FicWad

Andrea continued to watch in pure and utter confusion as her father and the enormous stranger continued with their verbose, and very enthusiastic, greeting. Some of the other customers sent her a few questioning looks, obviously under the mistaken impression that Andrea had any idea what was going on. They had no idea just how wrong they were. Andrea was just as at a loss to explain what they were witnessing as they were.

She ignored them, in favour of trying to communicated to her father through frowning and glares that she wasn't entirely happy about being left in the dark.

It didn't work.

They continued to laugh and catch up for several minutes before her father turned to her. Long enough for the other patrons and employees to lose interest and go back to their own fittings.

The seamstress that had been dealing with the large man, however, continued to hover. Wand and needle still in each hand. Trying to scowl the man into getting back onto his podium.

She didn't have any more telepathic success than Andrea did.

But an explanation did, eventually, come.

"Love, this's my old friend, Frank. He's been off gallivanting 'round the world the last while. He's just opened up a new branch of Ollivander's here in Dublin."

He was a wandmaker.

That was a little strange to Andrea. It certainly wasn't what she'd expected to learn about him. Just looking at the man, she would've guessed pegged him as an Auror, or a tamer of wild beasts, or a duellist. There was something a little wild, and a bit dangerous about him. Something so quiet and contemplative as wandmaking didn't seem like the kind of career that would've been his first choice of profession.

While Andrea wasn't usually wrong about that sort of thing, there was a first time for everything.

And it did make sense. Sort of.

Adrien worked with quite a few wandmakers, Garrick Ollivander chief among them. He sold them all sorts of wand cores, mainly unicorn hair. Although a few were interested in using the hair and feathers of their other equine charges. It made perfect sense that he'd know the man responsible for opening a new wand shop in Dublin. Especially if he was in business with the famous Ollivander.

But that explanation didn't account for how enthusiastically they greeted each other. Her father said 'Frank' was an old friend. That didn't sit so well with Andrea either. She knew, or had at the very least heard of, just about every single one of her father's old friends. Either from the man himself, or from one of their endless supply of family members.

It was strange she hadn't heard of anyone named Frank before then.

"Yeah, just a few doors down, actually," he said to them both in a strong Kerry accent, and pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his new enterprise, "I'm glad to see you, and you wee one. Haven't seen you since you were a baby, Andrea. Small enough to fit in one hand, almost."

"Nice to meet you," Andrea replied politely, though she was still a bit perturbed by the man.

They were interrupted from their introductions by a pointed cough from the increasingly impatient, beginning to border on belligerent, seamstress who was still hovering scowlingly around Frank. When they turned back in her direction, both men seemed surprised she was still there. She brandished her needle and pincushion at them emphatically, and gestured toward the podium Frank had previously inhabited.

"Mr. Clarke, if you would like to return to your fitting," she suggested in a way that implied Frank didn't have any choice in the matter. Though Andrea was curious to exactly what the little old witch was planning to do if Frank, behemoth that he was, resisted, "We don't have time to dawdle much longer if you want your robes to be ready in time for the banquet."

"Of course, Mrs. Connelly," Frank apologised, sincerely as far as Andrea could see, and immediately moved back to take his place on the podium, "Got distracted, old friends, you know how that can be."

Mrs. Connelly couldn't seem to resist the charm of Frank Clarke. The smile that exposed his bright white teeth, and his handsome face won her over in less than a minute. And the grumpy look the interruption of her work caused was gone just like that. Replaced with a rather indulgent smile that seemed rather odd for the woman to be wearing.

Andrea had a feeling Frank Clarke had a similar effect on most people. He was just too cheerful to stay irritated with for long.

As she returned to pinning and adjusting the fabulous bright green and turquoise robes which contrasted brilliantly with his dark skin for Frank Clarke, she turned an eye to Andrea and her father. Who had been beckoned to follow the seamstress and her customer by Mr. Clarke.

"Adrien," she greeted in a better humour than she had appeared to be at their first entering the shop, "Good to see you. School robes, I assume?

"Yeah, Mrs. Connelly," he replied with a smile, proudly patting Andrea on the shoulder, "She's starting this September."

