"Psst!" 

"Psst!"

"George!"

"Oy, dickhead!"

"What?" George groaned, turning from his transfiguration notes. 
"What you think of all this muggle murder crap?" 
"Jesus, I know no more than you."
"Yeah but your Dad-"
"He tells me Jack. Just leave it."
"I heard he's a purist, trying to purify the Wizarding race."
"Jesus, that's lame."
"Proper mean streak."

"Travers! Avery! Nott! Be quiet!" All three boys dropped to silence, Traver slipping a copy of the Daily Prophet into his pocket again. "I expected more from you, Nott. It takes a lot to be an Auror. Concentration is key." George immediately rolled his eyes and continued to make notes. He didn't need that kind of pressure. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be an Auror. His passion was duelling, always had been. There was a possibility he could join a professional team, play against people of his own skill level. Yet not with his dad on his back.

Class ended soon enough and all students quickly packed their belongings, making their way to the door. 
"George, it is still your passion, correct?" The professor asked, expecting him to nod. Of course he did. "May I suggest you focus on your studies this year. You're father may be Head of that department but it doesn't just take name alone. Winning the cup this year may also help." Again, George nodded.

He gave an almighty sigh and headed out into the busy corridor. It was only September but he already hadn't least three places on the duelling team to fill before Halloween and homework to finish. Let alone anything else.