“Dad, you’re so embarrassing,” Ila mumbles, but Dean barely hears her.
“That’s it, that’s it,” he’s roaring, waving a flag in the air. “Run faster, you git!”
Jay tugs on his mother’s sleeve, his bottom lip stuck out in a tragic pout. “Mum, what’s so exciting about this game? Everyone’s on the ground —”
Parvati hushes him. “Just pretend it’s Quidditch without the brooms.”
“Still boring,” Jay whines.
Something happens on the field that makes everybody around them groan. Parvati cranes her neck to see the aftermath, but the man in front of them keeps shifting, obscuring her vision.
She sighs, unsticking her shirt from the nape of her neck. She’s sweating and uncomfortable; she hardly even knows the rules of football. This morning, in a fit of foolish vanity, she put on a pair of large gold earrings that are now tugging down heavily on her earlobes, making them ache. By all rights, she should be miserable.
But as she looks at her husband bouncing eagerly on the tips of his toes, one corner of her mouth lifts.