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Every window in the house felt like it was open. The scent of bitter lemon, vinegar and strong coffee was swept through by the chilly early spring breeze.

“Love, love,” Octavius Pepper placated, cream shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows beneath a well-worn claret waistcoat, over brown corduroy which had seen better days. There was paint on the toes of his comfortable leather shoes and a tartan handkerchief drooped from his right hand pocket.

“I told you, he can’t be sitting on anything dirty, Octavius.”
“He’s not going to be sitting on the kitchen side, love. He won’t even be in the kitchen-.”
“I won’t have him thinking we’re untidy like…” Catherine Pepper gesticulated vaguely with a yellow duster and made towards the next surface in his studio. Outside the open windows the trees lining the garden rustled in the wind, branches creaking, and Harrold, the family’s big brown eagle owl hooted. Monty reckoned Harrold had made a wise decision to stay out of the house and at that moment wished he could join him in the branches.

“Alright. Fine. If you mus- I mean,” he corrected himself, “if it makes you feel better.” He turned away and took a deep breath, counting to ten. It wasn’t for anger, but more to calm himself. The butterflies in his stomach were nothing new, but it wasn’t as if their visitor wasn’t someone who had visited before. It was that part that made him wonder what his dear wife was on about with the ‘untidy’ impression.

Upstairs he heard the rhythmical thud of windows closing at the hand of magic. The floral curtains at the front of the house in the living room swung back and forth. Their guest wouldn’t even be arriving at the front of the house, but it looked as if they were preparing for a royal visit. He was pretty sure he’d seen Catherine ask Theta to get the best crockery down from the highest kitchen cupboard. Why their eldest daughter was tasked with cleaning the upstairs on a Sunday morning at the bid of her mother was beyond Octavius. They would owe Theta much for this over-the-top favour.

The wind had an icy edge. Just when the weather had suggested the possibility of spring, winter had nipped to remind them she was not truly gone. His belt buckle had gone in yet another hole that morning, and robes he’d bought when he’d taken office were beginning to feel roomy.

There was still frost on the ground in the shadows of the long garden. Once Edwin had his bearings at the end of the lawn, he inhaled a lungful of cool air and slid away his wand. As an owl hooted from the branches above, his gaze caught a presence at an upstairs window. There was a faint vocal exclamation from the house. His arrival had been noticed.

The painter’s studio, a glass conservatory, protruded into the garden beyond the original family home. The glass roof and walls flooded the space with light on any day. Even that day when rain threatened to arrive in the afternoon. The clouds were that certain grey.

“Edwin!” Octavius Pepper opened the doors into the garden as the visitor approached. A pace or two behind her husband, an immaculately turned out Catherine Pepper clutched a yellow duster which she promptly hid behind herself as she realised, and stood tall.
“Minister Glass.” She greeted much more formally, with a little nod. “Lovely to see you-.”
“Come in, come in,” her husband interrupted, “We’ve got the coffee on.”

“Good morning.” Edwin greeted, though in a much more reserved manner than his host. He was no stranger to this house, but the many months since his last visit and the distinct changes in his life made him feel like one. “Thank you, hello Catherine, good to see you again.” This Mrs Pepper had been on Edwin’s side over the whole flying car debacle the other year. Being a muggle, a wife to wizard and a mother to magical children, Edwin felt endeared to her as he reminded him of his own mother in the same circumstances.

Octavius closed the garden doors behind them all and ushered Edwin into the studio space where his materials were set up. A sturdy dining chair, freshly dusted a moment before, sat before a swathe of green velvet material held up by magic to form a backdrop. It had been the choice of Edwin when he’d compared it to other ministerial portraits. A nod to his Hogwarts heritage, and a contrast to habitually rosy cheeks.

Catherine left them without hesitation, heading towards the kitchen. The source of the rich coffee smell beginning to fill the downstairs of the house, overcoming the smell of paints around them. The studio as much more cluttered ordinarily, but today was unusually tidy. Their guest did not cover his glance about himself. The painter’s eyes followed, wondering what his estranged friend made of it all.

At once there was an ever so slightly awkward moment. Edwin was quieter than he might ordinarily be, and the painter unsure whether to invite him to sit or to discuss his subject’s chosen outfit for the appointment. Deeper into the house, Theta’s footsteps could be heard descending the stairs. The two wizards eyed each other in uncomfortable silence.

