end of the stick.”

“Jeeves, sir?”

“Yes, so I have to make this right.”

“Sir, I will see to it that the message is sent before too much longer. Please tell Jeeves that I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you, Rogers. I’m sure he’ll be grateful to hear the world isn’t full of brainless blots on the landscape who accidentally ruin his life.”

“I suspect that Jeeves had more difficulties in his life than a kind master who is concerned for his welfare.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” I blinked at him a bit before retreating to the fireplace.

Jeeves had often picked me up at the Drones, apparating me home when I was too sloshed or tired or what have you. Still, it surprised me that Rogers knew Jeeves, as Jeeves had never fixed anything for Rogers, at least as far as I was aware. Dusting myself off as I emerged into the fireplace in the flat, I found human Jeeves waiting on me. He was wearing one of my older robes, waiting with his hands behind his tall, broad back, hair still perfectly in place.

“Sir, was your mission successful?”

“A bit, Jeeves. Tartan said his sister made them, she’s apparently quite the clever witch, but she’s still at Hogworts. He said he’d send her an owl, but only if I got your hangover recipe out of you. I know you’ve been hesitant before, secrets of the species and such, but I thought this might be a good exception, or as good as any.”

“I will write down the instructions for him. I would like to thank you for not reprimanding me for wearing your robe, Sir.”

“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me. You’re rather the charming human, you know, and if you want I’ll call the tailor and have you kitted out.”

“A very kind offer, Sir, but unnecessary unless the young lady will hesitate to reply to the owl.”

“She might be, Jeeves, that’s what I was afraid to tell you. She’s studying for her N.E.W.T.S. and you know how these bright, serious minded types are. Doesn’t want to be disturbed for anything, and that only assumes she’ll agree to help. She could be just like Tartan, always wondering what’s in it for her and such.”

“Will you be dining in, Sir?”

Jeeves’ new face doesn’t change, but I can tell a delaying tactic when I hear one. He doesn’t want to think about this girl not helping or not being able to help. The question is, what answer does he want? Should I go out, leave him to his misery? Or stay in and give him something to do, and stare at the way my robe is pulled across his chest when he puts his hands behind his back?

“I think I’ll stay in, just in case anything else happens, such as the spell reversing or something.”

“Very good, Sir. I feel I should begin to prepare your dinner now, as I do not know if my magic will be much assistance.”

“Did you want me to go out? Save you the effort and such?”

“Sir, you should do as you see fit.”

“I’d rather stay with you, if it’s all the same, but I don’t want you to strain yourself. I could owl out and have something delivered if you wanted.”

“I would rather cook for you, Sir.”

“That’s fine. I’ll come to the kitchen with you, and have my magic ready for any assistance you might need.”

“Most kind, Sir, but your wand is in the office still. Perhaps you should retrieve it, and wait on the chesterfield. I will inform you if I come across a task I cannot handle.”

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, Jeeves.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Jeeves bows and has to turn and walk out of the room, instead of disappearing as is his normal want. I go to the office, replace my wand in the holder and try not to sulk as I take my latest spine tingler to the chesterfield. I open it, and shivery bolts tingle up my spine, letting me know this is a mystery story, if the title, The Perilous Pixies of Plymouth, didn’t give it away.

I can’t concentrate on the words though, once the bolts stop, because I’m thinking about how Jeeves’ voice finally seems to fit his body. I know most house elves, if you can get them to say more than yes, sir, no, sir, tend to have squeaky voice that just beg for approval. Jeeves always had this deep rumble that seemed more destined for, well, the sturdy, tall bloke currently in my kitchen. Strong too, unless I missed my guess, would he be warm if I hugged him to me?

I jerk upward at the thought, dropping my book as I think about that. House elf Jeeves was so much more than the house elves I was used to, and now I was having unclean thoughts about his human self. Is this what I really wished for, a warm, human body that was as servile and docile as a house elf? That didn’t sound like something I’d wish for, nor was Jeeves ever servile and docile, but maybe he would be if trapped in a human body and waiting on me to free him. I needed his council, so I put my feet on the floor to walk to the kitchen, before I could think any more similarly distressing thoughts. Jeeves chose that moment to walk out of the kitchen, and offer me a small bow as he presented a parchment.

“Sir, this is the recipe for my hangover cure that your friend requested. Perhaps you could deliver it to him, while I ready your evening meal.”

“Right ho, Jeeves. Rogers sent his wishes for a speedy recovery, from whatever I did to you, though I didn’t go into details.”

