The Places That I've always avoided. /Closed

[Ashton Wentworth]

"Johnson! here's mister Wentworth, you should remember him. No?Ahh, well then, Meet Mister Wentworth, he was the one that I was telling you about"

Stupid, he just felt stupid. He didn't want to be here and he certainly didn't want to be dressed this way. Ever since Auror training he had been able to get away with wearing almost whatever he wanted. Being sent to do work that was classified as 'covert' was pretty lenient in the dress code department, provided that you didn't start walking around a in dress or something that gained far too much attention. His was a job that needed to stay under the radar. He and a few others from training had been selected on graduation day for a new department. One that the minister had hand created then passed off. In lieu of the birthday attack all that time ago he had been forced to keep his decisions in the hands of others. They had gotten into the birthday party who knew what else of his that they had their hands in. Today marked the end of his first week back in Austria. Thus, it was his first day back at work. He had taken a few days off for travel and to get settled back into things. It was strange but he had never actually seen the desk side of his job before. Sure, he had filed paperwork here and there but mostly it was, he got an owl and away he went. He had been inside of the ministry before. But never for a good reason, he had wound up on the wrong side of an Auror a couple times ending up in the basement of this very building. The wizarding version of 'arrest and a drunk tank' to say the least. Funny how things end up.

His jacket was scratchy. He had on a very worn blazer that he had had for years now, the sleeves didn't quiet fit and it was a little too tight, but it suit the purpose. He had the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and that effectively hid most of the wear and tear. His white shirt had a couple stains on it from various liquids and a black pencil tie was improperly fitted into the collar. He hadn't bothered to shave and his hair was undone. But at least his pants were clean and those fit right. He'd had to replace his last pair of 'good' slacks after a harpie threw up on them. Go figure. Not a fluid that comes out easily after all. Ashton had his arms folded across his broad chest, thus straining the jacket across the back of his shoulders. He hadn't had time to clean his boots and no desire to purchase new ones since this pair were so well broken in already. Bits of mud were caked across the toe and the heel was starting to split. Laces were frayed. Overall he just didn't look like a professional, it certainly wasn't making the best of first impressions. He didn't smile often and with good reason. The office around him wasn't more than some cubicles and a few doors that undoubtedly lead to the offices of whatever higher ups this department had. His own supervisor, Rutherford something or another, was standing beside him at this very moment, they had long ago sat together in his own office. Seemed like hours ago. of course there's no clock he thought to himself after scanning the walls of this medium room for a lifetime.

Rutherford had insisted on giving Ash a tour of the entire building since he had yet to see all of the departments and such. Rather than just letting Ash figure it out on his own as he preferred to do, he was taking him around, introducing him to everybody and having what felt like, hour long conversations with each and every one of them. People that he couldn't care less about. He hadn't shaken a single hand no mutter a single hello, then again he hadn't needed too. Rutherford didn't seem to mind either given by his non stop incessant chattering. Too friendly. The kind of person who had been behind a desk for far too long. Needed to get a life. Quickly. Nevertheless, here he was, bored out of his mind and pain was starting to creep from his feet up his legs. He was getting hungry and was in awe of the fact that Rutherford could talk that long without his mouth getting dry. There weren't many people in the office today, it was a Wednesday so he figured it would be fairly busy. Maybe if it had been, he wouldn't be on this stupid tour. Any time that he tried to wander off or get a closer look the couple times that he was paying attention Rutherford would do something insane like put his hand on Ashton's shoulder or half hug him to keep them moving. It was like he was being corralled. He hated it. However, he was keeping in line. As much as he hated being controlled, he hated whenever people touched him. Well, when other men touched him.

Exhaling deeply he could hear his stomach growling. Soon, people would either be turning into large cartoon versions of food with smell lines, or he was going to bite somebody. The secretary over there looked like she wouldn't mind too much. Hell, she might even offer herself as a sacrifice from the way that she kept looking at him. It was like a horrible cop movie in here, except for all of the posters with people riding on brooms pasted to the walls. So far, that was the only thing that was worse than the tour, he had to stand in a room surrounded by wanna be fairies on brooms. Why a self respecting man would volunteer to ride on a stick that pressed upon uncomfortable places he would never know. Unless of course they liked the broom pressing against parts that really needed some space. That was a whole other issue. He never did understand sports. He liked watching them even less. He couldn't make out the names on the doors to the offices and didn't recognize anybody in the room itself, not that there were more than three men and the secretary so that wasn't really saying much.

