A dark-dressed fair-haired duo wove through the throng of shoppers. The tallest seemed to carve a path for them; it may have been his foreboding aura, or perhaps his odd dress. After all, the man was nearly covered from head to toe: a long cloak far too heavy for summer weather, black boots and gloves of shining leather, tinted round glasses, and, of all things, an umbrella. Between his wide-brimmed hat and high collar, one could only spy a narrow nose and hint of a stark white beard. Besides him walked Pericles Dralt.
"Father." Though the word was meant as a question, it sounded like an afterthought, given his distraction while trying to snag his parent's attention. Isaac Dralt recognized the tone coupled with the more formal 'father': his son wanted something. A lidded stare swiveled behind those dark lenses, sliding down the length of his pointed nose. He followed the trajectory of Pericles' intense focus, realized its target was Magical Menagerie, and quickly put the pieces together. A dark voice rumbled beneath the din of Diagon Alley, stern yet encouraging.

"Go on, then."
"Thank you!"
"You've ten minutes, then we must meet at Dogweed & Deathcap."
"Right, of course!"
"No more tarantulas."
"...yes, dad."

Pericles practically sprinted across the street, nearly colliding with a witch when he hastily tried to check the time on his pocket watch. Punctuality, or so he was told, was a key trait for any respectable Dralt. Surely ten minutes was adequate time to make up his mind? He began searching at the first selection of creatures he came across: toads. Instantly, the Ravenclaw's thoughts traveled to Hogwarts where his Frog Choir companion was being watched after. Perhaps "Prospero" ought to have been adopted as a pet and brought home? A flicker of guilt came then went. No, he assuaged himself: they were merely "singing partners". He cared for the little creature, though it was best not to make him a permanent fixture outside of Hogwarts.

Moving on from the croaking chorus, Pericles paused at an assortment of rats. He crouched to peer into the lower cages, touching the tip of a finer to the bars. Some skittered away, others fearlessly approached, curiously jutting their snouts through to search him for scents of food. A sleepy smile spread across his freckled face. They were wonderfully clever creatures, rats. He imagined he could teach one all sorts of tricks, from navigating mazes to fetching certain objects on command. They could easily be carried around in a pocket. Ah... but his thoughts strayed to school once more. He had become terribly fond of several cats there, from Xailah's Schrödinger to Ruby's Apollo. The lad abhorred the idea of getting into a spat with any fair feline trying to tear up his cloak for an afternoon snack. Reluctantly, after petting a paw curled around a bar, he drew away again.

Five minutes already come and gone. A soft frown fell upon his watch before it was tucked away again. What the Ravenclaw had hoped would be an easy selection was now proving to be incredibly complex. He observed the owls with an ongoing uncertainty; his father had a Great Horned owl, a powerful proud creature, while his mother relied on a barn owl, elegant and swift. There were many beautiful beasts, all perfectly practical: wasn't it time to stop relying on school owls, to choose a carrier of his own? Oh, but this summer was an awfully lonesome one. Before attending Hogwarts, Pericles hadn't known what he was missing out on. He was content with the quiet, the still, the solitude. Then in a rush of adventures and encounters, he had met many witches and wizards, seen so many strange things, shared all manner of bizarre experiences. Pericles had convinced himself he was the only student not living it up at the London Stadium. Where before the tranquility of his home was a welcome state to be in, it was now too calm. Tarantulas did not make the kindest of company either. As these thoughts caught up to him, his vigor began to plummet. Enthusiasm drained as glumness oozed in. Hopes of finding a pet were dulled out by icier inclinations, thus relenting to his little rain cloud, Pericles forfeited his search and made for the door. That was where he met her.

As soon as the door was pushed ajar, before he could take a single step, a melodic trill was mewled by his boots. He froze, looking down in time to see a pair of striking blue eyes staring back. It was a cat- a Siamese, specifically, with a seal-point coat. Pericles' eyebrows bounced. She seemed expectant, if politely so, poised motionless with a look in her eye which implied he was meant to do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for her. "Oho!" Ernest Witticker, polishing his wire-framed glasses behind the counter, had barked a gruff chuckle. "Well, look who decided to come home!" Still standing in the doorway, the boy glanced back. "I- sorry. Is this your cat, sir?" The shopkeep waved a weathered hand. "I'd like t'think she's for sale, but she doesn't seem to agree with me! Doesn't matter how well I lock her up. She comes and goes as she pleases, that one, always Houdini-ing out when she fancies. Always comes back before dinner though." Pericles had yet to move. He could only gawk. Was this love? "Could..." again, over his shoulder, "...could I buy her?" Ernest, sliding his spectacles on again, peered over the top in an amused way. Wryly he pried, "I s'pose I don't see why not, if'n you've got the coin."

Pericles was hardly present while he counted galleons out onto the counter. The feline had elected to leap atop it, chattering quietly, seeming to ignore the presence of a guest while calling for her meal. She looked regal, dignified, though the cleverness of her escaping escapades was what had sold him. A name came to him in little time at all- Athena: goddess of wisdom and war. Too often were these terms separated as matters of brain and brawn. Athena understood that one simply could not have war without wisdom- not a good war, anyhow. She was a tactical, practical goddess, and as a bookworm who aspired to become a formidable Auror, Pericles could only hope to take a page from her book. This wise little warmonger would be a living reminder of that, a sentient seal-point symbol of his aspirations. Had his father only expected him to look at pets...? He couldn't recall. All was lost in the lovey-dovey haze of a boy who had found his first constant companion.

What animal do you wish to purchase? Classic Siamese What do you want to name it? Athena Is this a boy or a girl? Girl What is your pet's date of birth? August 10, 2016