"GUYS! I'm thirteen!" T.J.  Shouted at Shane and Watkins. Did they really think that line of conversation was appropriate? "Can you just play quidditch?" Seriously. Was all the banter and insulting of mothers and talk of adult subjects honestly necessary? T.J. didn't think so. Why couldn't they have a nice clean-esuqe game of quiddtich? 

She wasn't playing very well personally. She'd crashed in to Millie, which left her a little bruised up. And she'd only scored two goals, both boys had more. There was severely less Ting-a-Linging than they had planed, which in her professional opinion, was a good thing. Of course if Skrumpkin hadn't been so busy being silent he could have prevented Max from scoring for the wrong team. 

Since Shane was scolding Max already, T.J. decided she didn't need too. "Come on Max, just like that but in the other hoops." She wasn't really shocked. With the fog everyone was messing up. Warwick had passed the quaffle right to her. And T.J. had tried to take out Gryffindor's seeker. So far this match totally sucked. 

Probably worse for Warwick, who had the only serious injury so far. But one injury in four hours wasn't that bad was it? It was kind of good really. As they landed and headed back to the locker room, T.J. slipped one arm through Shane's. "Well that could have gone a bloody lot worse. I'd say it's going pretty well, all things considered, wouldn't you? And We're only three behind! We can totally kick some arse in the next couple hours."