Scouting the Competition?

[Neville Tremblay]

Considering it was Britain versus Egypt this match up, Neville was more relaxed that he ought to be. Next month about this time, he would be a bundle of nerves and sitting on the sidelines rather than in the stands, though that hardly made much sense, considering they were not allowed substitutions during the match anyway. Nev high doubted he'd get to play at all. One of their first stringers would have to be seriously injured in their match against Japan and be indisposed for the finals. Nev had too much faith in his teammates for that to happen.

Either way one of these teams would be in the final match, even though they didn't know who yet. Hell he didn't even know if France would make the finals. He was more optimistic than than however, so he was going to sit and enjoy the match and analyze like he did at every game.

He sat in some mid-range seats, nothing spectacular; he'd sat it better and he'd sat in worse. It wasn't about the position of your seat however, you could hardly see a thing from wherever you sat, unless you had a private box and even then it was still tough. Nev had never been one to watch quidditch from a box, not that he'd even had chance to anyway. That wasn't the point, his thoughts were wandering. Watching a match was about the people around you, about the crowd and Nev had to admit, this was one was quite enthusiastic. Of course the home team was playing so that was to be expected.

"Nice hit." Nev murmured, in English for once, about one of the British beaters, watching as the bludger careened in the opposite direction. Realizing he'd been talking to himself aloud, he looked around to make sure nobody was listening, blushing slightly as he readjusted uncomfortably.

  

[Ivy Scrivenshaft]

The voice immediately drew Ivy's attention. She had been sitting quite happily beside Minnie, who had been gushing about the Quidditch players since before the game had begunùwhich she wouldn't have minded, except the only player she found vaguely attractive Minnie had dismissed early on as a æterribly mean beater' for hitting Miss Meliflua. But the girl had had the quaffle: what was Elala supposed to have done? Quidditch, however, was hardly Minnie's speciality. Ivy, on the other hand, was by no means an expert but she had been raised by a father who was utterly mad on the sport and so she had a vague idea of what was what.

And it had been a nice hit. Mr Lockhart was a very good beater indeed, particularly compared with his younger compatriot who seemed all too eager to hit Miss Fayad when all she was doing was avoiding bludgers! But the Egyptian beaters were simply better and she hesitated for a moment, knowing it was hardly the usual form to address a seemingly unattached young man in public, but her companions knew nothing about Quidditch and as much as she loved her Aunt and friend, and as sweet as Mrs Pendergast was, she was gettingàwell, slightly bored.

"It could have been better," she offered, speaking to the man sitting directly behind them. "And they're being quite outperformed by the Egyptians."

  

[Neville Tremblay]

Neville blushed despite himself as the girl in front of him remarked upon his statement. Thankfully, she did not seem affronted, rather sharing the same opinion. That was a relief to say the least Not only did she share his sentiments, but she made another quite accurate observation. If there was one thing Nev rarely had a hard time discussing, it was quidditch. Even if he was discussing with a pretty girl, which was not very good at, he still might have a chance if he thoroughly knew the topic at hand.

"Agreed." He said, leaning forward a little bit, into the discussion. "The beaters at least." The Egypitan beaters were wiping the floor with the British ones, but the chasers were clearly having a better time of it considering the score. "Judging by the scoreboard, not quite as well as we would think." The British beaters were either very unlucky or rain wasn't their element. Then again Nev was pretty sure that no quidditch player excelled in the rain, certainly it was a hindrance to everybody.

Staring up into the drizzly sky, Nev watched as the match continued for a moment, keeping tabs on the quaffle and for any sight of the snitch. He'd be a bit disappointed if the game were to end so soon, but was an old habit at this point. "At this rate, I would rather play Britain in the finals." If they even got there. Nev was a realistic person. Sure he had faith his team would do well and get to the finals and Egypt was pretty brutal. He wondered for a moment if that statement and his accent gave away his occupation, but he doubted it. His accent was a strange mix of French and the Scottish slang his mother had taught them growing up and he tended to forget about it, but using English as often as he was now, it was hard to ignore and it made him a little self-conscious.

  

[Ivy Scrivenshaft]

"You?"

Come to think of it, the young man's accent was somewhat unusual and whilst that didn't automatically mean he was a Quidditch player his knowledge of the sport was particularly telling. She wracked her brain thinking of the first string players but France had never been a particular favourite of hers--she preferred the strength of the Egyptians and the grace of the Japanese to the cocksure superiority of the French.

Ivy swivelled in her seat. The game was at something of a stalemate: there was no sign of the snitch and no particularly gruesome injuries to divert the attention of the audience. Talking to a real life Quidditch player--or a potential one, she reminded herself--was a much more interesting prospect than the game at the moment and she focused the full glare of her interest on the handsome young man. He was taller than Mr Skeeter, she thought with some amusement; he was already superior!

"Do you play, sir?"

  

[Neville Tremblay]

Whoops, he'd probably given himself away there. Not that his accent wouldn't do that for him anyway. "Oh aye, I play for ze French National team, second string though." His mixed Scottish-French accent even more pronounce now that he was aware of it again. When he wasn't thinking about it, it didn't bother him much, English came almost as naturally

Nev wavered on how he felt about second string. He'd been first string on his regional team and that meant he was pretty good, but just making the national team only validated that, second string or not. He considered himself lucky enough to get to travel and see all kinds of top notch teams play. It really was a win-win situation, even if he was pretty sure that he wouldn't actually get to play in a match.

Wondering if the young lady before him played herself, as he had never held anything against ladies that played, he figured he could ask. "How about yerself?" He didn't really know how it was viewed here in Hogsmeade, but it didn't hurt, especially for conversation's sake.

