us against the world [hefin]

december 2001

Show support for quidditch, for the Ministry that employs half your family, the father of your child, blah, blah, blah. Quinn Regan repeated these words to herself as she climbed the stairs toward her seat, in one of the higher boxes. She was early, sure, but she had left her new home in the Cotswolds with plenty of time to spare. She needed every extra minute allotted to her to ensure she would have plenty of opportunity to simultaneously climb the ridiculous number of stairs and curse that there hadn’t been a lift installed specifically for her use. Being incredibly pregnant really should warrant all sorts of special treatment, every chance taken to make her life easier.

Her manager had exerted a lot of effort convincing her to attend. She had last officially flown (successfully) in Ireland’s latest match, only to still lose the group stage. She had been the proper amount of disappointed but she was ready to move on and continue focusing on flying with the Falcons right up until her due date. Constantly pulling the short straw seemed to be her new expertise, however; only a few days had passed before she was told she wouldn’t be flying in any official capacity until she was no longer pregnant. They didn’t even hand her a date for her return, simply saying they would ‘review’ her case ‘when the time came’. @Oliver Wood used the opportunity to agree, that for her safety and the safety of the child, it wasn’t the worst idea. She let him have his way, taking the first chance once she was alone to do a few laps, promptly feel nauseous, and swear she would never admit that he was right.

But Oliver would be playing in the main match and she wasn’t about to let all her good PR efforts go to waste now. Step up, show up, whatever she needed to do. She loved the attention, of course, but she was really tired of not being able to threaten people publicly when they touched her stomach without her permission. So she had invited @Alex Regan to join her, calm her down, ward off people she didn’t feel like talking to (but also to spend time with him because she missed him, she swears). He was wrapping something up at work and would meet her here later, so until then, she would be the one reminding herself that she was on good behavior.

As she entered the box and scanned the few already-present faces, however, almost all hopes of good behavior were dashed. She checked the seat number on her ticket one more time, just to confirm that she really and truly had been assigned a place right next to @Hefin Howell. He was one of those men she had stopped talking to or seeing after that first date with Oliver, and besides his few letters with jokes about how good her wood was now, they hadn’t really remained in touch. At least she had put in effort to look beyond good today, perfectly tousled hair, red lips, and only a slightly detracting eight-months-pregnant glow.

Thankfully, she was seated on the empty side of the row, not having to squeeze past him to get to her assigned spot. The other few people in the box glanced on her direction, but other than her much-practiced smile and wave, she didn’t pay them any attention. “Before you say anything,” she started as she slowly lowered herself into the plush-padded seat, still slightly out of breath from carrying the extra weight up all those stairs, “Not yours.” She went ahead and answered the question for him, the one that almost everyone who knew her well felt entitled to ask.

Quinn shed her coat and let it hang off the back of her seat and smoothed down her Falcons-branded sweater (graciously enlarged to fit and accentuate the planet she had swallowed), not taking a break from talking to give him a chance to respond. “Awful long way to go for a friendlies match.” She finally looked up at him with a smirk, twisting in her chair as much as her stomach would allow. She assumed he was up-to-date on her drama with both her personal life and her quidditch life, but she would love to avoid the subjects as long as she could.

At his cousin’s India persistence, Hefin had decided to attend the charity event that day, as the official representative of the Walker family. It was a friendly quidditch match, and truthfully it took everything in him to go there that day. Having not qualified for the World Cup, he wasn’t particularly keen on attending others’ matches, however if he had to represent his family there, it wasn’t much of a choice, or his actual choice to be honest. He said out loud that it had been his decision, but within it irked him that the name of ‘Walker’ had to make him attend events he wasn’t keen on. And to put even more pressure on him, his close and best friend, @Zacharias Smith, had refused to accompany him there that day. Everything would have been so much more bearable with Zach by Hefin’s side, however, he couldn’t openly blame his friend for not wanting to attend the damn thing when he himself was barely managing the stress, annoyance, and bitterness of it all. 

