"Weasley," Quentin said, picking up one of the practice wands and examining it. He always preferred to give himself a handicap. It made target practice truer to life. His fingers grazing the wood, he shot off a small spark in the war, running his thumb over the knothole near the tip. Perfect. "Did you want to do it here because you're looking for a way to defend yourself?"
The tone was casual, though there was an undercurrent of truth to it. He suspected that there was no one harder on Charles Weasley than the man himself. But things had not, indeed, gone as well as they might - Trimble was waiting for the investigative report from the Daily Prophet at any moment.