*POP*

A third house-elf appeared—suddenly and breathlessly—right as chaos broke loose. Clothes were flying from machines like caffeinated Cornish pixies and yet Tippin, arms full of even more laundry, blinked slowly like he hadn’t noticed a single flying frock.

“Ohhh... was it tumble-time already? Tippin thought tumble-time was after scrubbingsies and the vinegar dabsies!” He took a step forward, promptly tripped over a loose washcloth, and sent the pile of wrinkled uniforms cascading forward in a dramatic crumpled heap. Socksies. More socksies. A jumper with a mysterious green stain. At least two scarves. The washing machine closest to him gave an ominous ker-CHUNK and launched a tie like a slingshot. “Oh—no thank-yousies! Tippin has plenty of neckwear, very kind!” he yelped, ducking with both ears flopping over his eyes.

Foamy suds began to creep across the floor and Tippin gasped as though personally offended by them. “Oh no no no! This wasn’t in Tippin’s notesies! Is this what Muggle laundry does? Is it... angry?” His eyes scanned the room wildly until they landed on Algamus and Quirly across the way. With a trembling arm, he held up a pair of trousers like a white flag. “Tippin brought the last load, promise-sies! Didn't forget this time! Well. Not mostly.”

Another sock flew past his head. Tippin hit the floor.

“Ohhhhh sweet starch and suds! Professorsies Leroy no tell Tippin Muggle machinsies be scary like Whomping Willowsies!”