“That was most kind of him, Sir.”

I take the parchment and head for the fireplace, as much to put off the thoughts I had been thinking as to visit Tartan.

Once there, I get a report from Rogers that Tartan did send the Drones’ owl to Hogwarts. I present Tartan with the recipe, and he’s smart enough to get the valuable thing out of the club before the other Drones realize what a hot little item he has. They’ve all wanted that magic concoction since I told them about it.

I down a fire whiskey before returning to the apartment, where I spend the evening trying not to stare as Jeeves move around in my robe. Is it just me, or is this November very, very warm? Warm enough that Jeeves isn’t wearing anything under that robe, I’d wager, and the heat goes up another few degrees.

J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B


The next two weeks become a blur of flooing to the Drones, tracking down Tartan and trying to find out if he heard anything. Once I get back to the flat, everything slows down to a crawl, as I watch Jeeves go about his duties, while trying not to look like I’m w. Jeeves. Human Jeeves holds my attention as no filly ever has, or no bloke for that matter.

Jeeves is everything he was as a house elf, manages to pull Bingo, Biffy, Claude and Eustace out of the soup without even leaving the apartment or coming face to face with those individuals. He seems to be hiding from them, not wanting them to see what I did to him. The really rummy thing is he’s taken to hiding in my dreams, the kind of dreams I haven’t had in years and leave me with messes I know he sees. I make an effort to clean it up, but I know I can’t put anything over on Jeeves.

One morning, he comes to wake me, and he wakes my body before my mind, so I’m curling my legs and hoping he doesn’t notice as I take the tea cup from him. As he leaves the room, I realize I was dreaming about him laying beside me to wake me, at the same time as his voice was calling out to me. It’s too much, and as soon as I’m able, dressed and outside some food, I send an owl to Tartan’s parents, asking after both their children.

After luncheon, I get a politely worded reply, saying all their children are fine and naming them. They want to know why I want to know, but don’t come out and ask so I feel it’s acceptable to ignore them. It’s either that, or tell them their son is an ass who was trying to weasel out of a deal, so I felt I had the high ground here. Then I was able to send an owl directly to their daughter, hoping Minny wasn’t as big an ass as her older brother.

The next morning, a letter was on my tray with my breakfast and I pounced on it. A quick read through and I turn to Jeeves.

“Jeeves! We’re in luck. Tartan’s sister is not an ass.”

“Always a wonderful thing to hear about someone, Sir.”

“She says Tartan didn’t tell her what had happened, just that he had something to talk about when she got back, and that she’d very much like to help. She lists the spells and ingredients she used if we wanted to find somebody else to help, otherwise we’ll have to wait until Hogwarts’ winter hols.”

“I would not pressure you to find another wizard to break this spell, Sir.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but I would. Trouble is, I don’t even know who to call.”

“I have someone in mind, Sir, if I may take the initiative.”

“Initiate away, dear thing, as I visit the salle de bain.”

“Very good, Sir.”

After a tour of the salle de bain, including a rousing chorus or two of Putting on the Leaky Cauldron Jeeves helped me dress and introduced me to the stranger in my apartment. Nicolus was busy, waving his wand and chanting over the trophy that had started all this. I took a seat on the chesterfield and let the man work. About the time Jeeves presented me with a perfect cup of tea, Nicolus stepped back and sat in a chair. Jeeves handed him a cup of tea, which he sipped before speaking. He spoke to Jeeves, as if unaware I was even there. I didn’t mind, I often wanted people to talk to Jeeves instead of me, it was just unusual.

“Jeeves, as much as I appreciate your ability to find rare ingredients, I’m afraid I can’t help you with this.”

“Would it be impolite to ask why, Mr. Flamel?”

“The original spell was expertly done, but someone with less skill messed around with it. Best I can determine, they tried to thin it out so they could give you the prize and use the wish too. I could try a few things, but it would be safer to let the creator mess with it.”

“I understand, Sir. I appreciate you taking the time to consult in this matter.”
Nicolus stood, handing Jeeves his empty teacup. “For what it’s worth, Jeeves, I think this suits you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jeeves bows, and Nicolus diapparates while he does so.

“He’s quite right about that Jeeves, the robes suit you.” He’s still wearing my old robe, refuses to let me buy something for him and I’m careful not to think about what he wears when he launders that robe.

“Thank you, Sir. Will you be lunching in?”

