Albus smiled at the prospect of her offer. "My sister," he answered easily, almost immediately. "It's been years since she had a chance to get her portrait done." The only paintings of her in Godric's Hollow had been from when she was much younger, but here, the opportunity existed quite plainly.
Besides, a housewarming party was quite enough; he had no intention of telling Gellert they were going to sit for a portrait like some married couple. Some day, perhaps, when reason instead of prejudice and moral phobias were more effectively curtailed, Albus might regard such activities more charitably. The great danger to Lockewood was its insulation, and the fantasy it provided. Albus had never much cared for pretense than was necessary.
As he fetched a glass and began to fill it with wine, Albus found himself asking, "Was it always your ambition to pursue art? I ask because, unless there is another Amelia Bones," which was possible, he supposed, with common enough names, "it seems that you went into politics."