He had managed to get his fellow Roos team mate, Rachel, to accompany him, but upon seeing a certain exotic (to her) British man, she had abandoned him without any second thoughts. So, there he was, all alone, in the stands, waiting for the event to properly start. Apparently there was going to be some sort of distraction beforehand, a game with non-professionals. While he normally would’ve enjoyed such a thing, at the moment he was way too uncomfortable and pissed off by every little thing related to quidditch that he couldn’t even comprehend how others would indeed enjoy such a savagery going on. It now somehow felt like an offense brought up to his entire way of life, calling quidditch so childishly a game and allowing everyone to play it.

Finally reaching the high level where his seat was assigned, Hefin took off his dark grey silk cloak and put in on the edge of his chair before taking a seat himself. Since he wasn’t representing his team, and was attending this event as a member of the Walker family, Hef was dressed up, in a suit matching to his cloak, with a white shirt, and a black scarf neatly tucked in his collar. His hair was loose, however it was straightened, so it looked particularly nice that day, if even he could say so. Looking at the schedule, Hefin half regretted that he hadn’t been more insistent with Rachel and dragged her up with him. However, at least one of them was surely having some fun right now. Even if that one person definitely wasn’t him.

He soon heard some noise and naturally assumed that the person who’d sit next to him arrived. The place to his left was Rachel’s, so obviously it would remain unoccupied, therefore it had to be the other person. One could imagine Hefin’s surprise upon seeing no-one else than his friend, the marvellous Irish seeker, Quinn Regan herself, in all her pregnant glory. He got up immediately, greeting her with the most polite demeanour. But before he could say anything, Quinn got ahead of him and mentioned that the child she was carrying was not his. At that point, he burst into laughter. The Australian did feel bad for his friend though, as for Quinn to openly state such a thing instead of a greeting must’ve meant that she was actually constantly asked regarding that matter.

“I apologise.” He took a deep breath, trying not to laugh anymore. “It is not funny at all and I am really sorry people ask you that, as it’s incredibly rude to treat someone as your marvellous self in such a manner.” Hefin sighed, leaning in as Quinn sat down, to properly greet her and kiss her on both cheeks. “You look absolutely ravishing by the way, as beautiful as ever, my darling.” The Roos captain laid back in his seat, taking Quinn’s hand in his own and pulling it in for a kiss, then entwining his fingers with hers. They hadn’t been involved for quite a while, however her presence was still as enjoyable as always. Truthfully, while Hefin didn’t understand Quinn’s desire of having a child, he was glad that she found someone she could share her life with. He was genuinely happy for her.

The former Hufflepuff let out a rather cynical laughter upon hearing her comment regarding the distance between their two countries. “Yes, well, representing my family here unfortunately. And truthfully, I am happy you are attending this, for after not making the World Cup, I was not looking forward to attending any quidditch matches unless I myself play in them.” He turned around, offering Quinn his most charming smile. “Your presence here makes it all very pleasant though.”

He was aware that there were subjects which he couldn’t approach with Quinn, such as everything that had been in the press, therefore Hefin wouldn’t mention anything regarding her drama. It was for the best, really, as he knew what it felt like, your life being exposed to the public eye, regardless of the context. The difference between him and Quinn however, was surely that she enjoyed the attention by far more than he did. Still, he’d rather not poke the bear.

They started announcing the names of the winners of the raffle, and Hefin didn’t pay attention, focusing still on Quinn more. “How are things with the Falcons, I haven’t really paid attention to your lea – “ Before Hefin could even finish that sentence, his attention was suddenly caught as a familiar name was announced. Zacharias Smith. Hefin’s right eyebrow suddenly arched, him looking quite distrustfully at Quinn. For a moment there, Hef thought that he probably heard wrong, but as the name was repeated, he could feel himself filling with anger. So Zacharias told him he couldn’t attend this event because he’d go with someone else? “Zacharias Smith, that fucking piece of troll shit.” Hefin was so mad, that he didn’t even realise his grasp on Quinn’s hand had become quite tight.

