Emma flushed when she realized that George really did refer to her as Midget to other folks. "Bloody hell, didn't think he'd actually have said that," she muttered, half smiling and half embarrassed.
The name rang a bell, and she nodded slowly. "Right. Quidditch, yeah?" Instead of letting go of his hand, she used it to tug him back through the door and into the break room at the back of the store. "So since George actually doesn't know you're coming, it's possible he might not make it back before you have to go, but might as well give it a whirl to wait for him, yeah?" Emma perched on the edge of one of the tables. "Course, you might need a bodyguard, in case any of those folks follow you back. Does it drive you mad, the way they all don't let you be?"