"You two would really get along I think if you wan-" Half tuning back into the conversation at hand he started to shift his weight back and forth between his heels and the balls of his feet. His jaw clenching with every step. He needed to get the hell out of here and do something. As he understood it, there was still a whole other floor to get through, and at this pace he would be here until tomorrow morning. Maybe it was night outside, maybe that's why there wasn't anybody here. Perhaps this tour really was taking as long as it felt and he had spent his whole day walking around the ministry offices meeting all sorts of people he was dying to forget with a bottle of scotch. The poor sap Rutherford had roped into talking to him was starting to squirm, Ashton couldn't help but smirk whenever he saw the greying mans hand reach up and clasp onto Johnson's' shoulder and weight heavily there. Looks like he wasn't the only one who wanted to get out of here. Soon.

[Deleted]

The workload hadn’t lessened. In fact, Tristan was sure that it had only increased. In the past week, his inbox had gone from one pile to two. Magically, the box had lengthened itself to fit the overgrowing pile. Although he was able to get through several folders a day, each folder he completed was multiplied by three extra mysteriously showing up within minutes. Enough was never enough in this job. Tristan was aware of the reason his stress level had gone through the roof. In several months’ time, the Quidditch World Cup would be starting up again. Written contracts were coming through each of the worldwide departments for reading and revising. All of the departments of magical games and sports had to agree on a contract to present to all of the participants, vendors, venues in consideration and camping grounds. With every department having a different opinion of this and that, it had been extremely difficult to get past a collective agreement after the first page.

Besides the contracts, he was receiving letters from the various teams that played in Austria. Each wrote begging for the chance to represent their country in the cup. It would be Tristan’s duty to go to upcoming games, select seven all-stars and fourteen backups from the teams the country had to offer. He was more excited about watching the games then he was meeting with the players. Tristan knew that as soon as he signed one player, another would come up to him moaning and groaning about favoritism and how they were going to call the International Quidditch Association. From either ends of the spectrum (the players and the Ministry), he was going to have to hear complaining until summer ended. If he prepared himself for it now then he figured he may not have to make a noose and hang himself before the season was over.

He slammed the cover shut on a folder containing another letter from the Klagenfurt Kelpies requesting his presence at their next practice game eight days from now. Tristan had responded and put the folder in his outbox which would await his receptionist. Marguerite would then sort through the folders to determine what went where and who got what. He had no idea what he would do without her. Even more work was guaranteed. That was the last thing he needed. It also helped immensely that she was in love with him. As selfish as it was, her infatuation made it impossible for her to say no to any request he had. On occasion, only when the work got too overbearing of course, Tristan would kindly ask her to look over folders he probably should have been the only one to view and inform her to do what she thought was necessary.

What really frustrated him was the lack of progress that had been made from his other job. Tristan had finished his Auror training nearly two years ago and had yet to see the battlefront. Granted nothing had been happening in the wizarding world lately but he was anxious to prove his worth. He hadn’t even been sent out on any one of the various disturbance calls throughout Europe. They hadn’t been anything major, just a house burning or spotting of a known DeathEater, but anything was better than being locked up in this stifling office day after day. Tristan yearned for his chance to put his wand to good use. He wanted to round up as many of the bastards as he could and personally escort them to the confines of Azkaban prison. When was his chance going to come? Was it going to come?

Tristan sighed angrily as he ran a hand through his hair. It took every fiber of his being not to rip a few strands of it out as he did so. His eyes roamed up to the right side of his office. The clock read ten thirty. He couldn’t even leave for lunch until an hour from now. Tristan was trapped. He leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. He would have never imagined himself in this position three years ago. He was freshly graduated from Galaxia, had the opportunity to join the Greece national team and he threw it all away. He threw it all away just for the thought of being able to do something good for the world. What was he doing good? Working to provide entertainment to hundreds and thousands of Quidditch lovers who wouldn’t even know his contributions? No one would know his name. Hell, he couldn’t even get a bloody nameplate for his office door so people could know whose office they were about to enter.