  

[Ivy Scrivenshaft]

Despite her father's adoration for the sport and the fact he often spoke of nothing else, Ivy had never bothered with Quidditch herself. Her mother had always considered the idea of a woman playing Quidditch unseemly for her part, but then her mother's opinion had never stopped her from doing anything before. But Ivy had always been more concerned with the idea of saving the world or healing the sickùthe latter which she would pursue just as soon as the hospital replied to her applicationùand Quidditch had seemed somewhat frivolous a career, even if she did enjoy watching it. It had never appealed to her as a hobby either, but she suspected that was just because she was an abysmal flier. But just because it wasn't the life for her didn't mean she judged those who pursued a professional career in the field, particularly if they were good and if this young man had made it to a national team he had to be good!

"Oh no," she replied with a shake of her head. "I'm afraid I couldn't play to save my life û I can hardly handle a broom!" She peered at him with blatant curiosity. "Have you always lived in France? Your accent is quite unusual."

  

[Neville Tremblay]

Thankfully the girl didn't seem offended by his question, which he'd been uncertain of in the first place. She was quite knowledgeable even though she hadn't played.

When the inevitable question over his accent arose, Nev blushed slightly, the tips of his ears turning pink as usual. "Aye, born and raised in Bordeaux. My mum's from Dundee, Scotland. So I was raised in a bilingual household." French and English with a Scottish accent made for a very interesting mix of words. "My mum's French sounds just as interestin' as my English." It was kind of amusing to say the least. With her tendency to leave off letters or sounds in English was bad enough, in French it was down right funny.

"Being here in Scotland is quite the treat, though it's nowhere near where she grew up, I'm enjoying it." He admitted, though he wasn't sure if he should have or not. Nev supposed it wasn't going go hurt anything. Quidditch was easy enough for him to discuss and he'd been explaining his accent for long enough that he didn't even really mind any more. Sure it was awkward for the most part, but after this long, he was finally getting used to it.

Distracted by the game for a moment, a particularly rough bludger hit had Neville wincing. "That's going to leave a mark." He knew firsthand what that felt like.

  

[Ivy Scrivenshaft]

Ivy concurred. The impact had been rather violent indeed and she spared a moment to pity the poor chaser who the bludger had struck. Miss Meliflua again, and whilst Ivy wasn't necessarily a violent person she bit her lip momentarily in appreciate of the Egyptian expertise. It was an effective tacticùMiss Meliflua was clearly their champion chaser, after all, and it made person sense targeting herùand she wondered whether her new friend would have agreed with her assessment. He was the professional after all: she was merely a bystander.

What had they been saying again? Oh.

"I never imagined Scottish and French would sound quite so appealing together," Ivy complemented lightly, her head whipping back to the game at the sound of another roar. Not a goal, but another injury probably. Injuries would obviously far outnumber goals this match. The crowd quietened quickly enough and she turned her attention back to the young player. "Will you play this season, Mrà?" she trailed off, awaiting an introduction.

  

[Neville Tremblay]

Looking down at his lap, Neville blushed at her words. He hadn't missed her subtle compliment, but considering his accent had always been and would most likely always be a source of insecurity for him

"I don't anticipate playing, not from the second string." Chevalier and their first string were ready to go. Even if one of them got hurt, they would most likely choose the other second string player over him. Nev wasn't trying to be a defeatist, just realistic. He knew he was a pretty good player, but this was the world cup, he hadn't expected to play, but he had practiced just as hard as if he would.

The game captured his attention again momentarily, Neville watched in awe as things seemed to get even more brutal. The rain made everything worse and while Neville knew he didn't play well in the rain either, there seemed to be a lot of slip ups in additions to injuries from game play. "I'm not sure I mind either, if it's going to be like this." He jested quietly, gesturing to the match.

  

[Ivy Scrivenshaft]

Ivy had always rather enjoyed a good aggressive game of Quidditch, but as a spectator of course. She couldn't imagine how a bludger felt slamming into one's face and she had no intention of finding out! Still, she would have thought Mr. Tremblay used to it, though of course perhaps not if he was merely second string. Glancing over her shoulder and finding her companions blessedly distracted she swivelled her body in the direction of the young player and squinted up at him through the rain in open curiosity.

"If you are a beater then surely you're used to a bump or two from a bludger?" Perhaps he meant the rain, though. She had never been to Egypt before, but she had it under rather good authority that it didn't rain quite as much there as it did here, which gave Britain a slight advantage. It all came down to the seekers though and Mr. Weasley was hardly in his prime! "Which team would France prefer to play? Britain or Egypt?

  

[Neville Tremblay]

Neville chuckled more easily than he originally anticipated. "Oh aye, used to ze bumps." Though they hardly felt like it when you were getting it with it. If Neville didn't have a bruise somewhere on his body at any given time, something must have been wrong. He'd been playing for so long now that he was simply used to it. It was his version of normal.

"You know, personally I'd rather Britain." Neville had already done some digging on the opposing teams and Egypt actually seemed to be their strongest competition. "They're good, but I don't think they're too strong. Their World Cup team was only decided this year, they haven't had enough time as team to do well enough." His own team had been together a while, even if they weren't always together, playing for different teams during the regular season, they were more put together as a whole team.

Nev realized he was speaking to a British spectator, but he was just being honest. He smiled sheepishly though, thankful at least that he had somebody to converse with during the game and she had been quite pleasant so far, even after learning he played for the French National Team. "There's always so many variables though, I don't think it'll matter much who we play." He shrugged. Each team was different each day, it would depend on which side of the team showed up to play on the day of the match.

He fell silent after a moment, thinking over how true that could be. Everybody had bad and good days and judging by the match before him, Britain wasn't having the best of days. He was interested indeed to see how this would play out.