2 April 1895 — Auror Training Offices; Training Arena
Trystan Selwyn

The decision had been made for Faustus to return to his former position as the Stealth & Tracking Instructor after Malou gave birth and he honestly couldn’t be more enthusiastic about it. He’d be more out of harm’s way, and was able to keep in with his colleagues. While he didn’t necessarily agree with every single one of them, they’d developed a rapport that he would have been loathe to break if he had had to move departments.

It was with this news fresh in his mind that he walked into the training arena early one morning. “Selwyn!” He called to his friend with a grin as he took off his coat and began rolling up his sleeves. “You ready for some payback for that last duel?”

Admittedly it wasn’t a super humiliating duel to lose - if he had to lose against anyone he’d have rather it been someone from his own department than someone outside - or even worse, someone not even in the Ministry.

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“Please,” Trystan scoffed, with a booming laugh, “I barely even scratched you in that last.” He had been limbering up, stretching out his calves in anticipation of needing to dodge. Because Prewett was going to give him hell today, he could sense it – something about training up the young’uns made everyone want to be the more impressive, learn a little bit of show. Trystan would know: he was old hat on the training programme by now.

“I reckon your second marriage has made you a little soft,” he joked, extracting his wand to signal he was ready to go. He was allowed to joke about this – he was old hat at being married too, though he suspected Prewett’s had found a happier medium.

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“No, you, old man, barely even scratched me, but I couldn’t say the same for those damned birds!” Faustus rejoined gleefully as he shot a few experimental spells at a target dummy before heading into the middle of the ring.

Again, he’d have preferred an entire murder of bloody crows before he faced down a whole stampede of horses, but he’d thus far managed to conceal his irrational discomfort of the beasts, so he was hardly going to make it available information for Selwyn. That’d only fuel him for their next duel - or this one, even.

He snorted at Selwyn’s joke, knowing it was all in good fun. Oh, there was a part of him that bristled, wanting to defend Marie, but he knew Selwyn hardly meant any harm. He grinned. “If anything, I think it’s made me realize how much I need to brush up on everything, so I hope you’ve prepared yourself, mate.”

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“Hit me with your best shot,” Trystan welcomed, still smirking at Prewett and his jovial entrance. The Auror offices wore on some people, over the years – there were those haunted and on edge, a few with barely-repressed anger issues and plenty with egos the size of Britain, but Prewett was one of those who’d made it through fairly unscathed. Had a good, solid head on his shoulders.

“Well, if you can,” he added cheerfully, with a quick flick of his wand into a wordless Disarming Charm. He rather hoped it wouldn’t be that easy – there was no fun in a training duel that was over before it began.

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He’d have been disappointed if Selwyn had made it easy on him, though a wordless Disarming Charm could, admittedly, have been called ‘easy’. Still, Faustus grinned testing his stance as he easily deflected the charm and shot back a jelly legs jinx, conjured a circle of spinning water above Selwyn’s head and a stunner all in quick succession. “Speaking of marriages, how’s your young niece’s gone? Have she and Lestrange made a fine little nest for themselves?”

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Prewett didn’t need much warming up time, then, thank Merlin – though it did take Trystan some concentration indeed to dodge the jinxes and the water and still take in his question. This was good practice, really; whether or not they ever took to the field again, they did need to be able to show off to the trainees. Trystan, having ducked sideways in haste, rendered himself briefly invisible, shot off a faux-reflection of himself one way, and reappeared on Faustus’ other side to send an Impedimenta his way. Which might even give him a breath to answer – “Oh yes, they’re quite happy,” (Trystan felt this may be something of an exaggeration, but besides Adrienne’s difficult time giving birth, they had not contrived to make waves in their marriage – she was not one to complain.)

“They’ve a son now, you know – little Perseus – which makes me a,” Trystan was distracted enough that he almost had it in his head to say grandfather (he was one still; Liliana had made him one), but not in this case. “Great-uncle.” It sounded rather ridiculous to him, still; Trystan still felt entirely young.