“Ha.” He took a deep breath, running his free hand through his hair. “The nerve of that guy. Playing quidditch.” Hefin was actually more upset by the fact that Zach had refused to attend the event with him, in the most luxurious seats, and ended up going with someone else. He could’ve at least told Hef about it all, but no, Zacharias couldn’t have possibly bothered with that minimum amount of cordiality. Other names were being called out, but Hefin was so annoyed that he didn’t even pay attention. Instead, he addressed himself to Quinn again. “I can’t believe they’re making the teams so randomly. I mean, last time this happened, someone went missing for half a year.” While Hefin’s tone was mostly repulsed by the organisation of such a barbarism, deep down he was actually worried due to that pathetic excuse of a best friend he had. What if something’d happen to Zach during this dumb performance? He simply couldn’t believe his friend, the event, everything.

His grip on Quinn’s hand became even tighter than before. “They might as well let you fly, if they’re going to allow Smith on the pitch.” Oh no. Hefin thought as he finished the sentence, realising that he had done the one thing he shouldn’t have; he poked the bear.

“I don’t know why you assume people are asking me that.” They had, of course, but it wasn’t something she was about to admit, not to someone she thought should actually be seriously considering the possibility. She arched an eyebrow, skeptical that the question hadn’t once crossed his mind, but after a couple seconds of disbelief, Quinn smirked. As usual, his words (even between laughs) were laced with compliments, the overly excessive sort that she enjoyed just a bit too much.

Absolutely ravishing. Quinn blew air out through pursed lips. “Please, I look like a cow.” She shifted in her seat, her hands propping up either side of her stomach as she readjusted herself. She was at least a pretty cow, of course, but she wouldn’t mind at all if he wanted to correct her statement. She was almost dependent on other peoples’ reassurances on her appearance these days.

Having her hand in his was really nothing new, but it was certainly something she hadn’t done in a while and most likely not something she wanted to be photographed doing. Hefin was incredibly not-worried, but he also wasn’t carrying the love child of a rival player, didn’t have to worry about the same sort of things she did. But the box was devoid of press, cameras, and anyone even remotely paying attention to them (how rude) and she stopped looking around, relaxing just the slightest bit and giving his hand a squeeze.

He was laughing again, which somehow only served to sour Quinn’s mood. If she wasn’t in the mood, then really, no one else should be. “Oh?” Maybe it was possible for someone to be as miserable as her today, having to watch a match you would much rather be taking part of, constantly reminded of your country’s failure to qualify for the Cup. “Well, you’re welcome.” She smirked, not feeling the need to tell him that she sympathized. She didn’t need to talk about her own shortcomings (if she had them) or her own misfortunes, perfectly content with focusing on his own. Still, she added at a slightly higher volume: “We do love supporting our fellow players.” Just in case.

Hefin said the key word, the one she needed to talk for days about herself: Falcons. She refused to believe that he didn’t know how things were going, that they had won the League, that she had won the League, that she had gone above and beyond to win the playoffs, battling morning-and-every-other-time-of-day sickness, but she didn’t even get the chance to start before Hefin had turned on her. She hadn’t been paying attention to the pitch, never too interested in watching amateurs fly, even less interested now that she wasn’t allowed to join them, but she flicked her gaze down to the field as he spoke.

“Oi, get a feckin’ grip.” Quinn tried to pry her hand from his, the grip now overwhelmingly tight. But he wasn’t paying attention to her, still far too focused on the goings-on on the pitch. She shifted her attentions toward the announcer, arching an eyebrow as she slowly gathered what was happening. It had been a raffle rather than something planned, and the names that had been announced so far were floating through the air at a lower elevation. Craning her neck, Quinn was able to make out the names, including two of her own teammates, a couple names familiar from Hogwarts, and the standout: Elias Dörfler. People were moving about but she couldn’t pick him out, not that she was really able to focus with the grip Hefin still had on her hand.

She tried once again to free her hand, once again unsuccessful, listening to him go on about this bloke Smith. She looked down at the names again, and it clicked just as Hef was telling her she ought to be the one flying. “No kidding.” She knew who he was, knew who everyone was that had flown for their House team in the years that Quinn very much had not. Finally returning the grip on Hefin’s hand, she attempted to stand up to get a better look at what was happening, but lacking the proper support of both hands to heft herself up, she stayed planted in her seat, a scowl firmly planted on her face.

