February 23rd, 1893
Howell Howell

Quin didn't often need to sell things at the Hogsmeade Market, but he sometimes sent yesterday's sweets and pastries down to be given away or sold for a fraction of the normal price. They were still good, but not sold-at-full-price-good. Sort of like the baker did with yesterday's breads. It wasn't an income he needed and he liked being able to give the treats away to the local kids if he could. Plus it was nice to get out of the shop every now and then.

It also gave him an opportunity to see what other local vendors had to offer. Quin had help set up the booth and left one of his girls in charge. Summer certainly didn't need him hovering over her; she was far more capable than he was most of the time. (All of the time.)

With his hands behind him, Quin meandered down the stalls, poking his head in here and there. He stopped and bought a little trinket for Dahlia from a traveling artisan. The green of the stones on the simple silver bracelet made him think of her for some reason. Probably plants. That made sense. With that tucked in his pocket, he continued down the lane until he came upon a booth that caught his eye. Dragon... Cheese? Was that really a thing? Just how did one milk a dragon? Quin had so many questions immediately burst to mind that he hadn't realized he was staring, until he looked up at the rather gruff gent standing there selling it.

"I have so many questions," He started with, a mixture of amusement, intrigue and disgust all rolled into his thought bubbles.

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He didn’t get up to the markets every week, but at least once a month he bit the bullet and made the trip. The familiar odour of his cheeses was what kept him going amongst all the bustle of the Hogsmeade High Street, which was not the person-to-dragon ratio he preferred in any environment, although dragons generally had fewer sickles to spend.

So he stood stock-still behind the stall and did his best to watch people flowing around him whilst also trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who looked his way. It was a delicate dance, and at the present moment, Howell had failed at it.

A customer. A customer who had not yet dictated how much cheese they wanted. Fuck.

No, the customer had questions. Even that proclamation had Howell breaking out in a sweat. (If that was not the many insulating layers of his dragon hide coat.) He stared back long enough that there was no doubt the stranger was talking to him, and then said, much as if he was being held at wandpoint: “About the cheese?” Merlin’s testicles, he hoped these questions weren’t about anything else. At least he might have answers about the cheese.

(Howell was not a natural salesman.)

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   Quincey Honeyduke

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Quin, as oblivious as ever, was unaware of the other man's discomfort, he was too busy looking at the dragon cheeses. How had he never heard of it before? "Yes," he replied, taking a step closer.

"How... does one make it?" He couldn't quite bring himself to ask do you milk a dragon for this? and of course the inevitable follow up question, how? "I've been in the food business quite a while and I've never heard of it. Are there different kinds? What does it taste like?" Quin really did have a lot of questions. The curiosity was practically eating him up. Could he use it himself? Would it pair well with the chocolates he made? Would it make a nice pastry? So many options!

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   Howell Howell

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“Ach, in the usual way,” Howell said with a shrug, accidentally presuming the bloke was asking about how the cheese was made, and not where the dragon milk came from. Still, an eyebrow lifted infinitesimally higher at the revelation that this customer was in the food business, because now Howell actually wanted him to be duly impressed. His dragon cheese was, after all, practically the best in the country.

So – “Mm,” Howell replied gruffly, about there being different kinds. “This here’s a green cheese, a Welsh Green,” he offered, which was also why there was a little green dragon symbol on the cheese wheel wrappings. “Milder than some dragon cheese. But free range, organic,” he added proudly. “There’s some samples,” he added, pointing at a nearby platter – and the cheese itself was faintly green in colour, too. He pointed out a particularly flecked piece, and looked at the man expectantly. “This one has chives.”

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That... did not answer his question, but Quin wasn't quite going to ask about the milking just yet. He would get there or the curiosity would probably kill him. "A Welsh green, right." Quin didn't know a damn thing about dragons, but the cheese did have a green tint. And chives.

Intrigued, Quin reached over and popped a sample into his mouth. He was surprised by the mild flavor, as advertised, but it was quite tasty. He decided immediately it would be equally as tasty in a pastry. "Hmm," Quin hummed out, thinking over the possibilities here. "This is your business then?" He said once he'd finished the sample, contemplating another, but unsure if that was allowed. "My apologies, I'm Quin Honeyduke, I own the local sweetshop." He said, extending a hand.

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Howell might have heard people he knew talk about ‘Honeydukes’ once in a while, but the word held no more significance to him than a strange god from a foreign land might have. (He had never ventured so far down the High Street here to the so-named shop.)

Rather nonplussed by the introduction, he took the hand and clenched it firmly for half a second, because he liked nothing less than an overlong handshake. “Howell,” he answered, with a very slight nod about it being his business. “Side business, really. Don’t get up here too often. M’the head dragonkeeper on the Avalon reserve.” The cheese was more of a passion project for him.