“Get yourself back to the grind Stavros,” he advised himself, “that pile is only going to keep getting bigger and bigger. The longer you wait, the later you’re going to be here tonight.” His little pep talk worked. Pushing himself up, Tristan grabbed the next folder on top and brought it down to his level. As he did so, Marguerite’s voice sounded through the room. “Mr. Stavros?” Tristan…how many times did he have to tell her to just call him Tristan? “Mr. Rutherford is asking to see you. He’s brought a guest with him he’d like you to meet.” Great. This was just what he needed. Even more interruption. Rutherford was a bloke he couldn’t say no to though. “Send him in.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

While Rutherford's attention was diverted elsewhere, Ash took the opportunity to rotate his body a good 180 degrees and look around the office, he wasn't sure if he would be able to move a step away without the mans squat hand touching the small of his back, the thought alone was enough to give him shivers. He acted the way he thought that a stereotypical grandfather did, but he couldn't have been more than 45 or so. Nonetheless he was overbearing and Ashton would rather not have to duck affection the rest of this unholy tour. There was literally nothing interesting in the whole damned office. The walls seemed to ooze mundane. The air was stale and lifeless. The only good thing that he could squeeze out of the room was the woman who was trying way too hard. He wouldn't have put it past her to have a dozen cats at home that she had names for and for whom she threw birthday parties. Smiling at the mental picture he snapped to reality and noticed that she had been staring at him for a good five minutes. She didn't blink.

Arching an eyebrow he was starting to feel creeped out, like she was going to hover over him holding a cupcake or something. His eyes opened as he turned back around to fein interest in whoever he was supposed to be talking too. For somebody who had been out doing physical errands for the ministry for the better part of two years he couldn't imagine why they were pulling him back for a desk job. As of yet, it was the ONE thing that good ol' fordie had yet to mention in one of his speeches. He almost was wishing for something to attack the ministry at this very moment just so that he would have something to do. As luck would have it, Rutherford took a breath and Johnson cut in as quickly as possible, turning the tables and stepping forward to yank the sleeve of Ashton's jacket as hard as he could and petal their little group toward the secretary quickly. " Marge!! Have you seen Rutherford recently? He's got somebody to introduce you too! In fact, in your boss in? Page him, i'm sure he would LOVE to meet the both of them if he hasn't already!" Johnson breezed before turning heel to the pair and nervously mumbling something about an appointment and once again jolting off as fast as the mans skinny little pegs would carry him. Lucky Bastard. If possible, he had managed to make this day even worse. 'Marge' lit up, excitement seemed to ooze from her body. She wasn't horrible looking, but she certainly shouldn't apply make up at work, she had lipstick on her teeth. Maybe she slept here? He wouldn't have doubted it judging by the paperwork on her desk. Maybe her boss was just an asshole who couldn't do anything for himself.

"Well Marguerite, you look rested today" Rutherford eased, no she didn't, she's had way too much coffee Ashton contradicted in his mind. She shot her hand out toward Ashton but he didn't return the gesture so she sat down, beaming. She seemed to be checking her bosses schedule while politely responding to every droll question and comment that Rutherford sent in her direction. She was a very patient person from the looks of it. Good for her, when the time was right she did interject that yes, her boss was indeed in the office and should be available for a meeting but did have his lunch hour soon. She had a soft voice and kind eyes, but she was still trying very hard. Her gaze kept returning to Ashton, but it didn't ever seem to stay on his face. He couldn't stop staring at her with an insulting quizzical gaze. Normally he would have at least attempted some sort of pick up line, but the hunger was ebbing into his brain. It was only time for lunch? Had he heard that correctly? This day was never going to end. Absently he began to fiddle with on of the folders that she had left on her desk, more rudding broom races. Pressing his index finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose he exhaled and dropped his hands down to the inside of his pockets. "Well dear would you mind getting a hold of Tristan and seeing if he wouldn't mind speaking with us for a few moments? I would love for him to meet Mister Wentworth"

The way that Fordie kept saying his surname was starting to bother him, he didn't like being paraded around like a damn prize tomato it was annoying. Wait, Tristan? Surely it couldn't be the same one, a devilish grin stretched across Ashton's bored features. His whole body seemed to creak in anticipation, Marge couldn't get the intercom working so she was getting up and smoothing out her dress. Her ill fitting heels causing her to move slowly. Ash watched her go out of habit, as she scuttled into the office after only one knock. “Mr. Stavros?” she poked her head in the door. “Mr. Rutherford is asking to see you. He’s brought a guest with him he’d like you to meet.” Turning to look back at Ash whenever she mentioned the word 'guest' and smiling. “Send him in.” came the reply, Rutherford started to move into the room, no doubt excited about having somebody else to bore with his useless conversation and hand gestures. Ashton followed suit, lending Marge a wink as he closed the door behind him, leaving her out. Eagerly, he leaned around Rutherford's frame to see who he was going to be speaking too as subtly as possible. He could hardly contain his glee.

