Peter couldn't help a sort of half smile at that. He was reminded more and more of James every moment - the James who would laugh and smile and not shut up about Quidditch, not the one who now looked at him as though he were something vile he'd like to scrape off his shoe.
"M'not much of a flier," he admitted. "But I like to watch." He flushed. "The game," he clarified, and then felt like an idiot for doing so. "Obviously."