“Been a long time coming,” Gus reiterated with a pleased nod. Honestly she was better practised in getting into disagreements (banter, mostly... well, and an occasional row) with rival teams, if only because most of them had an unpleasant thing or two to say about the Harpies. If Cardew thought similarly, he was at least pretending not to harbour them. Maybe everyone was suddenly feeling more kindly towards everyone else because they were all on the same side for once.

Although his joke did remind her that there was competition even in their own ranks, whatever the team’s title was. With a certain mercenary pragmatism Gus was sure Jack Cardew would be pleased as punch to have her spot as much as Art Pettigrew’s, but they were having a friendly talk, so this was all fun and games, no need to challenge it. “Oh, there’s a long time between now and the tournament,” Gus said brightly, with a meaningful eyebrow-waggle. “Anything can happen.” A joke, obviously. Although: injuries were injuries, and no one ever saw them coming. And Art Pettigrew was getting to be an old fart, on the quidditch scene. Who knew what his joints were like these days? (Well, Dezzie, probably.)

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