Conversation and Correspondence PV Peri Closed

| @Anastasia Beckett |

Fate had a funny sense of humor and an appetite for irony. As Ana ascended the stairs, someone else descended, a Ravenclaw in a situation both similar in some ways, inverse in others, to the Gryffindor's. As a pureblood heir, Pericles was immensely fortunate to possess parents who did not forcibly feed him a familial agenda. His time at Hogwarts had taught him that he was, frankly, lucky to have loving parents at all. His mother Cenedril, despite being an heiress, had decidedly abandoned her familial obligations and chosen to reside as a wild divinator. His father Isaac, once an esteemed gentleman on a Ministry pedestal, had become largely disenchanted with the noble side of society after his "alteration" isolated him. It stood to reason that they did not demand a life of societal subservience from their son. Yet all the same, there was something about the iconic duo which drove Peri to perfection. The boy had been raised on tales of their talents and exploits, stories of unpredictable adventures, unforeseen inventiveness, and award-worthy accomplishments. Those who came before them each held a name of note. Their portraits throughout the family manor depicted noble explorers and regal warriors. Now their name was in the shadows, subtly omitted from pureblood conversations. Its restoration depended upon him. What choice did he have but to be magnificent?

This left little room for failure. His entry into Hogwarts meant it was time to start considering his future, preparing to fit the family mold. Letters home spoke fondly of his friends, but especially of any accomplishments in clubs, sports, and prefectdom. All incidences involving fire and fatality were omitted. Omission was like eating a meal one has a moderate allergy to: he would stomach it to be polite, to avoid any confrontation or disappointment, though this left him in a mounting state of agony (and indigestion). One such letter had just been sent, painstakingly written with handsome penmanship and enthusiastic accounts of the duel he had won the day prior. Impressions were paramount to success. Navigating the Beckett's ball had been his first exercise in representation, and it had gone well, or so he hoped. The mere fact that he and his father received an invitation had been cause for celebration on its own. There may be hope for the family name yet... though, he wasn't keen to dwell on this for all to long, as doing so always led to a sleepless night wrought with existential dread.

Pericles preferred the blunt informality of Hogwarts. Here, success was not a matter of blood, House, nor wealth. They were all students one and the same, free to be their truest selves. Or at least, they ought to be. The untamed and undefined pecking order of school didn't fully free young heirs from their psychological trappings. Even away from home, with all its complications and obligations, insecurity lurked in their hearts like a beast just beyond an estate fence. These worries were fresh on Peri's mind as he exited the owlery, heart heavy as he remembered all the flowery optimism in the letter now flying for Plymouth. He'd won a duel. His patrols were perfectly uneventful. Everything was fine. Rubbish.

Forehead creased, his expression would swap from troubled to shocked as he nearly collided with Anastasia Beckett herself. A short inhale, staggering to a stop, wide eyes. When he had last seen her, he was attending the grandiose gala at her family's manor, practically a palace in comparison to the Dralt's Plymouth estate. His assignment had been to convey his family's gratitude with an armload of favors, and for a moment, his impression fluttered between the third-year in school robes and the lady in a great gown. Equally, his mind struggled briefly between the airs put on that night and his natural school behavior while the boy blurted "Oh! Hullo, Ana...stasia." No, that didn't sound right at all. Of course he would rather eat a shoe than be forced to use honorifics here, but the words came clunky, laced with uncertainty. He tried to rectify the ungainly line by tacking on an entirely unhelpful, blatantly forced, "How are you?" Pericles could practically taste the shoddy attempt at salvaging an interaction. At a loss on how to mend the matter after two botched attempts, the Ravenclaw conceded, admitting failure with a final "Sorry." He smile was awkward, but a great deal more earnest than the question had been.

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This was why Ana ought to refrain from walking about when she was in a particularly pensive mood. She was generally fairly aware of her surroundings, but when she got lost in thought, she might as well be blindfolded. She nearly collided with someone who was evidently leaving the Owlery. Her Quidditch reflexes kicked in before her brain caught up and disaster was averted. "Goodness!" she said before glancing up to see who it was. A wave of pride rushed through her that she had not produced any of the several expletives that leaped to mind before 'goodness'. She was already embarrassed enough for not watching where she was going and not in the mood for an argument, so swearing was not the ideal response to the situation.

Truth be told, she was more than a little embarrassed over it even though nothing had happened. The reason that she assured herself of was that she liked to think of herself as intelligent and reasonably observant, thus not someone who barreled into people like a bull. An additional factor that she was not fully cognizant of was the fact that the Gala had made her aware of exactly how many of her schoolmates had parents that were considered influential in the Pureblood world, and more importantly, exactly how many of her schoolmates could impact her already difficult task.

Her distress lessened somewhat when she saw who the person she had nearly run down was. She knew Pericles at least in passing from the Headliner, although beyond that, they didn't have a great deal of overlap, what with them being different years and houses, and participating in different extracurriculars. He had come to her Gala and been vastly more pleasant than some of the other guests. So, while she perhaps did not have a great deal of knowledge about him, what she did know was positive.

Truth be told, her tired brain was having a difficult time deciding how she ought to behave and address him. The last time they had spoken had been at the Gala, with each of them dressed to the nines and employing every bit of formality appropriate for the situation. Now, Ana's ballgown and elaborate updo had been replaced with school robes and a hair ribbon, and while she may have looked like an especially prim and put-together schoolgirl, she was clearly a schoolgirl nonetheless. The only things so much as hinting at her status were her mother's locket and the Beckett signet ring on her left pinky, neither of which was very ostanteious or even all that noticeable.

Pericles seemed to be having a similar dilemma as to deciphering how much formality this situation encountered. While Ana wanted to be respected in the Pureblood world, she didn't actually want to go about school being addressed with her full title. Despite the few times she might find it enjoyable to whip out in an argument, it was a burden and one she would rather not bear during every interaction with schoolmates.

"Hello, Pericles," she replied. "And, truly, Ana's perfectly alright." Ana was what the majority of her friends called her. Nobody really called her Anastasia anymore other than adults and friends when they happened to be irritated at her. There were a handful of people who addressed her as Beckett, but Ana was fairly certain that none of them liked her much. Or at all. In any event, she wasn't sure about her feelings on that matter, considering who she shared the Beckett name with. The name Anastasia wasn't entirely hers either, she had shared it with three other Anastasia Becketts. Her parents hadn't allowed nicknames growing up, so Ana was the only one that Ana considered fully her own.

There was also the fact that she knew for a fact that Ana and Lady Anastasia Blair Marie Katherine Alexandra Sophia Isabella Ann Beckett IV weren't the same person. One of them played Quidditch and cursed and accidentally set herself on fire at school dances and the other was really more of a facade that was brought out to wear ballgowns and host and attend extravagant events.

"I'm doing well enough, and you?" she said, the flame in her cheeks not entirely extinguished. While she didn't need to be Lady Beckett all the time at school, there was a basic level of decorum that she was expected to conduct herself with that most definitely did not include running people down in the stairway. At Pericles' apology, a smile of faint amusement made its way to her lips and she relaxed slightly. "No need to apologize, I ought to have paid more attention to where I was going."

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