Ugh, reports. Why had no one told him how much paperwork this job required before he took it? Was it all part of some conspiracy to suck the fun from his life? Had his mother found some way to trick him into a promotion?

He flashed Miss Jones a quick smile of gratitude as she handed over the undesirable parchment—after all, it was not her fault the reports needed transcribing to begin with.

But it was the latter delivery that came as something of a surprise. Puzzled, Fitz reached out to accept the proffered box of chocolates.

"Why Miss Jones," he said after a moment, "I must say, I'm touched. I'm afraid I did not get you anything."

This latter was not, strictly speaking, true; each employee had arrived the morning before to find a marzipan golden snitch upon their desk as well as a Christmas card signed by their fearless leader (in reality, the majority of them had been signed by Miss Jones herself, who had gotten delightfully good at forging Fitz' signature). Still, there had been nothing personal, and for a moment, the wizard could not help but wonder if he erred dreadfully.