After settling matters at work and with family regarding his hasty, amortentia-induced elopement to February Lynch, Edric had set out on finding the perfect house. Long ago he'd promised her a cottage by the sea, and he intended to keep that promise—though he admittedly had little idea he'd be standing on the coastline of the Isle of Sheppey in an attempt to do so. Edric had employed a portkey to get them there, having little desire to locate the nearest floo access point on the mostly-muggle nearby village, and now they stood in front of the seaside cottage, the roar of nearby ocean waves providing much needed white noise to the secluded area.

"It's your call, Febs," he said, his gaze sweeping over the gate, gardens, and empty pen—which he supposed had housed chickens some time long ago. "The ocean's nearby, there's a garden, a place for a library... the only question is whether you could call it home." Improvements would need to be done: the roof would need repaired, the gates replaced, and it would likely need a fresh coat of pain—but that's what magic was for.

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