Will's anxieties might have been given away by small, telltale hints in his bearing, but Arcturus remained entirely unaware of them. Despite the candlelight, the tavern was dim, and he wasn't observing closely. As he saw it, there was nothing at all to be concerned about, and so he simply assumed that Will wouldn't be. Once they reached the table, he stuck out his hand to shake the other boy's, feeling that an element of proper greeting was necessary. As always, his handshake was firm and confident – something he'd been taught the importance of as a very small boy.
'I'm pleased to meet you, too,' he said, evenly and not insincerely. One leg of his chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as he pulled it back, but before he could sit down he noticed Will staring intently at his broomstick. Arcturus couldn't help but smile at that, and he shook his head at the self-deprecating comment that followed.
'You aren't an idiot. If you were, I shouldn't have invited you. Take your coat off if you like, it's warm enough in here.' It was the coat which made him stand out, Arcturus thought, but he had enough tact not to say outright what he thought of bright modern muggle clothes. Others in Everdale wore vivid colours, including Arcturus himself on occasion, but there was always something different in the qualities of the clothing which marked visitors from Ravenmoore as outsiders. It might not have been warm in their corner of the tavern, but Arcturus guessed that Will would still be more comfortable if he blended in a little more.
Then he turned towards the broomstick. 'Do you like it? It's a genuine Celeritas. My father bought it for me. Did I tell you that I was on our house Quidditch team at school? There are only two of us from the fourth form in the team, the rest are all older. There isn't a faster broom than this back where I came from.' His speech was rapid, and a genuine enthusiasm lit up his features. Arcturus missed school, and he especially missed Quidditch. Although Hogwarts of the 19th century might seem a terrible place to a student from the 21st, Arcturus was wealthy and popular and respected for his family name, and as he saw it the good more than outweighed the bad.
'Take a closer look if you like,' he went on. 'You can't fly it, naturally, but I doubt you can do it any harm either.' It was obviously very well-cared for, with the twigs all neatly trimmed and the broom itself nicely polished. A small directional compass was attached to the front end. Quidditch players had to know how to look after their own broomsticks, and even Arcturus, who would have been horrified at the suggestion that he clean anything else – that being work for house-elves, and very much beneath him – took the idea seriously.
Glancing back at the table, he realised what he'd forgotten to ask, and quickly remedied the situation. 'I'll just get a beer for you, shall I? I expect you're thirsty after the journey here.'