Well look at this, the mighty Starvos, do no wrong Starvos stuck behind a desk while Ashton got to go out and pretty much do what he pleased and get paid for it. The mountain of paperwork on the desk only made things better. "Mister Starvos, I would like you to meet our best field agent! I've been showing him off all day he started, the speech didn't have a foreseeable end in sight so Ash took the opportunity to slide forward and hold a hand out to the man sitting at the desk. Beaming, he let it be obvious he was looking at the desk and gloating. "This is a nice little desk you have here Starvos" If Rutherford noticed the change in Ashton's behavior he didn't show it, he just went right on talking about the 'new department' and dropping the word 'auror' every few sentences with large arm gestures. Returning his hand to his pocket he just stood next to Rutherford as tall as he could, grin pasted to his face. Maybe he was going to like working here after all.

[Deleted]

With the insane amount of paperwork on his desk, Tristan felt sorry for whomever Rutherford brought in. If they wanted to stick around to chat he was going to be unable to acquiesce their request. He really hoped that once the two noticed the papers gathered atop of his desk and the few that lie scattered around it that they would respectfully say their hellos and then allow him to get back to work. If that actually happened with an escort like Rutherford though then Tristan would be surprised. He did feel bad for whoever it was with him. Rutherford was not a bad guy. Tristan was just convinced he liked the sound of his own voice. Perhaps whomever it was felt like taking a break from the man and would want to stay here to help him sort through this mess. It would be a win/win situation for the both of them.

Opening the folder he had just grabbed, Tristan began to scan over its contents. It was another revision of the contract for the camping grounds near Russia’s Quidditch stadium. The stadium was expected to play host to several of the games but refused to do so until the Ministry could guarantee extra money to renovate the area. He rolled his eyes. All these buggers wanted was money. He would have thought they’d be satisfied with the amount of traffic they knew would be passing through their borders. That was one thing he had learned during his time at the Ministry. No one ever had enough money. Their greed always got the best of them. The Ministry, always trying to please everyone to make themselves look good, abided. Sometimes he wondered where all the bloody money really came from.

He grabbed his quill and began signing his name to the highlighted spots which appeared to be on every single bloody page. Tristan didn’t even look up when he heard his door opening and the sound of footsteps entering. He prayed this meeting would last a matter of seconds. Out of the corner of his eye Tristan could see Rutherford’s outline and another next to him. He kept his eyes downward and his pen scribbling. "Mister Stavros, I would like you to meet our best field agent! I've been showing him off all day.” He was curious when the part about field agent was mentioned. Tristan could only assume that there was an Auror standing in his office. His pride forbid him from looking up. Did Merlin have it out for him? Why would he be so cruel to send someone in here that got to do what he’d rather be doing any bloody day of the week?

”This is a nice little desk you have here Stavros." Tristan wasn’t ignorant. He could hear the sarcasm dripping from the voice of the Auror. Perfect he thought to himself. Not only was the help out of the question, but he could feel his blood boiling at the snide comment. Rutherford needed to get the wanker out of here quickly. Tristan was a very prideful man and to be disrespected already in his office made him that much angrier. He briefly wondered if the man was informed about Tristan’s own status. If that was the case then the comment was even more disrespectful. He felt his grip tighten as he furiously began signing his name to the next sheet of the contract.

It was when the man stepped in front of his desk that Tristan finally stopped writing. This idiot had a lot of balls standing where he was at. He made sure to take a deep breath before looking up. The last thing he needed was to lose his job because of some jerk’s stupidity. He extended his hand as his gaze shifted upward. “Tristan Stav…” He stopped. As soon as his eyes landed on the face of the guest, Tristan felt his blood pressure rising. He had seen the face before and that stupid smirk that formed from its mouth. However, the last time he had seen it had been under completely different circumstances. And if he remembered correctly, he was being dragged away from it after his fists had made contact with it several times. A sadistic smirk sprung from his own face as the memory replayed over and over in his mind. He kept his hand extended, waiting for Wentworth to take hold. He may have been sitting behind a desk but Tristan was still significantly more built than the prick.

It wouldn’t sink in until their first interaction was over that Wentworth had been allowed to pass through Ministry doors.

