"But he's a bloody wizard," Freddie argues, still irritated by the whole thing. He hadn't chosen his flat, but instead been assigned it upon his arrival. And he did like it, but if he'd still take a manor over it any day. Particularly if he had magic at his very fingertips. Cleaning would never be an issue.

"Surely he knows some spells for that sort of thing. If he can magic up drugged wine and annoying little cherubs, I'm fairly certain he can magic a fucking broom."