“Hope you ride your mum better than you do that broom, Shane, or she’ll never speak to you again!”

“Slow as fuck from rolling off the wrong side of your mum this morning, Pete. Couldn't hear much last night since her mouth was full, but I think she said something about being a Badger fan.”

And so it went on. As predicted their original and entertaining plan was woefully too little too late for the Hufflepuffs, it didn’t help that Cait’s knee’s had slammed hard into his shoulder during the first bits of the match, his plan to keep the Gryffindor’s beaters on his right wasn’t holding up because he couldn’t honestly tell where they were even when they were under his nose, and Warwick kicking that Quaffle out of his grip was still stinging his pride. Not as much as his side putting in a goal on their own keeper. That had a very frustrated Shane yelling out on the pitch.

“Get your head out of your arse, Westbrook! For fuck’s sake!”

He took this next break in their game play and laid himself out on their bench, a moody fist pressed up against his furrowed brow. The whole game was at a stand still, they were at a crawl on the Chaser line, though the three of them were working about as closely together as they dared, the Quaffle still landed on the pitch 9 times out of 10 it seemed. He wasn’t up to listening to upbeat ‘you can do it’ speeches and was relieved when he could finally walk back out on the pitch and into that frustrating fog.