“As much as I wouldn’t mind flying behind that arse, babe, of course I’d bloody beat ye.” Edward Pratt, eloquent as ever, flashed his wife his broad trademark grin as he waved off her assumption at being a better flyer than him. Wine glass in hand, he took another sip and leaned back, spreading his legs out on the sofa, resting socked feet on Alina’s thighs. “Ye shouldn’t be embarrassed by it, though,” He continued, wiggling his toes, “I am superior in every way.”

This was the first Friday evening in a long time that Eddie had been home at a reasonable hour, in time for tea and wine and socialising with the witch that had moved to cold and rainy Yorkshire to live with him and make a life there. Regardless of his apparent demotion, the amount of hours Edward worked still as the ‘acting’ head auror meant that one might presume he didn’t have any responsibilities at home.

This Friday he had made a conscious effort to leave the office at 5pm, no later. Any owls or messages addressed to him could wait until Monday morning, he’d informed the aurors on shift, unless life threatening or a huge lead. Then he would have to prioritise. Prioritise. Alina must have become sick of that word by now, Ed surely was.

So upon arrival at home, he’d removed cloak and shoes and he’d stealthily snuck up to the witch while she’d been getting a drink in the kitchen. He’d grabbed her by the waist and planted a kiss on her cheek, holding her close.

Wine glass precariously perched in her hand, Alina rolled her eyes at her husband.  She spent half of her life on a broom, most of it competitively.  Ed was way out of his league and he seemed to have no idea.  Hadn’t he gone to one of the games she’d gotten him tickets for?  Oh right, he hadn’t. 

His work was busy and she understood that, but it would be nice if the tickets she brought home went to use.  Plus, it’d give him a chance to see what she was doing . Alina was not the type of wife who lived for her husband.  She had her own ambitions and tasks at hand, so it was only right that her husband be the same way.  It probably wouldn’t work if either of them was sitting at home waiting about for the other.

So, after a day of practice, Alina had anticipated like many other Friday nights after a long practice she would get home and bathe, then pull a bottle of wine down from the shelf, grab a solitary glass, and fall asleep listening to the wireless.  There was coverage of the African league playing and she had intended to listen to it, but a very early husband crept into the house and surprised her. 

Now, here they sat on the sofa with his very destroyed socks consuming her attention – if she had any domestic skills, she’d have a mind to fix them.  But her solution was almost always to just buy new ones and throw out the old ones when he wasn’t looking.  It appeared that would be happening again (so money conscious, he was!). 

Taking a rather large sip out of her glass, considering that was what was necessary before tackling all of the things very wrong with her husband’s comment, Alina shoved his foot with her free hand before smacking his calf.  “You will be the embarrassed one,” she informed him, “I only let you think you are better – to protect your fragile ego.”

She was cute, his little wife. Slapping his calf and calling his ego fragile. In truth, with things such as Quidditch and manly man things, he did have a somewhat fragile ego. It wasn’t fun having your manliness called into question, especially when you led an office of very powerful witches and wizards. He could let her believe she knew what she was talking about, it led for a quiet life with women. Especially loud Romanian ones.

But she probably wasn’t going to let it lie. He couldn’t have that. He didn’t want to let her think she was better. What sort of precedent would that set in the first year of their married life?

With that in mind, Eddie downed his wine, grabbed his wife’s and ‘helped’ her by finishing that one, placed both on the coffee table and stood.
“Bets are on now, Mrs Pratt.” He grabbed her hand and not giving her much choice, pulled her to her feet. “I’ll go easy on ye.”

Without a bit of warning, Ed was downing his wine and then reached for hers.  She scoffed as he plucked it out of her hand and looked incredulous.  That was her wine!  They were just having a good conversation, she was correcting his completely erroneous assumption about his quidditch skills and laughing all the while and now he was being completely mad! 

Still frowning, she didn’t know what he was doing.  “Eeddie!” she squeaked as he pulled her up from the worn comfort of the sofa, “what are you doing?!” If she were a bird, her feathers would be suitably ruffled at this moment. 

Her bare feet hit the cold floor and Alina frowned.  As soon as it processed, Alina’s eyes flew open.  He could not be serious.  Eddie talked a lot, but she didn’t really think he would put action behind it.  Not in this way.  But, she realized, very quickly, that he actually thought he was better than her and that would not an option.  “No going easy,” Alina said very seriously, “It will make it me happier when I beat you, if you try.” 

