Peter was never really very good at Quidditch. He could sit a broom, and make it go fast, but he just wasn't very good at stopping Quaffles or Bludgers, and the snitch? Forget about it. He much prefered just watching and, for the entirety of their last three years of school, commentating. He was really good at commentating. For about five minutes in Fifth Year, he had contemplated doing just that for his career.
Too bad he hadn't. Things might have been different.
"I miss it, too. But I don't know if there would even be a place to play, since being outside for very long probably isn't good for us," Peter said. "Maybe we can think of something for in here. I don't have a damned clue."
He also had the light buzz that preceeded really getting drunk, and it felt wonderful. Beautiful.