Fitz Prewett held up his arm to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine, a feat made more difficult by the three enchanted mirrors hounding him so that he could observe the other trials in process. Like the other panel members, the wizard wore a beater's bat at his side just in case, but unlike them, he was positively itching to use it. That he was not trying out today was something of a sore spot for Fitzroy, who missed terribly the sport he so loved but who knew that the path he had taken, ultimately, was the right one for him.

Still, as a bludger zoomed by their faces, his hand moved instinctively to the bat but did not unhook it.

The task was simple enough: the contenders for the Britain National beaters roster would each be given five targets to defend while simultaneously trying to take out the targets of their opponents. They had been color-coded before starting, to make it easier on all involved parties.

Out of the corner of his eye he observed Cassius Lestrange perform rather an impressive dive in the seekers' mirror, but his heart and his attention were both here, observing (and judging) the beaters.

(Perhaps if they were all rubbish he could make a case for putting himself in the game.)

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