Charlie had spent the better part of the morning in Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions and had found that their name was a complete lie. They did not have robes for all occasions, and the old bitty that was sizing him up for his fitting kept sticking him with pins. Charles Devon Robards did not come from a poor family. True, his father had had to work for every knut that went into their vault, but he could still afford to have competent service. The characteristic bubbly personality that Charlie was known so well for was nowhere to be seen, and Charlie acted very unbefitting for one of his status before exiting the shop with nary a stich of clothing.

His father had been a dear friend of Madam Malkin, but Charlie simply couldn’t deal with the wizened old witch anymore. He stomped down Diagon, muttering his complaints under his breath the entire time. He really hadn’t wanted to go to Libertine, simply because it wasn’t somewhere he had ever shopped and Charlie wasn’t great with new. He took a deep, calming breath and walked into the shop, headed straight for the counter.

He hefted a shining smile on his face and said, “Hi there! I need some robes. I’m really not too picky, as long as you have people who are skilled because I swear if I get poked one more time I’m going to cause a really big commotion.” He winked at the person behind the counter, hoping they would understand that he wasn’t upset with their service, but the service of other businesses around. He reached deep in the pockets of his robes and pulled out some rather bland looking patches. “I just got a job within the Ministry, and the boss says that I can wear whatever I want, as long as our department logo is displayed proudly on my garments. So can you help?”

The witch at the counter, a young Asian woman in a smart blue mod dress, listened politely to all his commentary and then gave Charlie a pretty smile. "A commotion would be bad," she agreed softly. "Please follow me. We'll get you taken care of."

Misa stepped out from behind the counter and led Charlie through a curtained doorway, behind which lay the shop proper with its dark-wood wall shelves and the racks of clothing. Photographs on the wall were a mix of models running the gamut from sharp-cheeked professional pouters to more casual shots - personal friends of the owner. An ox of a man stood knee-deep in a lake, laughing as he rolled up the pants legs of his suit and waved at the camera; a woman twirled in a dress, trailing glossy black feathers; and the one that got all the attention 'round school-fitting time, Professor Tapendra Trishna leaned against a scarred wood table in a marvelous black-and-gold cloak.

There was even an ad or two back when Darian posed for his business, and the smirking redheaded sharply dressed man in those pictures looked only a little younger than the smirking redheaded sharply dressed man who met Charlie just inside.

"Welcome!" Darian cried, bright today in his suit that was entirely silver, rings glinting, shoes shining, altogether a very flashy sight (but, it must be said, his clothing fit exquisitely). His curls bobbed as he swept into a bow. "O valued customer, I am Darian Morgan, and I am very eager to cater to your every little whim. Coffee? Tea?"

"Ministry robes," Misa said, as she drifted away to staff the counter again. "No pricking." Darian smiled, shrugged, of course, I would never, how do you do? His knowing eyes seemed already to have taken Charlie's measure.

The pretty Asian witch led Charlie to the showroom and he let out a long breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The shop was exquisite. Where Malkin’s was rather drab and boring, this place was opulent and beautiful. The Hufflepuff graduate looked around the room eagerly, his excitement growing, before his eyes met with the shop owner’s.

Blimey, Charlie was speechless. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen anyone as attractive as the man standing before him. Charlie opened and closed his mouth, akin to a fish gasping out of water, before his words finally found him. “Uh… no, no thank you.” He said, his voice coming out squeaky and prepubescent. He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and tried again, “I’m fine. Thanks anyway,” much better. At least he didn’t sound like a house elf this time.

“I’m Charlie, Charlie Robards,” He said, feeling a bit more normal now that he had introduced himself. “I just need some robes for work, and I truly don’t want to look like I’m headed to school or like I’m a ninety year old witch.” He said with a giggle and a wink, “Think you can help me?”

"Charmed," Darian said with a flash of dazzling teeth. Charlie's wink and giggle had him looking on indulgently. "I dare say I could," he replied courteously, brows raising as if in real consideration. Could the master tailor specializing in menswear and fashion design make poor Charlie something that looked neither like a scholar nor a matron?

Precious question. Wasn't it just? He was a cute lad, but he hadn't seen anything yet.

Darian made an elegant gesture with one hand, sweeping pointedly both the left way and then the right. Around them, on all sides - suits. Shirts. Robes. Vests. (And the occasional dress. He didn't mean those, unless Charlie wanted them; Libertine Ltd. did not judge.) "Give me something to work with," he said. "The Ministry is notoriously stodgy, but I can have you sharp enough to open post. So tell me. Basic black? Modern cut? Or are you more of a traditionalist?" He asked the last with a relish the word almost certainly didn't deserve. Traditionalism. It was enough to make anyone look like a ninety-year old witch.

Charlie was quickly regaining his composure from the sheer shock of seeing pretty boy Morgan. He supposed that he was only so shocked because he had been expecting some old dude with cataracts and shaky hands or something… at least that’s what he told himself. He glanced around the racks of clothing before turning back to the shop owner. “I’m a gay wizard shopping for robes to work in the creature department of the Ministry; do you really think that I put much stock in tradition?” He said playfully.

“I’d like something colorful, yet stylish. I’m quite a fan of yellow, though I’m not sure if that’s my personal opinion or if I’ve just had seven years of Hufflepuff-itis ingrained in my memory.” Charlie took a moment and stepped away from the wizard, perusing the clothing at the nearest rack. “I thoroughly detest having to wear any sort of patches, but it’s a Ministry rule. I think the Head’s not overly picky about what I wear, since I pretty much have a desk job, but I’d like to be comfortable and beautiful every day.”

“What are your suggestions?” He asked, picking up a rather elegant emerald suit and wrinkling his nose at it before placing it gently back on the rack.

With a murmured, "No, I suppose not," Darian crooked his finger at Charlie and turned for the back of the long, deep shop. Only a few steps in he stopped to pluck out two robes from a rack of wizarding clothing. One was slate grey but fitted with accents of purple, cuffs and lapels lined with colored trim to keep the robe interesting and fresh. The other was louder, tailored in sharp lines, high-collared, an exaggerated style. The whole thing was the color of light honey, the closest to yellow that Darian currently had. Yellow did not suit most people's complexion and was rarely requested.

"I can make you something in yellow if you wish," he said. "But first, tell me which you like better. The grey is a more traditional style, and its cut and color are subtle as well as elegant. This second is striking, made to catch the eye. From this I'll decide what to pull for you." Mostly he was judging just how loud Charlie preferred to be. Darian's customers ran the gamut from traditional black to loudly flamboyant; it was nice to have some idea of what they'd chose past simply what they claimed to like.