Anthony apparated to his flat after work, exhausted with the general commotion of the Ministry he hadn’t yet gotten used to. Millie, his house-elf, appeared by his side asking after his shoes. Even in her old age she was still as energetic as ever. Anthony could have left her in his uncle’s house to burn with everything else he had owned five years ago, but she had always been kind to him and, more importantly, to Mischa. That awful day she had come to him begging forgiveness for letting his uncle touch her.

“I had mine orders, Master! I was doing what Master Goldstein asked. I is not taking any clothes, sir. Master beat me much before. I was trying to help, sir I was!” At this she had fallen to the ground crying and started beating at herself.       

He had always known of Millie’s love for Mischa and himself. That was what had saved her. That and the thought of what Mischa would say if he had done otherwise. He had known that there was nothing Millie could have done for Mischa anyway, or he’d have asked long before that.

He went to his bedroom and changed into more comfortable clothes. “I is having dinner ready, sir,” said Millie. He followed the elf to the kitchen where she had roast ready. “Thanks, Mil, but I’m really not all that hungry. Maybe just a small portion, yeah? After dealing with the numerous gits at the office I’m not all that interested in food at the moment.” Millie nodded and looked quite saddened by his disinterest in her cooking. “Oh don’t look so down Mil, it looks great. Maybe you can pack some for my lunch in the morning. That sound all right?” Thoroughly pleased Millie got him his plate with a bigger bounce to her step.

Smirking at his house elf, he tucked in.