[Ashton Wentworth]

It took all of thirty seconds after he had been 'introduced' by Rutherford before he started on his speech, so far it had been just about the same thing on each and every floor. Introduction that he didn't wait to be over, short list of accomplishments, 'what was next' and where the department would be going. It was a wonder he had managed to keep things under wraps for so long given his disposition since the department was just now going public three years down the line. How they put a man like this in charge of a 'secret' department Ash would never know. The speech would then turn in the direction of 'how hard' it had been to work in secret, even from his plump little wife and then he would ask about the victims family, never once really waiting for an answer. Pushy man, seemed nice enough, but he was pushy. On reconsideration, that was likely how he got this position in the first place, he would have hated to be the one turned down from a Secret department. Anybody would, it really was good and interesting work. Now, some of it was just boring paper pushing, the sort of thing that he had passed off to his old supervisor. Things like, making sure that the animagi were all properly registered. He would do the work tracking them down and verifying their shapes, transfiguration had always been his favorite subject. The whole process of shifting one thing to another fascinated him. But, helping the poor sap fill out the paperwork to legalize it? No thanks.

Whenever he had graduated he had been faced with the decision of what to do for the rest of his life. Well, rather he had been slapped into submission. Heaven forbid Georgie lifted a finger to bring in money its the mans job she had screeched over and over again. He had always been interested in the prospect of being an auror, and the training had never been with the promise of a job. He had put his name down on a whim. Then the bills started growing and he was enjoying getting out of the house and bar scene. The obvious life choice for him had been to not change, just keep bartending, living at Geoffs place and drinking on his nights off. Keeping the company of sorty wenches. The worse things got, the better the job started to look. It all boiled down to perfect timing in the end, things reached their ultimate bottom, and then he was offered a job. He had no choice but to take it, it was that or face a problem and that wasn't an option. He was just hoping to Merlin that he wasn't going to be placed in a desk job of sorts now, he was doing too well in the field. He knew that returning to his home office was going to be a set back, but he didn't know how much of one. There was already a tiny stack of papers on his desk, nothing compared to the mountain that he found here but it was something.

It took an absolute moron not to feel the heat rising from the opposite side of the desk, he rocked on his heels in anticipation, hand still extended, he had yet to look up to. He could feel it now, the day whenever Ash got to head out of here on something interesting and just envision Tristan up here, slaving away. Great motivation it was. He could see the indentions on the parchment he was signing his name too, pressing pretty hard and he didn't even know who it was yet. Following him eagerly with his eyes as Stavros dragged himself out of his seat and held an hand out “Tristan Stav…” There it was, the look he had been waiting for. Grasping his hand as firmly as possible he realized this was the first time they were meeting with open hands. For now anyway. "Well, we both already know that you know who I am" If memory served right the very last glimpse he had caught of the body of Stavros was whenever he had undone his oxygen lines whenever heading out of the hospital after being discharged. Before that, all of their encounters had ended up with closed fists and there hadn't been that many. Tristan wasn't a small man, and he cold definitely carry his own weight and knew how to throw a punch. He was broader, but Ashton had height on his size, his arms were longer and he liked to think that he was faster, not that he really wanted to put it to the test at this very moment. Fordie had drained almost all of the fight out of him with that monotonous tone.

Rutherford seemed to have no notice that this was the first time Ash was actually doing what he was supposed to, and didn't seem to notice the look of pure tar in each of the mens faces. Good to know that time doesn't change everybody. It took a little too long to let go, classic power struggle but he finally let go of his opponents hand and folded his arms back across his chest. Sizing up Stavros he really did need to start working out more, most of all now that he had the time. After all his last gym encounter had been just so pleasant. The grin never left his face once as he started to look at the walls of the office and thumb at the stack of paperwork on his desk, making a whistling sound that implied he thought that Tristan was either slacking off or not very good at his job. He was such an easy mark. He didn't need to brag, Rutherford had already done that for him. He wasn't sure if he had been in the same Auror training class that Tristan had been, or if he had gone before or after him, they didn't have much contact with the other witches and wizards that they were going through training with. Which was a good thing, there weren't many Slytherin alumni who went on to become Aurors, they tended to go the other route. Which made this whole thing even that much better, little Gryffindor Prince being introduced to him as an up and comer. Picking up a paper from the desk it seemed to be some sort of budget approval he laughed "Saving the world one galleon at a time eh?"