There is something rummy in Jeeves’ voice, something always is when I complement him, now that he’s human. “I think I’ll see what the Drones are up to for lunch.”

“Very good, Sir.”

He floats away and I charm my spine tingler to me, and work to find out who used Pixy poison on the Parchoos family.

J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B


After lunch, I floo myself back to the flat, a rum feeling propelling me. Not something I can pin down, just something that tingles on the edge of my awareness. I think it’s some desire to get the soupiness out of Jeeves’ voice, though I have no idea how to do that. I start to call out for him, but seeing the letter floating at my eye level stalls my call. Mr. Wooster is written in neat, precise letters and even before I reach for it, my stomach is abandoning ship, dropping into my feet for a quick escape.

Mr. Wooster,

Forgive me this action, but I feel I must initiate a change. I do this with your best interests in mind. I have made you an appointment with the Office of House Elf Relocation, one hour before teatime. This should be adequate time to select a new house elf and allow him to prepare your tea.


No signature at the bottom, but clearly from Jeeves. Sagging down into the chesterfield I find a glass at my elbow. Downing it helps, but not enough, as I sit and stare without a thought in my head. I could have sat there all day and night, staring, but an owl landed on my leg. Automatically, I take the note from the owl, who flies off. It was a confirmation of my appointment at the Ministry of Magic, and a quick glance at the clock let me know it was thirty minutes away.

I stumbled to the salle de bain to freshen up as best I could without Jeeves’ approval. Automatically, I finished that and walked to the fireplace, letting it take me to the Ministry. I went through security and to the elevators, where the attendant took me to the right floor without even having to ask. My body does the walking, but my brain, such as it is, is retracing the last time I was here.

I’d just moved into my apartment, a muggle built building, but my first place out of the control of kith and kin. Not that I didn’t love the k. and k., but my Aunt Dahlia’s patronis was the only one I’d ever seen that made noise, an actual baying hound. My Aunt Agatha’s patronis was a werewolf, with red eyes and dripping fangs that ripped nephews into tasty tidbits for my Aunt, who was even scarier than her patronis. Moving out, now that I had finished my O.W.L.S. was the best idea I’d ever had, but I knew I wasn’t ready to tackle a domestic life. So I’d found a flat and staggered off to the Ministry, in search of a house elf.

The wizard at the desk had seem bored out of his mind, and with a clap of his hands ten house elves apperated into the office. They looked like house elves, large eyes hoping to be chosen, eager for work. Jeeves walked in, head up and shoulders back, pride and intelligence straining in his eyes as he carried a large mug to the wizard in charge. His Ministry of Magic approved flannel loincloth was clean and neat, and worn with dignity. After a few choice comments my Aunt A had for me, I knew I could use some dignity in my life, so I pointed to him.

“You don’t want him.”

“I like the look of him, all dignified and such.”

“That’s part of his problem. He’s always getting above his station, trying to manage his human owners.”

“If it doesn’t work out, I can bring him back or something.”

“Of course, sir. If I can’t interest you in any of these other fine specimens, just sign this contract.” He marks a name in the house elf spot and slides the contract over to me. “This is a magical, legally binding contract that states this house elf is now your property and you are responsible if he does anything without your permission. Standard stuff.”

I’m not sure about that, never having signed a contract before, but I scrawl my name at the bottom. Something in the house elf’s stern face twitched, and later I would learn his mandate about reading anything before you signed it. Then though, I received my copy of the scroll, took his hand and asked him to take me home. He took me to the apartment, without feeling the need to ask for an address, elf magic I guess, and I turned a bright smile on him.

“It’s not much, unfurnished and everything so you’ll have to figure out what you need for the kitchen and maybe help me with the rest of the place as well. There is something called a butler’s pantry, which I figure you can use as a bedroom.”

“A bedroom, sir?”

“Yes, I had a standard sized bed put in it, and hope it will be enough for you.”

“I don’t need that much room, sir.”

“Well, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but whatever makes you happy.”

“Thank you, sir. My name is Jeeves.”

Now I’m facing another line of house elves, eager for the chance at the work. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, and even if it did, there was only one bolt I wanted. I point randomly, and the chosen elf shuffles forward. He bows, I read and sign the paper, noticing his name is Meadows.

“Meadows, take me home please.” My voice is sad and dull when I ask, and he does so. I request ale instead of tea, and he makes it. I have fire whiskey instead of supper and I pass out before the nightcap.

J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B
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