Plymouth, England

Sunset, overcast

@Jay Victoria

December 23rd, '23

The ride home from school was always surreal. If asked, Pericles wouldn't be able to say whether it was Plymouth or Hogwarts that felt more like a dream, though they certainly seemed like two different worlds. The quiet Express ride to Station 9 and ^3/4 brought him back to the "real" world, where his grandmother waited in a scarlet saree, a shock of red standing out against the crowd. She seemed smaller than he'd remembered. Weren't they eye-level in the summer...? Pericles shook off the strange feeling and looped his arm around hers. While they strolled for a ways to the Plymouth portkey, they would work through the pleasantries: chats about duelling, classes, and his practices as a newly-turned animagus. It wasn't long before Mamo dropped the news. "Your father's waiting for you at the office, aligned with a business venture he couldn't afford to reschedule." Pericles furrowed his forehead, processed the announcement, then looked to his grandmother with an exaggerated frown. She sent back a squint, and he answered with a pout, but ultimately sighed in resignation. The last thing he wanted to do on his first night home was be caged in a boring business meeting.

That wasn't to say that Isaac Dralt was an inconsiderate father. He met his heir with a warm welcome, as warm as a vampire could be, though Peri would find himself looped into a conversation consisting of regurgitated lines from the trip there. Duelling was great, school was fine, and no, he wasn't using his animagus ability to break any rules. None that he was pinned for, anyways. They caught up in an office hidden in plain sight on the English channel. The front door was heavily enchanted with muggle-repellent charms, while the windows were made from frosted glass. Its interior was decorated with globes and maps, mementos from their travels in glass cases, models of the family fleet floating in bottles, and painted ships bobbing on acrylic storms. An old Sergei Rachmaninoff record played piano from a corner. Empty squares on the wall were filled by framed accolades, a testimony to the Dralt business' authenticity. The display conveyed that they were competent sailors, proud of their magical heritage, gentlepersons of fine taste who could be unconditionally trusted with another wizard's wares. Never you mind the commodore's appetite for blood.

Funny thing that timing was, Pericles had arrived all the way there not long before the upcoming appointment. There wasn't enough time to talk about who was coming, or what the nature of their deal was, aside from a name. Victoria was familiar, but he wouldn't pin where he'd heard it until the father and son duo entered.