Colette had found herself busy with work, alternatively thinking about and trying to forget, then cursing Simon's name, and of course, the usual day-to-day adventures of singlehood in London.

Paulette had been, as Colette put it, busy "momming," coddling the youngest, Liam in his third year at Hogwarts from a distance and dealing with the next oldest, Tim, who, being currently unemployed and living at home, and not of a mind to change this particularly comfortable situation, had entirely forgotten the existence of her eldest child for a time. She had taken the opportunity of a Magpies-Tornadoes match in Scotland that she would report on in order to bond with the other female Wheaton. Colette had met her  there, ready with Magpie scarf and laser-shooting binoculars. (Innocuous yet distracting and perfectly legal. She hoped.)

Knowing that Quidditch was never a safe subject between her mother and herself, Colette had taken the opportunity to invite her friend, Niobe Thursby to the game, on the pretense of "official reporting" for the Prophet. She had prepped Niobe somewhat on her mother's job and disposition. She only hoped she might serve as an effective buffer.

The three now seated in the VIP box with the rest of the press, Colette sat, engrossed in the game. Colette was always fond of cheering for the winning team -- there was a certain sort of bureaucratic security in such hierarchical alliances --  but her nature prompted her to root for the underdog as well. At present, that seemed to be the Tornadoes. Colette whistled at the fantastic save made by Magpie Snark. She had a particular soft spot for those who played her previous position. She also happened to have a soft spot for attractive males that made Snark particularly easy to look at.

"If Forrester hadn't been so premature in his --" Paulette began in a light quip, pausing as Colette began to stand up, sucking in breath -- Forrester was falling, apparently unseated by a bludger. Paulette knew what would come next as she watched her daughter.

"Oh, COME ON! FOR ALBAN'S SAKE THAT'S A PERSONAL FOUL!" She gestured angrily at the beater.

Colette's mother cast a glance at Niobe. "I take it you don't hear much of that in your reporting, Ms. Thursby?"

"These may be excellent seats," Colette said, recollecting herself as she sat back down, "but I don't think they can hear us from here," she complained, taking off her Magpie's scarf.

"You're not going to want to take that off just yet," Paulette reassured.

There were brooms and various quidditch equipment scattered in the press box.  After checking to make sure that the bludger had gone on its merry way, James noticed a gaggle of reporters.  Irving’s equipment seemed to be mostly intact and on her, but after James took a second bludger hit that day, his pads went flying all over the place.  Irving shot off to the south, but he would take what he got.  If nothing else he had an opportunity to briefly talk to the press.  Any opportunity to talk to the press was a good opportunity, but he did need to get back to the game quickly.

“While I am getting my gear back together, I probably have time to take one question,” he said to the group of reporters, simultaneously putting his pads back on.  The GM always did say publicity was important after all, and if he could prove that he could handle the press it might make contract negotiations that much simpler.  He thought he noticed that girl he saw at Signature about a month back, but it had been sometime and he had not seen her since.  Still, he seemed to have jumped into a horde of Magpies fans so he doubted the press would be very forgiving.  Not that talking to the press in the middle of the match was something conventionally done anyways, but when the match had more fouls than scores, he figured his teammates could handle it without him for a minute.

“Accio pads” James cast, bringing a particularly faraway piece of equipment into his hand.  As he fastened his pads, he still needed to put on one more piece of equipment before he went back on the field.  It should give the press enough time to ask their question, and for him to reply.

Forrester, from Signature, was making his way towards them now, turning to curse angrily at the beater who seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. Not that Colette truly blamed Pennyapple. There had been fouls on both sides; but that was how the game worked. Pennyapple was certainly less subtle about it, but she supposed that in his capacity as a beater, it was permissible.

What Forrester had to say to Pennyapple, however, made her day.

“Hey Pennyapple! I realize you bat for the other team and all, but could you stop hitting on me?  Though I am a lefty, I am not a switch-batter,” James yelled, making sure he had that completely mocking tone correct.

