Now that he had asked, he realised he wasn’t quite certain what he would do if the man said no. He would have had to come clean about the origin of the fire, he supposed, and tell him the paperwork had gone up in smoke, and probably someone else from the department would have to redo the work for him, and then all his colleagues would resent him.

So when the gentleman overcame his frown and said very well, Tybalt let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, his limbs less tense already and the relief washing palpably over his face in the form a grin. He would still have to explain the delay to his own department, but he could stomach that - the queasiness in his stomach was already settling. “Thank you, sir,” Tyb said in hasty gratitude. “That’s not a problem, we’ll get it to you as soon as possible - Mr. ...” he trailed off, because, amidst his flurry, he’d quite forgotten the name on this office.

(Spell trials, as an aside, sounded rather entertaining, like a more experimental kind of duel or something. It was a pity they probably weren’t for public viewing.)

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