Encouraged slightly by the fact this Honeyduke owned a business, Howell pointed out another sampling. “This one’s smoked.” It had a brownish rind from the smoke-curing (dragonbreath smoke, of course) to distinguish it; it was hot and more peppery in flavour.

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The muggle child deep within Quin nearly died at the mention of being a dragonkeeper. What a wild world he lived in where that was an occupation one could have! Even as close to forty as he was, Quin was still often flabbergasted by magic and what it could do. The handshake was firm, but brief, and Quin found himself too distracted by the entirety of the situation to think much on that.

"Smoked right, by the dragons then?" He was mostly joking, but as he thought about it, Quin had to stuff the sample in his mouth to take the place of his foot. He liked the heady flavor of that one, it had a good aftertaste and would make a tasty appetizer of some kind. Perhaps he should buy a little of everything and have Dahlia along for a picnic or something. Would be fun. He tucked the idea in his back pocket. "How do they melt?" If the cheese was too hard it could make baking difficult, the cheese didn't melt but the pastry burned. It was a fine line.

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“Yes,” Howell affirmed soberly, taking the question as nothing less than serious – but also entirely obvious. A fool could have guessed.

The next question was a better one, probably; Howell was beginning to feel a restless itch at the reason for all these questions, because usually people just bought some and left him be by now. Was the sweetshop owner also a cheese connoisseur? “Melts pretty well.” He pointed out one of the creamiest ones with a murmur. And then, in something quite out of his usual habit, Howell opened his mouth and asked a question back. “Why?”

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"Danish, o'course." Quin replied as if it was the most obvious answer. He dealt mostly with sweets, but he did like making pastries and other things. His cinnamon buns had bit of a reputation. Plus he'd done more suppling of events over the years and having the baked goods was a nice way to increase that side of the business.

Surveying the lot, Quin pondered his next move. "I'll take some of everything." Why the hell not? "Do you have the descriptions anywhere or could I write them down somehow?" Quin liked to know what he was dealing with. Plus if he wanted more, he would need to know what to ask for.

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Danish, he said, and Howell had no idea what Denmark had to do with his cheeses (his cheeses were perfectly Welsh), but, being a man for whom questions were often better off not asked, Howell didn’t ask.

At any rate, he was taken aback enough by the next comment, which was – the largest order Howell had had in quite some time. “Right,” he said with a nod that didn’t completely disguise his bewilderment. “‘Course. I’ve –” Not about to let Mr. Honeyduke think better of his request, Howell had already begun packing away wheels and blocks of cheese together in a crate, but paused to hunt down a tenderly-handwritten list of everything on the stall and its ingredients. He knew the duplicating spell just fine, but he wasn’t about to faff about here – he gave Honeyduke the parchment list right off. “Got this. Here.”

He bundled it into the top of the box, and offered it over with the same emotion in his chest as if he was witnessing a toddling dragon take flight for the first time. Maybe – and Howell didn’t like to get his hopes up irrationally, but still, potentially – Honeyduke would be a dragon cheese convert, and eventually order more. He could live with that.

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   Quincey Honeyduke

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Quin watched with an amused smile as Mr. Howell started to quickly package everything up. If he worked in anything other than food, Quin might find this crate full of cheese slightly alarming, but now it had become research and he was pleased as punch to take it all back and try it out. Maybe he'd have the ladies in the shop help him. Or Dahlia. It was going to be an interesting event.

"You sure you don't need that?" Quin motioned to the handwritten list tucked on top. He would like the ingredients, but he would also dutifully be taking notes. Quin had never been a diligent student, but he didn't fool around when it came to recipes. "I'll let you know how it goes, send something if I use the cheese." Fair was fair after all.

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Howell shook his head firmly at the question. He’d never let anyone else muddle about with his cheeses, so it wasn’t as though he didn’t know every hand-picked ingredient and process by heart anyway.

He had to swallow down a small lump of sentiment (gratitude, nervousness, he didn’t know) at Honeyduke’s offer – at the prospect of Honeyduke using the cheese for something – and Howell was so touched and baffled by this that he managed to get out a, “That’d be nice.”

He let out a breath, and added determinedly: “And if – you’re after something specific, I, uh, don’t mind trying.” Whether Howell was comfortable with it or not, there was already the temptation to try making a new flavoured cheese or two already creeping in.

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Passing Howell a wide grin, Quin took the list and tucked it into his jacket pocket so as not to lose it, because he would if he wasn't intentional. "Appreciated, I'll let you know how it goes." This would be fun. One of Quin's favorite things to do was experiment with new flavors and have people try them. He'd send along anything he thought was worthwhile so the other man could get a sense for what he'd envisioned. The cheesemaker would obviously have the best idea of the cheese was being used optimally in his creation.

"Cheers, Howell, I'll keep you updated." He grinned once more and passed along a wave as he started off back toward the shop with his treasures.

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