With a resonating "Ha!" that made her mother turn towards her, Colette caught eyes momentarily with the reserve chaser -- she wondered, idly, why they had him starting as chaser and not seeker; the Tornadoes' seeker had, it seemed, done nothing, though Irving was jetting towards her (presumed) target, the snitch.

But Colette could only be distracted for so long by attractive Quidditch players in her midst; she had, as always, her eye on the keepers: her position. And Cuddyer had just made a save.

“While I am getting my gear back together, I probably have time to take one question," the man was saying, and Colette, in a bit of agitation as she noted Cuddyer's predicament of having no one clear to pass to blurted,

"Yeh! Why the hell aren't you up there?!" she gestured angrily to the keeper's hoops.

Despite Colette's rabid sportswoman demeanour, her senses honed in to the action, she heard her mother clear her throat. A slight cringe from Colette -- it could be preparation for a question, but she sensed a slight reprimand in it. There was a reason why Colette was not a reporter. Even if she refused to admit it.

"This is your first time starting, Mr Forrester, and you took advantage with an early -- unsuccessful -- attempt at the goals. How is this an advantage to the Tornadoes?" she asked, stern-faced.

Colette's eyes narrowed as she spun to observe her mother. She almost missed Forrester's -- welcome -- departure from the pressbox in order to catch Cuddyer's pass and to --

"SCORE!" Colette cheered, jumping a bit as she did so. It didn't matter, at the moment, that she had come as a magpie. In fact, Colette stuffed her magpies scarf -- the evidence -- further down into her purse. She paused, however, in her efforts to conceal to watch the elegant lines of Snark's arm as he made a throw.

Shite the man had good form. He was yelling something that Colette couldn't hear. She felt she would give nearly anything to hear. . . Such an attractive man. . .

"Watch your mouth," Paulette chided idly, and Colette realised she must have voiced her somewhat rough appreciation for Snark aloud. She blushed slightly and said,

"Can't help but notice."

"Snark's slipping."

"Snark made a mistake. It's not the same, you know. He's still better than Cuddyer, I'd say. He's got age to show for it, but there's a sort of elegance in the way he deflects . . . anyhow, we can see from Forrester that mistakes aren't the same as slipping. It seemed he was doomed in the beginning, but he rallied."

"It was a mistake to start him, I think. Very impulsive and preemptive. To poor effect. I wonder what discipline they have in the Tornadoes."

Colette bristled visibly. "It is best to be preemptive in the game -- it gets the game started; it. . . it sets the tone for the game. . ." Colette didn't know why she found herself defending James' entry into the game; it hadn't been the most prudent and the stunt in the press box had actually angered her a little -- smacked of arrogance, leaving the game and teammates like that. She could only guess that they were now arguing in the language of James Forrester.

"If he would apply himself a bit more to the game, I would have to agree with you, Colette. But he seems to be both pushing things forward without the presence of mind to take advantage of opportunities when they come. That botched interception?"

Apply himself, Colette thought with a tense jaw. That was what she hadn't done, wasn't it? That was why she had been second-string when recruiting time had come. "If they would start him more often, perhaps he'd get the opportunity to get fully invested in the game. . ." she retorted, looking to Niobe for some support in this.

James heard the lady shout her question, and a perplexed look came upon his face.  He thought these people were sports writers, and should know why he had time to take one question.  As it was though, his face was towards his leg, tightening some straps of his pads.

”It is illegal to re-enter the air without all of my pads on,” James explained in a polite tone, finally fastening that last strap.  He did not know where that rule came from, but James was thankful for it.  It did give him the excuse to do a little press talk in the middle of the match and the coach could not yell at him for it.  Depending on how this went, the GM might even thank him for it.

”Up” James said, bringing his broom towards him. Though he heard the elder ladies question, he already kicked off and did not have time to respond.  Which was really too bad, he would have liked to answer it.  Taking a split second to turn his head toward her, he shouted back at her, “To see how they reacted,” already flying back towards the match.  Whatever else happened in the pressbox, James probably not be aware of it unless he crashed there again.