“Fair enough.” Edward Pratt once more flashed the witch a broad grin before leaving the living room and making his way through crowded entrance hall and kitchen to the back door. From his bed by the door, Winston was suddenly up and at his master’s feet. The great fluffy dog began to paw at the back door as a pair of muddy trainers on the doormat were slipped onto Ed’s holey socked feet and he pushed it open. Winston ran out barking, followed closely by Eddie in his oversized Chudley Canons hoody.

Across the patio, Pratt made a beeline for the shed, his wand out to unlock it. A few moments later, by the time Alina had finally joined him outside, Ed was holding a pair of battered old riding brooms (one that he’d used at school), and he held one out to her.

“Ye ‘ent cheating with a faster broom.” At his feet, Winston was trying to eat the quaffle. With the caution of someone that hadn’t mounted a broom in a while, Eddie put a leg over and began to hover in the air. Suddenly the idea of beating his pro quidditch player wife at a quick game after years of not riding a broom seemed like his daftest idea in a while.

But he wasn’t going to back out now.

 His cheeky grin was going to be wiped off his face soon enough.  Alina let him take the lead, especially because she needed to go get her practice trainers upstairs and then grab her broom.  She broke away from him quickly and dashed up the stairs, electing to replace her very tiny shorts for a pair of sweats as well.  She couldn’t fly to her best if she was worried about flashing the neighborhood and freezing to death, after all.  Tugging on her sweats and shoes, Alina grabbed her broom from leaning against the wall and practically sprinted down the stairs.

The challenge was too good to pass up and hearing Ed shut the door with the dog outside, well, she hurried her steps a little.  She was prepared to just take off the second she left the doorway, but she saw Ed by the shed and strolled up to him, surprised as he held one of those terrible old brooms out to her.  She raised her eyebrows skeptically and wrinkled her nose.  “We will be lucky we don’t die on these,” she pointed out with a sigh. 

Her work broom, still not even the caliber of her competing broom had to be abandoned in favor of the disaster twig that Ed handed her.  Ah well, she could fly on anything.  Kicking the broom between her legs, Alina gave herself a hearty kick up and was levitating above ground. 

“I never play quidditch without a quaffle, Eddie,” Alina beamed, “unless you invent a new way?”   

“Funny.” Ed rolled his eyes at his wife as he hovered somewhat unsteadily in the air. It had been a while. “It doesn’t look good on you, Ali. Leave the funny to the pros, yeah?” Perhaps like he should leave the broom riding and quidditch players to the pros. Boys never truly grew up; Edward Pratt was proof.

“Winston!” The fluffy beast of a dog ran under him, excited at what was to come. “Ball. Get the ball.” The wizard pointed at a battered looking quaffle lying on the patio. With Noah at school the majority of the year, the quaffle had become the dog’s new chew toy. Alina wasn’t likely to be impressed at the playing facilities on offer.

With the ball in the dog’s mouth, Ed hovered down, taking it from his pooch, his face screwing up as his hand became covered in dog slobber. After a wipe on his jeans, the quaffle was ‘clean’ enough to get on with the event.

Alina beamed smugly from atop the rickety broom she was perched upon.  “I could say same thing,” she called down to him before she reached up behind her head and tugged her hair into a messy ponytail.  Obviously, for all of her husband’s talk, Alina had no intention of letting him get away with that.

But, while she was worried about making sure her hair didn’t fly in her face, Ed was calling the dog for the quaffle.  She rolled her eyes.  “If you just ask we use my practice gear,” she dipped down next to him and raised her eyebrows at the disgusting ball.  “Cannons official, you know.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him knowingly: his choice in equipment was suspect.  But, she could play with anything.  Growing up, she didn’t have professional grade gear until school.  Sure, the broom felt like it might fall out of the sky and desperately needed a tune up, but she’d manage.  Ed was half in the glass anyway, and by the looks of it: rusty.  Zipping upward, she glanced downward.  “We make this interesting, yes?” Her eyebrows waggled and she wanted to see just where this would go.   

“No cheating.” The auror carefully eyed his wife as his broom steadily rose into the air, grubby quaffle in hand. Regarding cheating, she wouldn’t be the problem. As good as Ed had been in his youth, a fact which he had shared with a disbelieving wife, he was extremely out of practice and unfortunately quite positive that he would lose to her if he didn’t cheat himself.

Wand drawn out, Ed pointed it at one end of the garden and made a circle shape. A large hoop appeared in the air. The same was done at the opposite end of the large garden before Ed slipped his wand back into his jean pocket. He had a few tricks up his sleeve.

“Go nice, eh? I can’t be off work because my wife got violent and tried to throw me off me own broom.” He knew what professional players were like. “I’ve been to St Mungo’s enough for two lifetimes.”

He’d barely stopped talking when he suddenly zoomed forward, diving under and around Ali towards the hoop behind her.