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Mr. Dagwood had given Albus some responsibility - for the first time! - with this presentation, and he intended to do it perfectly. Thus far proceedings had been smooth; the audience at the festival was quiet but eager, a mix of Goblins and wizarding peoples, and certainly not as boisterous as those attending the presentation on corruption scandals off the pitch. Albus was rather enjoying the spotlight.

"And that is the unfortunate reason why Quidditch matches have yet to be available for Goblin participation," he finished, following each statement with a Gobbledegook translation. He beamed at the room, making eye contact with his audience as any professional speaker would. "Here's hoping that Goblin-sized brooms of a much higher safety standard will soon be accessible to all. Thank you for your attention - again, I'm Albus Potter from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'll be here for another hour or so if you've any urgent questions! If not, do owl us with your feedback."

His final words set a murmur off in the small crowd as they stood and began shuffling to the exits. "Enjoy the festival!" Albus called. Someone approached from the side; Albus turned to them with a confident smile, still riding off the triumph of his first successful seminar. "Yes, can I help you?"

The nights had been getting colder. Astrid's plan: go home, maybe have a drink, then go to sleep. She'd been ready for it the moment she woke up, bleary-eyed and tired. The cases at work were taking longer than usual to process. She would not mind burning the midnight oil trying to solve her latest project, but o, the paperwork! How she wishes she could burn it.

Right before she'd gone home, her boss had stopped her. Entwhistle had come down with whooping cough, Ma'am said, and he needed to be replaced at the celebration tonight. He'd volunteered to help keep the peace at the World Quidditch Festival. 

Great, she thinks, as she watches the festival commence. There was no time for her to change, so Astrid is in her work clothes, a proper navy blue amidst the crazy colours of the crowd. She clutches at her clipboard, a safety blanket through all of this, and tries to distract herself with a doodle or two. Engrossed, she does not notice the person walking in front of her till they bump into one another. 

The press conference was due to start in fifteen, and Barthy was out of his fucking mind.

He'd reached punctually - at exactly two, as the PR person had instructed. It was now half past three, and he had spent an hour and a half in the waiting room. This wasn't the first time the team had done this; Puddlemere was notoriously unprofessional off the pitch, and they all insisted they weren't late so much as Barthy arrived at these things unduly early.

Fiddling idly with the scrap of Witch Weekly he'd been flipping through (yet another double spread of Bartholomew Wood, the famous Wood legacy), he deftly folded a paper plane - Seeker's nimble fingers, his mind chanted, echoing Dad's words - and sent it across the room. As timing would have it, the bloody thing smacked into the forehead of someone just entering the room.

"Sorry!" he called tentatively. The Keeper turned to look at him and snickered. 

It was the first time in months that Fred feels comfortable being around so many people. The Hog's Head had never been crowded, far easier to handle than the Leaky Cauldron's ever-present throng of people. It was just the way he and the old codger, Aberforth, liked it.

Tonight, however, Fred is surrounded by family, as he always will be at any wizarding event. Normally, that would put him on edge, but he tonight, he is in his element, standing confidently behind the bar.

"What'll it be tonight?" he says with a winning smile, pouring out a drink for himself. 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," she says, looking up at the one holding up another glass. She's had six already --- nothing for someone like her, as close to a lush as one could get without actually being one. At least, that's what she told herself as she had her third shot.

But no, Alice is here on business, as her boss so pinchily reminded her right as she downed her fourth. She is not allowed to drag Frank over and have a round of beer pong (which she will eventually win, because she was one of the best Keepers Hufflepuff had seen in ages), and definitely not allowed to get so drunk she forgets her own name, as favourable as that would be.