Axe eyed the general masses with extreme distaste, not bothering to disguise his unimpressed and irritated expression. The chairs they had conjured earlier had lost any sense of comfort they may have once had, but he positively refused to allow Rose and he to graduate to the need for tents, unlike some of the squatters out here. Not many more people, he reasoned, and the Ministry would have to jump through quite a few hoops to explain the peculiar scene to the Muggles.
That was not his concern, however.
He had not yet been to sleep, which generally led to a very short fuse to his temper and a complete inability to command any one language politely. Despite the dull aching need to stretch his muscles, however, Axe only felt the faintest pulls to sleep. He'd reasoned one of them should stay awake, in the unlikely miraculous event that something here actually happened, and since she was the one currently suffering the most stress, the nicest thing to do would be to let her sleep while she could.
It was, he supposed, too great a temptation to fate, to assume two highly stressed professional Quidditch players might actually enjoy the entirety of their off-season in peace, but knew to bite his tongue. If the state of Britain was of any indication, it seemed this wasn't to be a peaceful period for anybody.
"Early." He stretched his sore muscles. "It is 4, I think." Axe generously thought he could tolerate another hour of being shuffled around, indirectly promised things, and lectured at before he began cracking skulls together.
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