With more than half a roster to fill, George Waterford knew today was important. It would be her only year captaining the house quidditch team—which had not won a cup since '86—and thus, her only chance to get this right.

"Good morning," George greeted simply, doing her best to deepen her voice. It had been a long time since the rest of her yearmates had seen their voices crack and boom with the change of adolescence, and while she had mimicked it the best she could, it was still higher than most. "I hope none of you skipped breakfast—one does not play their best on an empty stomach."

The Ravenclaw gave a wry smile, having done just that in the past.

The seventh year continued, pacing slightly, broomstick in one hand.

"Today, you will be trying out for one—or both—of chaser and beater, both of which are integral to the team. Most of you will likely know that the latter was not permitted last year, and I can say quite honestly that I am excited to have it back, though a part of me shall miss not getting thwacked in the shoulder."

"Those who are trying for chaser should pair up and demonstrate their ability to pass and catch the quaffle at increasing distances. From there, you will have individual opportunities to fire on Montgomery." Here, George gestured to Thomas, standing by.

"Those who are trying out for beater, you will note that I have set some targets up on the level of play," the captain gestured above them. "You will need to grab a bat, find a bludger, and try to hit as many targets as possible* in the two minutes you are allocated."

Without further ado, George straddled her broomstick and blew the silver whistle around her neck.

"Begin!"

The seeker kicked off into the sky.