Let it be known that Duncan Flickwick of Mandrake Siren was never regarded as punctual or well-prepared and on the contrary, liked to make things as difficult as possible when it came to organisation of any sort. It wasn’t deliberate so much as it was tradition with bands to keep their audience in waiting in order to build suspense and simulate the thrill early on. In his mind, Duncan recalled all those times as a young lad huddled shoulder to shoulder with fellow worshippers, all crowded together on a sticky bar floor in anticipation. The floors were always littered with sawdust to soak up the spillages of stout and the mist of sweat and they were places only teenage boys with too much energy would dare venture, but those old dives where were it all began for Duncan; being witness to modern gods, hair plastered to their faces, throwing themselves around on stage as though they were Mick Jagger.

In the hall, the lights had been dimmed almost to nothing with only spotlights piercing the stage but the outline of Duncan was so practised in the unravelling of cables and wire-taping of set lists that he could set the whole place up blindfolded. There was scuttling at the back of him but as he peered out at the vision of the hall, he felt a great sense of tranquillity, and no rush of anxiety or adrenaline. The exhilaration that came from performing still coursed wildly through his veins but nerves never dizzied him the same as they had when they were a baby band. He was a seasoned musician now, learned in the ways of showmanship and knew most importantly that as a performer and an Irishman, it was always better to take a bottle of water on stage than beer.

Bare chests and ripped, filthy jeans hadn’t been completely out of the question until it occurred to Duncan that he might just cause Sophie to curl up and die of embarrassment at her old man’s nipples on display to the Hogwarts student body. He had gone for a slim-fitting ‘Muggle Drunk’ band shirt, matched with a pair of dark jeans tucked into long-tongued leather boots, and not a bad choice for a man of his age, if he might say. Having ran a  smidgen of wax through his hair for an unkempt style, Duncan Flickwick looked just as you would have imagined him, loyal to the genre but with certain modern conformities in his dress.

Glancing at his watch, Duncan realised that although they were running behind schedule, Sophie would be around any minute then, or with any luck. She wasn’t built for the heavy lifting, but he had taught her to tune up the guitars to standard and she had a great ear for the sound tests. As he rose from his knees, Duncan carefully taped a fresh red rose to his microphone stand, and awaited the arrival of his youngest daughter and followers.

Sophie scuttled through the tent - she'd managed to get the photobooth set up and help with the SAWS and a few other things that needed arranging. Now she had to meet with her dad - she felt a giddy sort of excitement coursing through her veins. She was running because she'd had to make a trip back to the tower for Duncan's valentine. She'd worked so hard on it this year; the mounted poster was almost as big as she was, it came up past her waist when set on the ground. It was a grand gesture from his little girl. She wanted him to know, and other people to know that he was the reason she was the way she was; or at least he was a big part of the reason. When she felt like she just couldn't meassure up, like she'd never be as good as Ruby, as smart as Emer, or as talented as Johnny her father was there to ask her a question that he was quite sure she was the only one capable of answering. When he was proud of her she felt like maybe...just maybe she hadn't been an accident at all.

Leaning the wrapped valentine against the drum kit she tried to sneak up on her father - only how her running footsteps as she took a flying leap onto his back echoed on the stage. At least if he heard her coming (like a heard of hippogrygffs according to Nana) they wouldn't stage dive into an audience that wasn't there. That would be very bad, and had happened before. Sophie needed seven stitches - on account of they were in New York and she was with her Abula who did not know about Wizarding cures. It was kind of a pain. She still had the scar too; it wasn't as cool as a Harry Potter lightening scar but it was pretty boss to show off as a badge of band honor. Clinging to Duncan's neck her feel were several inches off the ground (when she was little she was sure her father was part giant), "You should throw the rose to Professor V. She's my new favorite. She's got bright red hair and is totally boss with potions," five seconds and she was already talking his ear off; "Happy Valentine's Day Pops. Please tell me all your bits and pieces are covered"