Jack ran a hand through his hair self conciously, it might be true but he appreciated her letting him off the hook and aswaging his conscience in words. He wasn't ordinarily an anxious sort but there was something unsettling about swearing like a sailor in front of a girl he had known since her childhood, even though she was a grown society lady now. That was added to the fact she was the bosses sister.

'No' he admitted, 'He's one of those sensible ministry men now, probably has more good sense than those of us who still fling ourselves around the pitch for a living.' he gave a wry laugh. His own mother had great anxieties about his work, she saw her and their father dead and buried and Jack dead or crippeled and the whole family tumbling into ruination with quidditch as the cause. He did his best to reassure her, but nothing short of his retirement from playing the sport would satisfy her, and although the shelf life for a quidditch player was not forever Jack was determined to play as much, for as long as he possibly could. Prewett who had been captain before him hadn't done badly for himself despite playing for as long as was possible without a slump.

'Do you miss it?' he asked, daring a slightly more personal question, 'I mean it must be hard going from playing regularly to never being really allowed on a broom? he put air quotes around allowed, since there was no law, but it would certainly be socially frowned upon for a Roses alum to sail above Hogsmeade on a broom stick.