Not flying for Slytherin had afforded her plenty of time to judge everyone else that did, and she didn’t keep her judgment contained to her own house. Smith was two years below, had flown with Hefin, though calling what he did ‘flying’ was being rather generous with the word. She won the League, damnit, and they would rather let these amateurs (sorry(ish), Elias) fly in her place?

The people disappeared off the pitch and the noise died down a little and Quinn was able to use Hefin’s distraction to finally get her hand back, nursing it in her other hand to regain feeling in her fingers. “Merlin, what’s your problem with him?” She knew why she was upset and she knew that whatever was bothering Hefin paled in comparison to her reasons. It wasn’t like Australia really had a chance in the Cup, anyway. She shifted again in her chair, looking around for someone she could file a formal complaint to. She wasn’t sure which part was more upsetting: that her teammates were going to fly without her, that Elias was up against actual pros and he had such a pretty face to worry about, or that she was almost prepared to enjoy spending time with Hefin before he went and got emotional.

“I know you have a flask on you.” She quirked an eyebrow at him before shaking her head. “Calm down a bit, yeah?” She had excuse upon excuse to be annoyed and was failing to see any reason that he should be. She slumped back and crossed her arms across her chest, now having the additional reason to fume that she wouldn’t be able to join him in drinking to feel better.

Truthfully, Hefin was aware of the fact that Quinn’s child could have been his, but while he was labelled as being many things, the part Australian surely knew better than that, as he was extremely calculated and thorough, therefore always using protection when having intimate relations. Naturally, he always drank potions to not leave his female partners pregnant. Whether or not Quinn was aware of this fact, he didn’t know, and truthfully, he did not even care. For him not being the father of her child was definitely a certainty; and his Welsh side was honestly more than his convinced that only a Scottish could’ve stupid enough to impregnate an Irish. 

Upon hearing Quinn state that she looked like a cow, Hefin was half tempted to not contradict her. But he knew better than that for the seeker there was shallow, vain, and so self-obsessed that if Hefin wouldn’t contradict her own words regarding her appearance, they’ll most likely end up in the newspapers, under a title among the lines ‘Crazy pregnant woman, banned from flying, attacks most handsome quidditch player known to humanity’. He didn’t want that, particularly because as superficial and egocentric as Quinn was, she was still his friend, and he cared for her in a genuine way. “I only see a gazelle here and nothing else.” His smile was sincere and particularly enchanting, however it took everything Hefin’s power to not sound cynical but honest.

Her squeezing his hand reassured him though; he had felt very much alone up until her arrival, and he was truly grateful that she was there. After his comment, Quinn added quite loudly, too loudly for the person next to her, meaning him, that they loved supporting their fellow players. “Ha.” She sure loved the attention. Hefin played along though, not wanting to leave a bad impression to the possible press around. “Of course.” He said on a tone as loud as Quinn’s. “We are here to cheer and admire, and have wonderful fun.” Disgusting. Media play was awful and he absolutely despised it.

What he despised more however, was being lied to. Gesture which had been done by no-one other than his supposedly best friend. He continued listening to the other names, figuring out that two of Quinn’s team mates were doing to play as well (such bloody traitors they were, honestly), and of course, the name of the beautiful former Slytherin @Emma Hennings. Great, yet another person he considered particularly attractive was going to get close to having a bludger aimed right in their face. This was definitely a savagery and not a fun game. Sighing deeply, Hefin felt Quinn’s grip on his hand getting tighter, only then realising his own had gotten quite bad. “My apologies.” He let loose of his grip, retrieving his hand and as he crossed his legs, letting it rest on his knee. With the other, he rested his elbow on the chair’s arm, his fingers gently touching his jawline.

The chosen individuals for this absolutely barbaric game soon vanished off the pitch, and Hef was caught off guard by Quinn’s question. His problem? Well, firstly, his problem was that while Ireland definitely didn’t deserve to be in the World Cup, Australia did. But that wasn’t something he would share with Quinn anytime soon. And secondly, this entire event today was absolutely preposterous. How could anyone, in their right mind, even organise such a thing? Truthfully, with such a Ministry around, Hefin was glad he moved to not only an entire different continent, but to a different hemisphere, as far away as possible from this bloody madness. However, Zach deserved it. Half of Hefin hoped he’d be hit by a bludger right where it hurt, while the other half was still worrying. His overall allure however, was still very extremely bitter.

