Quidditch was not something Mary had ever particularly enjoyed. No, Mary could never relate to the thrill of speeding through the open skies on a broom so thin it felt like flying, while two evil black balls and seven probably lovely but momentarily misguided players seemed to desire nothing more than to see her fall. As a sport, Quidditch was dangerous and vile and thoroughly confusing, and something Mary had been suspicious of from day one. She still remembered it pretty well, finding out about Quidditch. The air of childish awe on fellow muggleborns, the careless excitement of the kids who were already familiar with it, and in Mary's mind only one very pressing question: How would anyone, ever, dare tell her mum she had tragically died after being forced on a flying broom.
Mary didn't die, but her overall feeling towards the game remained the same. There was nothing that much fun about throwing balls around while trying not to die horribly, but there was something for sure exhilarating in watching someone else do it. One had just look at the dark room on the back of the Drunken Roo that evening. Mary wasn't the only one covered in Quidditch props, and while not everyone seemed to have gone as far as to turn their skins the color of their team, the whole place seemed pretty committed to what was about to happen. After all, even though the Thundelarra Thunders versus Woollongong Warriors was by this point pretty much an yearly classic, it was still as big an event as Australian-League Quidditch could get. And Mary, a sucker for the underdogs, (even incredibly powerful, multimillionaire teams underdogs), was a hardcore Thunder-fan.
She made as much clear the moment she stepped into the room. Just in case her clothes, hat, and magically-decorated skin weren't enough to make it clear where she stood that evening, the first thing she did was to blow on her sports-whistle, which produced the thunderous boom of her team. Other booms followed from different corners of the bar, and Mary found herself beaming in the atmosphere. And so did everyone else, or so it seemed, as Mary made her way through the crowded room and towards the only empty stool in sight. She twirled around a couple of mates waving their beers around, ducked under a group hug and, just as she got to the chair, another bum sat on it.
"No!" she exclaimed towards the stool thief with the overly dramatic tone of someone who had been mentally preparing to yell a lot, and then promptly blew on her whistle again. "One-zero and Mary's off to a bad start!" She smiled. "Can the Thunders recover from the morale-bust and make this their only lost tonight?"