A/N: First prompt I got from a friend: Challenge. Yaxley or Dolohov first quidditch day.
It had only been a few days since the fourth year began and already, everyone was clamouring to get onto the team. Quidditch was a stupid sport of 12 brainless children seeking a golden ball and competing for points that would not matter in the following year.
With a trowel in one hand, Corban Yaxley shook his head as he tended carefully to the flower bed in front of him. There had to be more to life than competing in the vast sky for something so... ordinary. It would have been a lot more exciting and worthwhile to compete for the majesty of the sky or even the freedom to fly freely, but that would be too lofty a dream for those juveniles. Perhaps he could build something like the muggles did, a huge ball of air and a basket. Perhaps he could take her to see the-
"Hey, shouldn't you be at the pitch?"
"Not interested," Corban replied easily as he continued gardening. Perhaps, he could use clifter branches to build his basket. In case they fell out of the air and into the sea, clifter wood was known for its buoy-
"I heard someone was shortlisted for their team."
Corban silently bristled at the continuous interruptions. How was he to show her a new world if he could not think of a flight model in his mind? Why was the Russian spy even updating him about the twerp? What did he care what the bumbling idiot do? It would just be like a narrow-minded bottom-dweller to chase after popularity. After all, a sheep would willingly conform to society instead of exploring the vast world on their own.
"She was at the stands during his trial. I'm willing to bet a few that she'd be there when the real matches begin."
Corban froze as he slowly lowered the watering can and turned to look over his shoulder. "And you're only telling me this now, Antonin?" he growled as he glared at his black-haired Russian friend, "You don't think it was important to tell me yesterday?"
"I don't know," Antonin shrugged with a huge smile as laughter lines appeared around the corners of his grey eyes, "didn't seem significant to me. You're not into stupid, ridiculous, childish broom flying anyway so you know what, forget I said anything."
"Bastard!" Corban snarled as he leapt to his feet and punched the Russian boy, "My wife is looking at someone else! Of course it's important, you stupid bastard!"
Rolling on the grass, the fourth year boys growled and swore as they traded painful punches and kicks in the afternoon heat. Eventually, the perspiring boys stopped fighting and lied side by side as they stared at the clear sky. "You know, you should go now," Antonin wheezed as he moved his wet fringe away from his eyes, "or they'd think that Lord Yaxley of Durness is a charlatan."
Corban gaped as turned to look at his friend. "Why would you..." he snarled before realization hit him and he smiled gratefully, "Oh, oh. You stupid Russian bastard." It was just like Antonin to round the bend than to bluntly state anything. Bidding his friend a hasty farewell, Corban dashed for the trial of a sport he had sneered at. He was doing this for his family's honor and nothing to do with her but... If it brought him closer to her, well Merlin, that was good too.
"Love sick prick," Antonin chuckled as he smiled serenely, "go get her."
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