“Nothing. Amazing how we both get to sit here, just watching, while my former chaser in god damn school is playing.” Well, it was true, and it was also frustrating. Zacharias surely hadn’t played any kind of quidditch since graduation, honestly, what the fuck was he even thinking? Clearly, he wasn’t thinking at all, as he refused Hefin’s offer and came there on his own. But karma worked its wonders, obviously.

At Quinn’s words, he instinctively pulled out his flask from his jacket’s inner pocket, however, he returned to his previous position, letting the small container rest slightly on his knee, not planning to drink out of it yet. “But forget my former chaser – “ Hefin quickly changed the subject, his gaze slowly turning in Quinn’s direction. “ – what are your players on the pitch for?” He let out of a quick mocking laughter. “They clearly fade in comparison with you, and get their only chance to shine when playing with petty excuses of amateurs. Pathetic.” Probably unknown by Quinn, however, Hefin was a Holyhead Harpies supporter in what regarded the teams within the British Isles, therefore, he just couldn’t pass on the opportunity to criticising Falcons players with an actual Falcon. “The things they must do because your shadow is so big, my dear.” Hef bit his lower lip, restraining himself from letting out a contemptuous laughter yet again.

Hefin took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t like him to act impulsively, yet Zacharias’ lie had gotten the best of him, much to Hef’s own surprise as well. @Zacharias Smith, that prick. He had honestly always defended Zach whenever someone had talked badly about him, in each and every possible situation, and there he was, the bastard was lying to him, and even worse, avoiding him. Which obviously Zacharias had wanted Hefin to know, especially when he was aware they’d be attending the same event. He was going to pay for everything, and that was the only thing this former Hufflepuff was certain at this point.

For the following twenty minutes, Hefin and Quinn quietly complained about her team mates, how they were incompetent traitors and didn’t deserve to be on the pitch, even among amateurs. Especially among amateurs actually. The conversation was especially enjoyable, for Hefin being a true pleasure to criticise any team or players of a British team if they weren’t part of the Harpies, therefore it was quite unpleasing when the pathetic excuses of teams were called on the pitch. However, upon seeing the Pink Fairy Armadillos’ uniforms, Hefin burst into laughter. He got up from his seat, throwing the flask on it, and started applauding, now enjoying the show quite a bit. The show being Zach in that awful, hairy, pink uniform. As his mate drew closer to his area, Hefin wolf whistled, while yelling in his mate’s direction. “Such a sexy fairy, Smith. Fairest of them all!”

He continued clapping and laughing, throwing himself back in his seat, not before picking up the flask and taking a mouthful out of the firewhiskey within. “Aaah.” He articulated. “This is so ridiculous, it’s actually entertaining. Tragic.” Hefin turned to Quinn, while placing his flask back into his jacket’s inner pocket. “So, what pathetic excuse of a player caught your attention?”

“Amazing.”

That was really the only word for it. They both got to sit there and watch, though Quinn was sure that she was far more bitter about the situation than she was. He really only had himself to blame for not being in the running for the Cup anymore, but Quinn on the other hand had everyone to blame but herself. She blew air through pursed lips and rested her chin in her hand, using the armrest she shared with Hefin to prop up her elbow. She wanted to be the only one to complain, to have Hef listen to her and offer his sympathies, reassuring her how right she was in all of it; when was Alex going to get here?

“My players?” Quinn looked back toward the pitch, trying to not get additionally upset that they weren’t her players at all. She wasn’t the captain, though she certainly deserved to be, had already decided that she would be vying extra hard for the spot whenever they let her resume flying. So, the sooner the better. Still, her players or not, they were still on the same team, had still won the same Championship, had put in considerable effort to be the best in the League. “Well, considering we just won the League,” she started with a roll of her eyes, “I imagine they’re fairly useful for whatever charity thing this is.” He was right, though, that they needed to fly with amateurs to look good. They were so used to flying on the same pitch with her, it must be such a relief for them to have her sidelined.

