He couldn't help it. There was a little smile growing on Guy's lips from the way the other man spoke. He'd always liked people with passion they wore on their sleeves, perhaps because he himself was so utterly incapable of that. He'd always been a man of keeping thing quiet, of not revealing anything until the very final moment. It allowed him control.
"If only we possessed magic wands capable of such feats," he said, the deadpan lightened slightly by the wrinkling of his eyes as he put his hand up, allowing his hand to be shook. The Weasley family was a pure one, albeit a bit off kilter in more than one way. He had yet to hear of Arthur and his family size, poverty, or inclinations towards something taboo (as if Guy really had any right to judge any of those points, being a gay father of four who had grown up poor as dirt).
"Guy Avery," he said, not bothering to use his first name. He doubted that this man was from his own time from the way he held himself and spoke. After all, the man was in jeans while Guy was sweating bullets in a wool suit.