Arcturus frowned. Cassiopeia was hardly any older than his cousin Lacerta at home, and it would be a very long time before she could be described as the matriarch of anything. He wouldn't want Mr Volkov upsetting her with stories of Azkaban even if she were a hundred, though. It wasn't right. Women should be protected from that sort of thing. Yet he decided not to argue the point. It was hardly an immediate concern.
Instead, he looked out the window, trying to estimate how far they had already come. 'I think that we're about eight miles away,' he answered. 'Perhaps a little less. My broom's a Celeritas; with no obstructions I can easily fly forty miles an hour. Perhaps forty-five at the limit.' Arcturus sounded proud of the fact, and with good reason. It was extremely fast – for a broomstick made in 1848, at least. It didn't occur to him that it might seem like an antique to a wizard from the future. 'Shall I go?' Arcturus asked. Considering the return journey, it meant that Mr Volkov would have his chocolate perhaps half an hour earlier than expected. Arcturus didn't know how critical these things were.