"Maeve's Academy or Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts," it was Andrea who spoke up this time, still clutching her Hogwarts letter and her new copy of Pollyanna.

"A good choice, child," Mrs. Connelly commented as she continued to work, "I know Dumbledore well. He's a great wizard, no one better to learn from. And he's got a real good staff there at the moment. Much better than that old cow running Maeve's now. She's a bitter old bigot, and the school'll be a lot better of when she retires."

That speech gave Andrea a lot of new information to process. She was well aware of Professor O'Mahoney's views. She'd heard her family complain about the woman too many times to count. Not to mind, they'd all refused to send any of Andrea's cousins to Maeve's Academy until she retired. That the woman thought any and all people like Andrea deserved to be rounded up and put to death by the Ministry like diseased cattle wasn't news to her.

What was news to Andrea, however, was that her family weren't the only people to think of Professor O'Mahoney like that. Her family was strange. Both in the opinion of the wider wizarding community, and by their own admission. They were a lot less afraid of the unknown than the average citizen of the wizarding world.

She hadn't been prepared to learn that their opinion of the professor was shared by ordinary witches and wizards.

Maybe there was hope for Andrea after all.

"Thanks," Andrea replied tentatively, "I me Professor Dumbledore a while ago. I really liked him."

Mrs. Connelly laughed. She shook her head and turned to smile at Andrea's father.

"She's got good instincts, your girl," she said to him, "Looks like you're raising her right."

"Would you expect anything else from Adrien's girl? She's a Moran, after all," he commented with a booming laugh, "Sharp as hippogriff claws, the lot of them."

Mrs. Connelly laughed again, "Isn't that the truth."

"Thank you, Mrs. Connelly," Adrien accepted the praise bashfully, but he was obviously pleased the woman liked his daughter, "If it's too busy to fit us in now we can come back later. We don't want to be bothering you."

"Don't be silly, child," she scolded him good naturedly, "We can have a few sets of Hogwarts robes whipped up in a few minutes. I'll be thankful for the break, really. Much easier work than all the dress robe orders we've been drowning in the last week."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to be such a burden," Frank said with a heavy amount of sarcasm colouring his tone.

Mrs. Connelly swatted him on the arm and told him to shut his cheeky mouth unless he wanted to spend the next few minutes being stabbed by pins. He did the smart thing and shut the hell up.

"I'll squeeze you in when I'm done with Frankie here. You'll be in and out in no time," she assured them confidently, and turned to call out some instructions to one of her employees, "Katie, when you're done with Mrs. Young get me some of the Hogwarts material, will you?"

"'Course Ma'am," a young witch, who was apparently named Katie, acquiesced to her boss's command as she helped an older woman remove a set of nearly finished, beautiful royal blue dress robes.

"You don't have to rush with little Andrea's robes, Mrs. Connelly," Frank informed her, breaking his silence, too cheerful and chatty to keep quiet any longer, "Andrea's still to get her wand. The Moran's can come along to the shop once she's been fitted, and come back to collect them when we're all settled up with that."

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea," Mrs. Connelly agreed, "If Adrien and his girl don't have other things to be doing in the meantime."

"No, not at all," Adrien assured them both, "That sounds like a plan. Doesn't it love?"

"Sure," Andrea agreed without a second's hesitation.

She had been looking forward to getting a wand for years. It was the most exciting part about getting her school supplies by about three million miles. Give or take a few hundred miles. She could do somethings wandlessly, but it was difficult. And she knew that when people like her favoured wandless magic, it was seen as barbaric.

But if some stodgy old pureblood used wandless magic, they were a genius, or a prodigy, or some shit. Double fucking standards, right?

Besides, wands had always fascinated her. She had no idea how something so apparently simple, just a strip of wood and a feather, or a hair, or something similar, could create some of the most magically powerful objects in the world. It was just so cool.

And all grown ups had wands. Getting to have one was like wearing a big old flashing sign saying she wasn't just a little kid anymore. She was almost an adult. Well, she had a hell of a ways to go. But still! Being old enough to have a wand had to count for something. Right?

Either way, Andrea was getting a wand. And she was way too excited to even care about containing herself.