When Evan walked into the little shop with the shelves stacked to the rafters with bolts of colorful, clashing cloth his head swam, his claustrophobia crept in. He had been on his back foot since he asked if there was a McGonagall tartan. He wasn’t sure why that name sprang to mind. The owner informed that "the McGonagalls were queer folk I've naught to do wit’" and if he wanted McGonagall plaid, he could "feck off.’ Donald smoothed over the ruffled feathers, and Evan ended up with a Wilson tartan, Donald’s surname.