Challenge: Inquisitorial Squad
Word Count: 100
“Mr. Crabbe. What are you doing?”
Vincent Crabbe, plump face creased in a most unattractive grin, pointed proudly at the smoldering remains of a squirrel. “Practicing, sir.”
“Practicing what, Mr. Crabbe?” Severus tried to ignore the silver initial glinting on his robes, or the appreciative audience who stood at a respective distant. “Burning a divot out of the quidditch pitch is not part of pest control, or wasn't the last time I looked.”
Sparks crackled from the tip of Crabbe's wand. “Incendio, sir. Nothing more.”
“Why?”
Crabbe smiled. “One never knows when an enemy will appear, sir.”