She straightened up and refocused her gaze of Hefin’s face as he continued complimenting her, or what he thought must be a compliment. But big shadow meant a big person and she did not like that description at all; she narrowed her gaze before moving it back out towards the pitch, resuming her position from seconds before of chin in hand, being careful to not let any sort of emotion get the best of her.

“Still,” she started again, keeping her eyes on the pitch, scanning the crowd for the demanding ‘We Want Regan Back’ posters she knew she deserved but wouldn’t find, “It’d be nice if they could be the least bit upset about me. I don’t know what sad excuses for seekers they’ll have on the pitch today, but I could still outfly them.” She motioned to the obvious obstacle that was her pregnant belly, adding a silent even while giving birth to the end of her sentence but sparing Hefin the visual.

It was easy to spend more time than was really necessary discussing just how unappreciative the other Falcons were (even though her teammates had seemed almost visibly upset at her news), how grossly unfair the League rulings were, filling Hef in on the entire season and the finer details that he might have missed, like her bludger to the face (where were her beaters?) or her malicious transfiguration into an Irish setter.

The raffle winner were back on the pitch before too long, and even in her determined-to-be-upset-with-the-world state of mind, Quinn couldn’t suppress her smirk. The sight of the uniforms made her feel the tiniest bit better, though she clearly wasn’t as excited as Hefin was. She decided to stay seated, not willing to put forth the extra effort needed to stand up, knowing she would just want to sit down again after two seconds. Quinn kept her smirk as she clapped a few times, not overly enthusiastic about anything at all. She could finally see the players up close as they did their allotted warmup laps, noting the Firebolts that they were flying. While not as good as her own broom, it had to be better than what most of them were used to. Quinn rolled her eyes again, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back into her seat.

At least Hefin’s comment was enough to make her laugh, if only for the briefest of reprieves from her contempt with the whole thing. But as soon as he took a swig from his flask, Quinn was scowling again. She knew she had been the one to suggest it in the first place, but seeing him drink without her was more than enough to remind her (in case she had forgotten) that she was pregnant and sitting and watching instead of flying. “It could be worse,” she offered, though as she said it she realized that she wasn’t really sure how that would be possible.

“I wouldn’t say pathetic, really” Quinn was following Elias around the pitch with her eyes; years of friendship and yet somehow they had never flown together. She could understand his hesitation, of course, who would want to volunteer for being outflown by her? He certainly didn’t seem terrible, and considering that she was being overly critical of everything happening on the pitch, that was saying something. She pointed in Elias’s direction for Hefin’s benefit, not offering up how she knew him, not sure how to introduce him to people these days: friend, lover’s ex-flatmate, matchmaker, possible namesake of a future child. “And Emma’s quite good, considering,” she mused, her gaze shifting to the younger woman.

It was nearly impossible not to watch the movements of the snitch as the balls were released. She flexed her fingers instinctively as the snitch darted up and out of sight before realizing that she had tensed up in anticipation. Forcing herself to relax, she leaned back in her seat again, briefly considering finding a pair of omnioculars to watch the match a bit more closely. But as the quaffle made its first pass down the pitch (Merlin, quidditch was a bore to watch), she changed her mind. The blue keeper darted out of the way of the goalposts just as the quaffle soared through the hoops.

“What.” Quinn listened for a commentator’s voice, but apparently they had raffled off that job too; all she could hear was a sing-songy voice saying something about the nicely shaped clouds. “Is this for real?” She looked toward the pink seeker, scoffing as she did. “She’s not even trying to find the snitch. Merlin.”

Hefin was absolutely positive that Quinn actually meant every word of what she’d said; the Australian certainly knew she actually believed she would be by far better at seeking in her current pregnant state, and even more, as she insinuated, while actually giving birth. The quidditch captain let out a soft laugh, as he playfully bit his lower lip, on the outside agreeing with his former lover regarding the matter. To a certain extent, he genuinely did; Hefin did believe a pregnant Quinn would do much better as seeker than any of those who hadn’t practiced quidditch on a professional level. However, he really doubted that she could pull it off while giving birth. Of course, Hefin was highly aware that his female friend genuinely believed that, and it was better not to contradict a pregnant lady, even more so if her name was Quinn Regan.

