Lichfield looked spitefully at the tiny car. His blasted neighbor always did this to him; it's what comes from living above reckless youths who thought of no one but themselves. He tapped the oddly shaped metal thing with his wand, causing it to roll back several feet. Finally able to get to the old wooden stoop that served as the entryway to his part of the building, Lichfield made his way inside.
Though most would classify being inside the building as being 'inside,' he was still no closer to his apartment. He flicked on the lights to reveal the room was nothing more than a steep stairway. Lester felt like he had lived every year he had twice over again as he hauled his aching bones up the blasted staircase and through the upper door into the apartment proper.
A pattering of tiny feet came running from the kitchen as the warlock made to set his briefcase down.
"Mister Lichy is ever so late," the young house-elf said as she whisked the briefcase away.
Lichfield grunted. It had been a long day. First Gropegold, then Cadogan and the Knight Bus, then tracking down the foul Trunchbull woman, though he did get no end of enjoyment seeing the havoc those children caused her, even adding a few choice bits himself.
Lester removed his outer robe.
"Mipsy didn't know what Mister Lichy would want to eat," Mipsy said as she whisked his outer robe away.
The robe took its place on its hook, within arm's length in front of him. He could just as well look after himself but as much as she pained him, he never could bring himself to send little Mipsy away. The girl deserved better than to wallow in a freedom she didn't want just as she deserved better than him. She deserved to be with a large family who could give her all the work she was worth instead of having to make due with him.
He groaned as he settled into the apartment's one small chair and started untying his shoes.
"Would Mister Lichy like the eggs?" Mipsy asked as she whisked away the right shoe.
"-Or the soup?" she asked as she whisked away the left shoe.
"Perhaps the meal of toast?" she asked as she walked away with the right sock held well away from her long nose.
"-Or maybe the juice?" Mipsy pinched her nose as the left sock was carried away.
Lester sighed.
"Toast will do," he said.
"With the jam?" she asked.
"With the jam," he nodded.
He was a creature of simple habits. Simple habits made by long years of being alone, of having nothing worth living for, of having nothing to take enjoyment from. His meals were simple ones, eggs the way he liked them, a simple soup his mother used to make, or a bit of toast or some juice if he were in a hurry or not particularly hungry. It was so much less than the little elf deserved so he tried to make it up to her by making the portions small and having her cook each serving separately. It gave her more to do to occupy her time and give her the need she needed. He did the same with his clothes.
Not for the first time he considered actually freeing her, letting her go off to find someone capable of giving her all the work she was worth, but freeing an elf would more likely end up with the little one dead from wallowing in misery than anything else. So few survived being away from those they felt truly needed them, it was only by being attached to families, where they could be passed from one generation to another, that they gained the most protection from that, though even Charlus and Dorea's elves didn't survive them long. It was simply too much grief to bear.
If what the boy had said was true though, if that Dobby had come to him, if he had served him the way the boy claims he had, if he truly held no love for those who owned him now, then there was a chance the little guy would live. Lester shook his head, he had to stop thinking about them like they were human, it was half the problem he had with Mipsy.
Mipsy quickly reappeared with a bit of toast and jam on a small plate.
"Mister Lichy need anything else? Draw the bath? Brush the hair? Brush the teeth? Warm the bed?" Mipsy asked in the rapid-fire way she had when she was desperately looking for something else to do.
"Just warming the bed will be fine," Lester said, eating his tiny meal in a few quick bites. His small attic apartment was always drafty, his bedroom always cold. "You can individually wash and fold my socks, if you like, when you're done."
"Washed them twice today already, Mister Lichy, sir," Mipsy said happily.
"Well, third time's the charm, you know."
Mipsy smiled and nodded happily. Her dark hair and eyes making her seem all the more like the small daughter he'd never have. He waved her away to get started on what passed for work in this house as he settled into an even deeper gloom. Lester hated when his thoughts became tangled in the past. The past was nothing but a continuous stream of heartbreak and despair there was no escape from.
Unbidden, his eyes sought out the things that haunted him most. A large class picture from his Hogwarts days, made for all the Seventh Years as they used to do back then. So many friends, so confident, so daring, so eager to shake the world to its foundations and bold enough to hold back the sands of Time itself to accomplish their aims. So many friends dead, their confidence shattered, their eager daring and boldness broken as the world crumbled around them and Time itself wasted them away too soon.
Charlus was there with his arm around him, inseparable as they were, and Dorea stood stately at her would-be husband's side, her cool demeanor and haughty vanity on full display; the vanity that would doom her and Charlus both because the poor fool had loved her so. To trade away half your life, just to spend a few more years with the woman you loved when you had a young son who needed you, Lester would have thought him mad if he hadn't already lost someone himself. She wasn't pictured though, she had been so distressed she'd miss the photo, having been confined to the hospital wing with a bout of dragon pox.
Lester set the picture face-down so he wouldn't have to see the smiling array of future corpses any longer and his eyes were drawn to the picture that reminded him of the most joy he had ever felt. They were so young when it was taken, and yet it so near the end, though they had no way of knowing. Smiling and happy and sitting in the large bay window of their very own home, a gift built by Charlus when Lester had married his sweetheart. He wanted them close, he had said, so he had built it on his land. He wanted them happy, so he had built them what they wanted, and in this picture they were. So young, so in love, and so soon to be parents - until it had all gone so horribly wrong.
.....
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