“Oh, it was a cinch,” Kris drawled, pleased to have such a sensible listening ear and hand of support as Bingham. A trusted friend; though he was a little glad, too, that Rupert hadn’t been at the beater tryouts. It would have been an unnecessary show of competition, and - a risk. But Rupert was better than that; he knew his place.

“Blast it, I did better than Bones!” Kristoffer burst out with in disbelief, peering up at the figures of the potential players people were voting on, and scrutinising the beaters’ respective sizes. Why was Bones bigger than him? “What are they playing at? Why am I so sodding small?”

---

“Oh, of course,” Kristoffer said derisively, rolling his eyes for Bingham’s benefit. “What is it with this country and everyone’s hard-on for the underdog?” He scoffed, eyes falling across some of the other cutouts in something close to disbelief. “I mean, what’s the point,” he asked - quite philosophically, if he did say so himself. “Why bother? They’re only setting themselves up for disappointment.”

He sniffed. “Hopefully the judging committee don’t have their hands bound by having to pick the team out of fairness,” Kris added with a snicker at the ludicrous thought. Imagine putting on some scrappy working class lad because he ‘deserved’ to have a little hope at a career he ought not even be able to afford? What if - worse - they picked a woman?

---

“Very true,” Kristoffer replied portentously, as if they were discussing a matter of grand political or philosophical importance here, and not a sporting competition. “After all, the last thing Britain needs to look like on the world stage is a limp-wristed milksop of a nation, bowing to all this -” he waved his hand in a careless gesture (and earned a dirty look from a passing stranger; possibly he was talking too loudly) - “suffrage and lunacy.” Progressiveness, pah! Britain’s empire was already on the verge of failing - the last thing they needed was some third-world states getting to gloat if the national team of the most powerful country in the world lost on home soil. “Imagine what the world will think of us if Britain can’t even cobble together fourteen respected men!”

Honestly, this might be a sign he ought to go into International Magical Cooperation someday! Wouldn’t he just be the best sort of ambassador? He understood the world for what it was (full of  fools and barbarians).

---

Never mind that Cassius was family. Never mind that Cassius was a seeker and not a beater anyway. Never mind that Cassius had the advantage of a successful quidditch career to recommend him. Never mind that - that bastard had stared at Kristoffer’s figure and snubbed him deliberately!

“Rotten choice, you cretin!” Kris mutter-yelled. Motherfucker. He suspected it might be another schoolmate of his - and he suspected the fellow had heard him. If only he’d had something in his hands to throw at him besides his fists. Oh. Purposefully, Kristoffer drew his wand.

As to whether he ought to cast a nasty jinx from afar and move on, or ambush this offender around a quiet tent corner for a proper duel, Kristoffer was undecided; at this junction, he glanced briefly at Bingham, waiting for assurances or discouragement or a verbal confirmation that he would be his second, and take a fist to the face for him if that was what it took.

Rupert was smart, see. Rupert was a good friend, with his best interests at heart. Rupert might even have a little thing called self-control.

---

Rupert watched in idle amusement as Kristoffer muttered at the man who had snubbed him. His amusement only grew when Kristoffer withdrew his wand. Well, this could be entertaining. But life would be so dull if Kristoffer were in jail and this was too public a place for a duel.

"We should seek out some of these folks after the event. I think we'd find we have much in common," he said which was basically code for 'let's find him later'. Somewhere that they wouldn't end up branded as brainless wand wielding brutes.

---

Rupert proved him right for thinking he’d be the sensible one, but without being a complete killjoy who was afraid to go toe to toe with these disrespectful losers.

“An excellent idea,” Kristoffer said with a sniff, and before he put his wand away he set a discreet little tracking spell upon the offender, so that they would know exactly where he was later and no excuses. After that he reluctantly stuffed his wand away and exhibited an exquisite level of class and self-restraint by giving the other guy a glaring finger.

The other guy laughed, which Kristoffer didn’t appreciate. “C’mon, let’s go,” he told Rupert; time to move on.

For now.

---

Rupert was relieved when Kristoffer put away his wand. The last thing he wanted was to be banned from future events. They sometimes weren't the most interesting things to attend but it did get his name and face more known. He resisted the urge to chuckle as Kristoffer flashed the bird at the man. His friends temper was not helped by the offender simply laughing at the gesture.

He nodded in agreement as Kristoffer moved them along and followed after the other boy.

---