Muriel rarely ventured into Izzy's domain. The kitchen at dinnertime belonged to the house-elf. But there had been some sort of horrible mishap with the sauce tonight, and Muriel had been dragged in to provide orders (No, Izzy, you may not punish yourself. That won't fix the problem, will it? No, not even later. I forbid it) and agree to replacements (I'm sure avocado and cream sauce will go just as well with the chicken as the lemon and herb, there's no need to rush to the market. By the time George arrived, the conversation was winding down - she had agreed to a change of vegetables to suit the new sauce, and seemed to have quelled the panic attack that was an unusual reaction for Izzy in general, but perhaps not unusual for house-elves as a whole.
Nevertheless, by the time George stepped into the kitchen, Izzy had recovered his poise. Muriel turned when George entered the room, smiling.
"Hello," she said, kissing his cheek and accepting the flower. "Nothing to do with chocolate, just a minor problem with the meal."
"Izzy has it under control," said the elf. "Now, out of Izzy's kitchen! Dinner is being prepared!"
They left before Izzy could throw them out, moving to the safety of the sitting room.
"Sometimes," she said, "my elf reminds me of your mother."