There were a number of things he could have said to answer that slight, small grin and he hesitated for a moment between what was true and what would indemnify. But Quentin was not Gryffindor and trust, while given, was not a thing of which he could easily speak.
"Go to the Wizengamot then," he said finally. "Your word holds more currency than my own." That. It was more trust than he'd given anyone in years, except perhaps Baddock, although he wasn't sure that Charlie could understand that. It was like placing a wand in his palm and then closing the man's fingers around it.