“How though? How could it be worse, really? Unless they put a troll on a broom and give it the beater position.” Hefin commented, sighing at the mere thought of it. Honestly, the entire situation, the game in itself, was the worst idea one could ever have. For the first time ever, he understood why his father easily agreed to transfer from the British ministry to the Australian one. The quidditch player had never seen something as appalling happen in his side of the world, and was truly grateful that he was living in a civilised country, unlike the present one.

Hefin then caught Quinn’s gaze towards one of the players, and then followed her glare, looking at the man she eying. Clearly, there was something going on there. He didn’t know exactly what, but things considered, he doubted that the man was another of her possible baby’s harem of fathers. Had it been so, he doubted that Quinn would be so openly calm about it. In the end, she wouldn’t have wanted her child to be born fatherless. Hef concluded that the certain individual must be a friend of Quinn’s. Naturally, he wouldn’t comment on the man then, just out of the respect he held for his friend there. Because, otherwise, a mere amateur playing on the same position as him was little said offensive and disrespectful to his exquisite skills.

“Emma’s pretty good.” Hefin openly agreed with that one, remembering that the former Slytherin was quite decent when playing quidditch during their years at Hogwarts as well. However, he did hope that guy Quinn pointed towards before wouldn’t be the one to throw a bludger in her direction and actually hit her. Honestly, amateurs playing a quidditch game in the same conditions as professionals was truly awful, and as amused as he might be by the situation, the Australian was definitely sceptical that someone would actually survive this unharmed. What was the British Ministry even thinking, honestly? Was his uncle Winston the only responsible person in that entire institution? Sighing, Hefin shifted in his seat, crossing his legs as she straightened his posture.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face as Zacharias was the first to score during that game. That’s my boy, always a winner. Hef thought, as he flipped his hair over his right shoulder. Even while technically upset by his best friend’s behaviour, Hefin couldn’t find it in himself to not cheer for him. Especially when Zacharias was doing so well, after not having played quidditch for so long. Hefin was genuinely filled with pride and joy towards his friend, however, as a beater passed by their direction, he could feel his annoyance and irritation coming back. It’d genuinely be a great feat is someone would not end up decapitated during this mess.

He ignored the commentator’s voice, despite instantly recognising it as Luna’s, and Hefin turned his attention towards his mate again. “Hey, he was my chaser in the end, even if during school. Of course he’d score.” Hef let out an ironic laugh, refusing to believe in anything else but Zacharias’ skills, despite it being quite obvious that the Spiny Lumpsuckers’ keeper was simply a mess.

As Quinn referred to the Pink Fairy Armadillos’ seeker, Hefin found himself looking for her, with such accuracy that it almost felt as if he was about to aim a bludger in her direction. It felt horrible being in the stands and not actually playing, and it was slowly getting to him, as Hef shifted in his seat again, crossing his legs once more. His gaze focused on the pink seeker, and a soft, slightly cynical smirk soon appeared on his face. “With looks like hers, I guess she doesn’t even need to be good at something to get what she wants. I mean, even through the uniform, look at that rack.”

Hef then looked at the other seeker who, despite having the appearance of someone that could play the part well, definitely didn’t seem like he was doing a better job at seeking. “The other’s a mess too. I mean with his height you’d think he’d have caught the snitch by now. At this rate, a beater might as well catch it, really. And did you see the beaters though, honestly… “ the former Hufflepuff sighed, nodding his head in disapproval. “It’s as if they’re not even trying to protect others from getting killed. Just protecting their own skin. And it’s not as if you can actually blame amateurs for doing so. So vulgar.” The worst, this game was literally the worst.

Not to mention, now that he paid attention for a moment, Luna’s commentary was getting wilder and wilder. She was now saying something about mistletoe and nargles. “What the flying fuck is a nargle?” Hefin asked Quinn, wondering if the Ministry actually threw something else in the game, to make it even more dangerous for the ‘players’.

Quinn could only sigh and offer sympathetic sounds of disapproval as Hefin kept talking, though she did afford a derisive laugh as he congratulated Hufflepuff and their quidditch skills. She knew better than to bring up school teams around the captains she was so fond of insulting, and the baby was simply draining her of the energy she required to defend Slytherin to the ends of the earth.