“Shall I sit?” Edwin asked, semi-rhetorically, for he slid off his coat, and hung it on a hatstand. The stand had always featured in the studio as long as he’d known Pepper, and Edwin was glad it was no transfigured Head of Mysteries here. The Minister settled in the appointed chair and shuffled his shrinking backside. He was keen to test how comfortable it might be for the anticipated hours he would need to sit for the portrait to be painted.

“I will need to go by half past eleven,” he added, elbows pushing on the arms of the chair. “I’ve instructed Brinley to come here if it needs to be any earlier.”

The purposes for, Edwin did not elaborate. A Minister’s confidential meetings were both an inconvenience to life and a great convenience when one wished to cut short a matter. While he had commissioned this Ministerial portrait from the best living portrait artist he knew, their recent distance was best maintained. Painting a portrait would renew Pepper’s role as a portrait artist in the minds of the public, rather than as the wizard who once took a future minister’s car for a flight over a Cambridgeshire Muggle village. It was doing both of them a favour.

As a captive audience, Edwin anticipated his ears would be bent over the whole flying automobile business. He only hoped Pepper did not paint him with a frown as a consequence.

Brinley Abbott got his bearings. He was standing in a back garden. In a very flat English landscape. Ahead was a house. It looked muggle. He opened his pocket watch. Checked his location. This was the place. The Minister had given him the coordinates to be sure. Brin strode up to the back of the house. He could see through the glass windows and doors. There was the Minister. There was the artist, Pepper. Brin rapped on the glass door. Waited politely.

"Forgive my early arrival sir." Brin apologized. "I can brief you on recent events. If appropriate." He looked at the artist. The Minister said Pepper was an old friend. Was he a risk? Would they be able to use charms to speak in confidence as the artist worked?

Ordinarily there would be periods of silence as Octavius sketched his subjects. But it had not escaped the artist’s attention that should he raise the subject of cars, the Minister’s frown lines deepened. One wanted a portrait to be true to life, but equally, one did not want to show the warts and all if one had a choice. A magical portrait artist had to capture the essence and personality of the subject ahead of the enchantment on the paint. Conversation was essential to collect these sparks.

Unfortunately further interruption had arrived at the garden door. Monty hopped to his feet to let in Brinley Abbott. Abbott was a handsome man who wore a tailored suit even better than Edwin did. Monty felt suitably dressed for a morning of sketching in his studio, even with the Minister for Magic sat in the subject’s chair. When Abbott arrived, Monty began to feel underdressed, or that these two were off to far more important work. Once again, Monty had become a mere appointment in his old friend’s diary. Then, what did he expect with Edwin running the country’s magical population?

Edwin had only been there half an hour or more, and it was well before the hour mentioned on Edwin’s arrival. This portrait was going to take an awfully long time if they did it in half hour sittings!

“Brin,” Edwin greeted. The senior undersecretary joined them in Pepper’s studio, standing out of formality. “Have you met Octavius Pepper?” He gestured to the curly haired owner of the house bent at an easel, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He had been sketching Edwin for the most part, deciding on the pose and the composition of the portrait. Edwin had maintained intermittent conversation, unsure whether to sit rigidly still or converse naturally. There was a great deal he couldn’t discuss with his old friend, and that was clearly the most interesting thing to the artist. They kept running into conversational dead ends. Brinley Abbott’s arrival was greatly received by his superior, even if it was a Sunday morning, when most sane men would be resting from work.

Octavius nodded politely to Abbott from his position, pencil poised to continue sketching as soon as the Minister settled again. “If it’s none too sensitive, then by all means, go ahead.” He gave permission, and glanced to the artist with the hint of a smile, “though flying cars are not on our agenda.” He scratched at his nose, smoothed a hand over his thinning hair and looked to Brin expectantly.

Brinley knew of Pepper. He had read the file on him at the office. Family history of Ministry service. Brother in the time turner workshop on Nine. Three daughters. Married to a muggle who obeyed the Statute. Some minor criminal records. Nothing worse than muggle infractions. A time turner accident. Historical press incident with Minister Bagnold. Brinley recognized a friendly rebel. An entrepreneur. Artists were never conventional. Brin admired Pepper’s cars. Not that he would say in front of Mr Glass.

"Very well sir." Brin agreed. He looked about his position. Dusted the seat off a stool. Took a perch. From somewhere he brought a folder. He began to brief the Minister on an international issue.

Monty could take his sitter discussing work if it meant he could remain in the studio for the sketches to be completed. He tugged his waistcoat down, nudged his stool on the tiled floor and refocused on his subject. He could zone out their conversation like he did the radio. It was bound to be thoroughly uninteresting if it was ok to let him hear it.