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Faustus didn’t bother to hide the glee in his expression as he watched Selwyn work through the obstacles in his path. His stance didn’t falter for one second; he might have resigned himself to not go out into the field anymore, but there was no way he was letting himself slip. He saw the faintest of glimmers to his opponent’s image, and only the slightest sound of the spell firing from Selwyn’s wand alerted him in time to throw up a shield around himself.

“A son!” Faustus exclaimed joyfully, remembering that he’d sent his congratulations to the couple as soon as he’d heard the news. “What a great name. Have you met your great-nephew yet, then?” He asked, shooting a spell at the ground below Selwyn to make the earth split below his feet.

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“Course!” Trystan said jovially. “But what about you, sir! Haven’t you a brand new babe at home, yourself?” Talk about making him feel old in comparison!

A duel like this, with more than one wizard who knew what they were doing, was not so different from a dance – one needed to keep abreast of the rhythm, as well as the steps. Trystan didn’t trip up when the floor cracked open, but he was forced an unexpected pace backwards to keep his balance. So, to make up for that, and because that rift in the floor could work in both of their favours – Trystan conjured a fleet of flying arrows to shoot towards Prewett from one direction, and followed it up with a blasting curse on his other side, to hopefully catch him one way or another. “Now how’s that been?”

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A brand new babe at home. Faustus marvelled at that simple fact. Selwyn was only 2 years Faustus’ senior, and already his younger wards and even Miss Liliana had added a next generation to the family. With Edelweiss coming out in less than a month, Faustus was reluctant to admit to himself that his daughter could very possibly be in that position within the next year. After all, Miss Adrienne had barely entered Society when she became engaged to Cassius Lestrange.

A nice distraction from this train of thought came in the form of Selwyn’s retaliation, though truth be told Faustus nearly missed being grazed by one of the arrows. The loud bang to his left saw him erect a large pillar to try and deflect, but with debris flying in every direction, he additionally had to throw up a shield to avoid the blowback.

He swore.

“Heaven!” He replied through gritted teeth as he apparated from his spot, and repeating the move twice over to hopefully throw Selwyn off. It was a bit tricky to not give away his position when they were actually having a conversation. Faustus waited until after he’d sent a swarm of bees to surround Selwyn (in addition to trying to raise the ground below his opponent to throw him off balance) before he responded. “Marie’s exhausted, but she did beautifully. Her and little Rosie are as perfect as can be.” Even as he spoke he could feel the swell of pride blooming in his chest at the thought of his wife and new daughter. “We’ll have to have you and Ambrosia over soon.”

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Trystan heard Prewett’s exclamation of heaven over the ominous sound of bees swarming; the discordance between them almost made him laugh.

Not that there was much breath to waste on laughter, when the cloud of bees and other sprayed-up debris and the cracks of Faustus apparating to and fro were taking up all of Trystan’s attention. One barely needed to move to be out of breath; it was fortunate that Aurors were well-practised in non-verbal spells, because the average person would never have had time enough to splutter out the incantations.

“Congratulations!” Trystan just about managed for the moment, sincerely pleased for Prewett and his wife, the happily little family they seemed to be. The floor was lifting him up, teetering on the spot, but Trsytan scanned the room – aha. He shot a spell at the pillar to transfigure the marble into a giant sugary, syrup sculpture to better drive the bees that way, and conjured a grey wall of smoke between him and them, hanging there like a dense screen. It wouldn’t stop a curse getting through, but Prewett likely wouldn’t be able to see his position behind it, either.

Only Trystan couldn’t help but bark out a wild laugh about that invitation, too distracted to do anything else about it. “Oh, you don’t want to put yourselves through that,” he warned, only half-joking here, because the difference between their marriages would only be too vast. No doubt the picture-perfect Prewett family on show would have Ambrosia in a more jaded mood than ever about her lot, and they would have a close-up picture of wedded hell in return; and she would come home wanting to claw Trystan’s eyes out, if they did first make it through the invitation intact. “We can’t all live up to your ideal.”

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