closed Growing Pains Solo

Semi continued from AAII

Dralt Estate - Plymouth, England

July 3rd, 2022

The first days of Pericles' third summer were less of a "vacation" than he had hoped for. His father, Isaac, had a sharp knack for reading others, particularly where his family was concerned. He had lapsed into that obnoxiously loving, paternal sport of trying to pinpoint what was off about his heir. The young wizard had generally kept to his room, fussing over his tarantula collection and scribbling in his notebooks. It could have easily been justified as puberty: locking one's self away was definitely a thing teenagers did. Yet this felt different. Isaac didn't care to ask what was wrong. He wanted to be told, so he went about his not-so-subtle prying, pushing for father-son bonding time under polite pretenses. Surely he could pack for the summer duel tourney and have a chat with his old man at the same time. A knock on the door, a hot cup of tea in hand, and Pericles just couldn't say no.

Conversation had started simply: talk of duels, tactics, predictions for the summer matches. It moved on to classes, what he had learned and what subjects he favored. Everything changed with one fateful line: "A fourth-year already," Isaac had mused, shaking his head. "How quickly your tenure has passed. Come to think of it, you must have faced a boggart by now." Pericles had just gathered up a handful of moss to transfer into a terrarium. He fumbled the clump, dropped it to the floor, and mutely scrambled to gather it up again. This uncharacteristic gracelessness and heavy silence were telling. Isaac watched with an intense expression, a sinking sensation starting in his stomach. "What was yours?" the boy asked abruptly. His words were hurried, forced, to one who knew how to listen. "In school. Back then. What was your boggart?" He wasn't ready to admit his own. If his father knew the boggart bore his likeness, he would be heartbroken, a result the heir decided was better avoided altogether by burying the truth.

"Your grandmother." Pericles became rigid at the answer. He turned to send and incredulous stare at Isaac, who answered with a wry smile. "Your boggart was Mamo Tama?" he prompted. "In a sense," his father drawled, removing a heel from its propped place on the opposite knee, sitting straighter. The vampire's voice was nonchalant, though there were undertones of old regret. "I wasn't afraid of my own mother, no matter how severe she may be. I was more frightened by the thought that I would not meet her expectations. When I was a boy, she kept a hideous statuette on an altar in her room. The boggart combined her with the idol: four arms, a rolling tongue, and these terrible red eyes. It was awful, seeing my mother that way. But more so, it was terrible to hear her voice deeming me a disappointment. It echoed all of the unkind doubts I'd held against myself."

Pericles had come to a standstill, watching intently with a crinkled brow, processing the fact that his father had gone through a shockingly similar experience. "But you weren't," he stated flatly. "You were a prefect, a Quidditch player, one of the tops of your class." "Aye," Isaac agreed with a shrug, "only I became so fixated on the things that I had yet to do, that I failed to see the value in all I had accomplished." He paused before adding with a bounce of the eyebrows, "You've accomplished a great deal yourself, you know." Peri felt the tips of his ears go warm. He managed an awkward expression, gratitude wrestled with guilt, struggling to hide the uncertainty plaguing him. He merely mumbled a short "Thank you" as he tucked the moss into an enclosure. Isaac smiled in that knowing way and pushed himself to stand. For a moment, he clearly debated closing the gap between them, or offering other words of encouragement, yet must have concluded he'd heckled enough for one day. Instead he added only: "Something to think about. I'll leave you to it. Don't let your tea go cold."