But the further Brinley Abbott detailed the plight of the magical population in a country Monty wasn’t even sure he’d heard of before, the more Edwin frowned. Unwilling to interrupt an important, Ministerial, briefing, Monty did what any self-respecting British person would do. He gave long, purposeful stares at the other two wizards, he sighed deeply, he even frowned himself, and then he… tutted.

Abbott’s briefing had stuttered at the first sigh, and the two wizards had exchanged a look which escaped the artist’s notice. It stopped altogether at the tut, and both the wizards from Level One turned their attention to the artist. The pause in conversation and their attention on Pepper caused the artist to sit up abruptly, as if surprised his tactic had worked. The frown line at the top of Edwin’s nose deepened before it relaxed.

“Something you wish to say, Octavius?” Edwin asked.
“Can you - can you try not to frown, mate?”

Frown? Edwin became absolutely aware of his own face in an instant. He looked to Brinley for confirmation he had been frowning.

"Maybe a little Minister." Agreed Brin. He did not want Pepper to draw Glass with a frown. He was not going to lie. There were better times to brief the Minister. Not here in someone's home. In a portrait studio. It was Sunday. They did not have luxury of lots of time in the Minister's diary. To Brin work came first. He could ride his bike next Sunday. "Shall I continue sir?" asked Brin.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” Catherine Pepper appeared, holding the coffee pot, unaware that Brinley Abbott was also in the studio. Ordinarily, Octavius would tolerate but find interruptions from his dear wife a little irritating. At that very moment, he welcomed her.

“No, my darling, not at all,” the artist assured his wife in soft, welcoming tones. “Just doing some sketches, and Edwin was frowning.”
“Oh dear.”
“Have you met Mr Abbott? This is my wife, Catherine.” Octavius spoke it with such affection, for he did dearly love Catherine. His wife had stuck with him through thick and thin, even his unfortunate sudden ageing and second identity during their trip to America. She’d raised three beautiful daughters, all witches, despite not a spec of magic herself. Her sister was though, so she was surrounded by it. Despite this, she’d trained as an accountant and enjoyed an entirely muggle life outside of the house. She was a marvel.

“Hello!” Catherine smiled and nodded politely, unsure whether to offer hand to shake. What a striking man! Why her husband’s studio was full of unusually important men, and for once it was nothing to do with him flying his car around the country. “Coffee?” She offered.

With his frown now confirmed by his trusted right hand man, Edwin made a point of trying to ‘unfrown’. Catherine Pepper arrived with more coffee, which was a godsend at that very moment.
“Please,” he asked politely, and reached for his cup. Anything to stop this frown he was apparently adopting. The last thing he wanted was his portrait to always be frowning. It would, he supposed, frown at times, but not all the time. He didn’t frown all the time did he?

“And what do you do, Mr Abbott?” Catherine Pepper asked. Edwin noticed that she’d barely taken her eyes off Brinley since she’d noticed him. This was not an unusual thing for women, he’d noted, but he knew Monty’s wife was rather polite and took interest in people. This interlude in discussing the matter would ease his frown, so he did not seek to interrupt it. Instead he blew gently on his fresh coffee and lifted his eyebrows purposefully.

“You best not draw me frowning, Pepper,” he warned in low tones.

"Yes please. Thank you." Brin said politely. He let her serve the Minister first. "I am senior undersecretary. I help the Minister with strategy. Details. I am here to brief him for a special meeting later today. I hope you do not mind me invading your lovely home." Brin had good manners. "How do you do? Have you been married a long time?" Small talk and coffee could solve the frown problem. It was impolite to dismiss Catherine Pepper. She seemed a nice lady. Were those biscuits? Brin warmed very much to Mrs Pepper!

“If I did, it would be true to life.” Octavius shot back in low tones, his lips mischievously curling within his white beard. With Brinley Abbott distracted by his wonderful wife, there was a short opportunity to converse with his old friend like old times. Made him remember how much he missed the grumpy old arsehole.

“I hope you do not mind me invading your lovely home.”
   “Not at all! You’re most welcome Mr Abbot.”
“How do you do? Have you been married a long time?”
   “Very well thank you for asking. We’ve been married gone twenty years now, but together longer than that. You married?”

Catherine’s eyes found Abbott’s hands, searching for a ring.

   “We met just like this,” Catherine gestured to the Minister and her husband sat with sketches.

“I was commissioned to paint her and her sister when I was cutting my teeth,” the painter picked up the thread. “I would make excuses for her to come back, and she became my sitter. Still just as beautiful.” His wife couldn’t help but smile and the married couple held each other’s gaze for a lingering moment.