"Call me British, but I love my tea." Michael pursed his lips and tapped the tip of his wand against them thoughtfully. Now there was an idea. "Good with paperwork, is he?" He waved his wand toward one of the stacks of paperwork, which soared through the air a sheet at a time and landed neatly at the corner of his desk. "I think I have the perfect place for young Winkerspeal." He pulled a clean sheet of parchment from his desk, and his quill dipped itself into the ink and started to write. "I think we shall have our secretary." As the letter wrote itself in a formal but to-the-point style, Michael eyed the stack of paperwork. He leaned back in his chair, holding his saucer and sipping from the cup. As an obvious afterthought, he picked up his wand again and tapped it against his cut cheek. "I'm bored. And I have a suggestion. Don't feel obligated to take me up on it. But I suggest, after I write this letter, that we have a fun contest. Who can sign their name to the most sheets of parchment the fastest. And then we can go pretend we have lives. Maybe even eat something that isn't in a cup." He put his wand down and leaned forward to glance through the open doorway. "But if that isn't constantly vigilant enough for you, I more than understand." Grin.