The sheer fact that they were here at all was frustrating. But if course he had relented to the task himself. Victor had his own appointment and business was business. That didn't mean he liked it. This was their first home job since the dragon attack and Elijah was still in recovery. Working in the shop was one thing. Vincent could drag himself in there for ten, thirty, maybe even sixty minutes a piece to work on various projects. Take projects back with him no matter the mess. He was never far. But here, Hogsmeade of all places, he felt so far away. Too far.

In his work pouch, which was magically expanded years ago, a pocket held supply of blood pops that was once numerous. He'd been going through them like... clockwork... without a word. He was stressed out. He didn't want that stress going anywhere else. This clock would hopefully not take too much longer. Yet in came one of the daughters to chat. Wasn't that odd in the best of times? Wasn't she in mourning? Siobhan was the natural buffer at the best of times, but right now. Oh for fuck sake. He kept working. Giving occasional glances and switching from an empty stick to a fresh pop. "Indeed, yes, where we should be." He muttered to himself. He wasn't normally like this in the least. He knew it was unprofessional. But his wife should be comforting their child, not somebody else's.