She wouldn’t let the compliments towards the pink seeker pass her by, however. With a roll of her eyes, Quinn laughed. Like being good looking was all that was necessary to be a brilliant seeker. If that was the case, Quinn wouldn’t have to try hard on the pitch, would have never lost a match, would have made it into the World Cup proper. “Top heavy,” she said with a tilt of her head as she followed the woman around the pitch, not adding anything else to what she thought was already insult enough.

She sat there in begrudging silence a few more minutes, hardly able to stay focused on the mess on the pitch. She had long since stopped listening to the commentary, realizing quickly that it wasn’t telling her anything she wanted to know anyway.

“Oh, fuck it,” Quinn said suddenly, pushing herself up out of her seat with a bit of effort. “This is stupid.” No amount of good PR was worth sitting through a match as horrible as this, whether or not her friend was a surprisingly good part of it. He had missed plenty of her matches; he would have no right to think any less of her for missing his. She could send an owl to Alex, catch him while he was still at work. He could still come for the main match, but he wouldn’t need to be here to keep her company. She’d watch Oliver play some other time. She still had a month of the season to sit on the sidelines, anyway.

But being sore about quidditch couldn’t be her official reason for leaving. Her manager wouldn’t appreciate it. But he could hardly fault her for leaving for a reason related to her pregnancy; she cradled her stomach in her hands as she firmly stated, “The baby’s hungry.” No one thus far had been brave enough to argue her on any points she made in regards to her unborn child, at least not to her face. “You can help me down the stairs if you want a good excuse to not watch whatever is happening out there.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward the pitch.

Quinn shrugged her coat on, suppressing a smile as Hef stood to join her, not sure why she had doubted that he would in the first place. She took his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers again, for added stability more than any other reason. Offering him a small “Thanks,” Quinn smirked, not bothering with taking a last look at the pitch before starting towards the stairs.

[[ out ]]

Hefin laughed at Quinn’s ‘top-heavy’ comment regarding the pink seeker, probably a bit more cynically than he should have. Nonetheless, he couldn’t exactly blame his friend there for being particularly bitter when seeing a woman on the pitch, playing, when she was not, and to top it all, a non-professional as well. It would be a lie to say that didn’t irk Hefin as well, as the quidditch captain wanted more than anything to grab a bit and aim a bludger at the seeker. He got unused to watching quidditch games and, somehow, it just felt horribly wrong to just sit still in the stands. He would do enough of that at the World Cup, and the Australian was already not looking forward to it.

His eyes simply followed Zacharias, trying to calm himself down, but even so, it felt irritating that his friend, a mere government official, was playing and he was not. Not to look down on government officials, for the entire Howell family line was practically ‘specialised’ in that, nonetheless it just felt grating to see laypersons playing. It was also a dangerous deed, playing a treacherous sport such as quidditch without proper prior preparation. Quidditch was fun only from the stands for amateurs, really. He sighed, trying to think of a plausible reason that would allow him to leave, for he wasn’t there as Hefin Howell, but as a Walker Corporations representative.

Thankfully enough, Quinn took care of that before he even had the chance to dwell on it. “Well then, we must absolutely take care of the baby’s needs.” Hefin nodded in approval, already being ahead of the Irish, as he got up from his chair and put on his robe, his eyes falling on Zacharias one more time before mentally wishing him good luck. If the game got more intense, at least he wouldn’t be here to actually witness it and stress too much.

Hefin took a deep breath, and offered his hand, arm, whatever she needed for walking really, to Quinn. He remembered his father having helped his mother a lot of times while she had been pregnant with Meredith and figured he would mimic his gestures, allowing Quinn herself to pick her preferred method of gaining stability. She chose to take his hand into hers, motion which made Hefin smile. The Irish still had her cute moments, despite being particularly bitter and upset in what concerned their previous discussion.

“No, thank you, really.” He emphasised, genuinely glad that they will be leaving the stands, the game, this entire make-believe. The two quidditch players then made their way down the stairs, and, later on, went to have lunch, of course, to tend to all of the baby’s needs.

[/thread]