Ford had no conception of what field work could possibly be involved in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, much less any Quidditch-specific office (which he had assumed without clarifying that Cash was a part of). What would they do, just go watch matches? Spot-check the enchantments on player's broomsticks to make sure they were all within regulations? (Were there even regulations on broomstick charms? He was making this up as he went along; aside from the names of the positions on a Quidditch team, the entire sport was more or less a black box to Ford).
"Less interesting than mine, definitely," he said, lightly teasing. This was — fine, making jokes that didn't mean anything. If one ignored all the stiff dead air in the first half of the conversation, a passerby might still have mistaken them for friends, hearing this. The kettle whistled and Ford turned his attention to pouring the water so that his tea could steep. "You could murder someone on a Quidditch pitch. Then maybe we'd get sent out together. If you weren't in jail already, anyway."
"Less interesting than mine, definitely," he said, lightly teasing. This was — fine, making jokes that didn't mean anything. If one ignored all the stiff dead air in the first half of the conversation, a passerby might still have mistaken them for friends, hearing this. The kettle whistled and Ford turned his attention to pouring the water so that his tea could steep. "You could murder someone on a Quidditch pitch. Then maybe we'd get sent out together. If you weren't in jail already, anyway."
Set by Lady!