A wand-comparing contest

"Right, mate, up we get."

Rory McBain had not brought a visitor to the Ugly Pigeon in almost two years, and Kenna was beginning to worry no one was going to invite anyone up since Katarina had left for school. She had been the last visitor, and had become a regular. The young artist had touched all of their hearts, even the gritty Scot, and while they were all proud she had defied familial expectations to chase her dreams, they all missed her greatly.

None more so than Kip.

But Rory had been arguing with Remy quite a lot recently. Maybe it was because Remy had been blindly taking sides with Kenna for years now, despite his friendship to Rory. Or perhaps he was just tired of the ego on the French wandmaker. He wished Remy was an idiot, or bad at what he did. The son of the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, it wouldn't be a surprise, as his rebellious attitude might imply he had abandoned academia. And he had, in the traditional sense. But he was a bloody good wandmaker.

But Rory might have met his match.

He had stopped into Ollivanders for a simple bottle of polish, but after a splendid chat with the owner, had invited him to a drink at his pub. He pushed through the crowd, leading Paul as he did, and heard his sister call after him. But Rory pressed on, up the stairs, and into their private parlor.

Bang! went the door against the wall, causing two wands to whip out.

"Where's Remy?"

Kip sighed, tucking his wand away and reaching back for his book, whilst Yuri slowly lowered his own and tucked it away, going back to his record collection. "I'm not sure, Rory. Who's this?"

"Well, where is he?" the Scot demanded.

Yuri turned and looked the pair of men up and down. "You're agitated today," he remarked.

"Must be sober," Kip quipped, with a bit of a lopsided smirk.

Kenna burst into the room, a bit breathless.

"Everything alright?" she asked, reaching out to place a hand on her brother's shoulder. "You looked... aggressive."

Rory shrugged her off. "I'm fine. Merlin, what's everyone got on me?"

Kenna was the one who had the grace and presence to recognize the poor soul who had been thrust into this confusing circle. She wiped her hands off on her apron and brushed a few flyaway hairs back, before stepping forward and offering a hand. "Hiya, sorry about my brother. I'm Kenna. You thirsty? What do you drink? On the house."

((Forgive the title, I couldn't help it))