“They sound like my brother all over,” Gus said, laughing loudly at his descriptions of his siblings. Although what he said next about free rein was decidedly less funny, and she swallowed down nothing, trying to address the next question soberly.

She could picture his sisters, anyway; well-behaved, well-bred girls who actually knew how to be. She had to shake her head with a despairing sort of chuckle at his line of questioning, because they must live very different lives, and she didn’t think many people would call her successful. Even half of the people who knew a crumb about quidditch probably wouldn’t have put her on the team, if they’d had their way.

“My father used to take me to Falmouth Falcons matches,” Gus said with a vaguely amused shrug, meaning if he didn’t want this maybe he shouldn’t have. He had also bought her her very first broom, not long before he’d left them, so. “Ah, they’re proud enough, for not caring about quidditch at all,” she tried to explain, waving her hand carelessly. “I don’t know if they’d call me successful, though,” Gus added, on the verge of cracking up again. “I was just a failure at practically everything else. You should have seen my sewing!”

---