summer spectators || @savingdavey
“Come on!” Edgar called out, free hand cupped around his mouth, the other clutching a beer, as he watched a bludger collide with one of the Spanish chasers’ broom handles and sent the Quaffle flying, fumbled, into the open air below.
Working himself to the bone – between Auror training and his Order commitments – usually seemed like a fair, even enviable trade-off for all the good he got to do. But damn, if keeping busy hadn’t made him forget about just how much he loved a good Quidditch game!
“They can’t keep a grip on the ball today,” he said, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Davey’s. Edgar didn’t even know which team he was rooting for; Spain and Sweden were all the same to him, so long as they were putting on a good game.
The weather was perfect and he was just glad to be here, on a rare day off with someone he’d known for years and years – that is, someone who knew him well enough to know that the harried, overworked version of himself wasn’t the person he’d been five years ago and, Merlin willing, might not be who he was five years from now, either.
“And remind me to write your mum tonight,” he added, playfully jostling Davey again, counting on him to pretend, just as Edgar was doing, that he didn’t have half a thank-you note already sitting in wait on his coffee table. “These seats are amazing.”