Dropping the paper back to the stack, letting a few of them fall out of place he moved his hands to his pockets. Rutherford was pointing to something on Tristan's wall at this point, no doubt making a valiant explanation about whatever he was pointing at, they were all just morons on brooms to him. Pretending to nod along he turned Rutherford back to Tristan he smiled "Tell Mr. Stavros about the harpies boss" It was one of the stories he was most proud of. He was doubtful that Tristan would let him go on, if he even listened at all. He could almost visibly see each and every gasket that was blowing under Tristan's skin. He wondered if he would even react since there was a coworker in the room. Merlin forbid he make a bad impression

[Deleted]

Tristan had changed a lot in these past years. For one, he had gotten a gym membership once graduating Galaxia. He had no desire to lose the shape he had been in for all of his schooling. He had found that his age aided in his new workout regime. Putting on muscle was easier than it had been before. Tristan felt that keeping himself in shape would give him an edge when he was finally selected to do some fieldwork. Along with the weight machines, he made sure to do cardio before and after his workouts. He was hoping that his burly looks would assure DeathEaters that the only thing that had to worry about was getting too close to him. Little would they know that there would be power in his legs and enough momentum in his lungs to carry him further distances than they would assume.

The other thing that had changed was his temper. Tristan had never been an angry individual. He never got into fights unless provoked and even then would do the best to rectify the situation before beating the bloke to a bloody pulp. His stress level had increased significantly since taking the head of department position. Even that hadn’t been enough to make him a miserable man to be around. Lately Tristan just didn’t care. He didn’t put himself in positions where he would ultimately be trying to prevent a fight simply because he didn’t have enough time to do it. He worked so often and for so long that whenever he got off early he went home. On his days off, he’d go to the gym and then go back home. On the occasion he did go out for a drink, he kept to himself. Out in public, Tristan had a reputation to uphold. He had a government job now. He couldn’t just go around acting like a child every chance he got.

Standing there with Wentworth’s hand in his grasp had been the thing that had ignited a spark he hadn’t felt in a long time. The smirk was still plastered on his face. ”Well, we both already know that you know who I am.” His grip tightened. There were twenty seven bones in the human hand. Tristan wondered how much tighter he needed to squeeze Wentworth’s hand to break every single one of them. “And I am extremely anxious to hear why the hell you’re in my office,” he responded. Rutherford was still going on about something but his voice was nothing more than background noise.

Their handshake finally broke. While doing so, the whistle that came from Wentworth’s mouth made the spark in Tristan’s body turned brighter. Who in the hell did this prat think he was? “Saving the world one galleon at a time, eh?” Tristan said nothing. His eyes followed the papers Wentworth had disturbed as they floated down to the floor. It was going to take an extra amount of time, time that he didn’t have by the way, to figure out where the buggers had originated. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Calm down. Don’t lose your cool over this arse. Wentworth knew what he was doing. Losing his job was not worth slamming the prat’s head into the desktop. Nor was it worth organizing those papers that would ultimately fall to the floor from doing so.

Wentworth said something to Rutherford about harpies causing the man to turn around and excitedly begin telling some tale. What the hell was going on? Tristan wasn’t listening fully to what Rutherford had to say, but was able to hear the words brave, consistent and courage throughout the course of the description. Worst of all, the man concluded his bragging by saying, ”The Ministry is so honored to have Mr. Wentworth working for us now, Mr. Stavros. Minister Raghnall had no doubt that the addition of Mr. Wentworth to our law enforcement division will give us an edge over the Dark Lord and his followers. Perhaps he will be able to provide you with answers to any questions you may have.” Tristan knew the worst was yet to come. He began to prepare himself for it. Rutherford turned his attention back to Wentworth and grinned. ”You see Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Stavros is an Auror such as yourself. Unfortunately, with the Quidditch World Cup coming up soon his attention has been required for the details surrounding that. I’m sure he’d like to get out of here every now and again though. Perhaps you can put in a good word for him.” Rutherford ended the last sentence with a laugh.

Yup, there it was.

[Ashton Wentworth]

He felt like a child doing something that his mother had told him not to. It was that extra little thrill that he got from poking sleeping bears, playing with fire and the like. Ashton just couldn't help himself, it had been like that almost all of his life. He was built for the fight. Now, he wasn't always the best at getting into fights with the hope of winning, in fact he was almost always on the losing end, he just couldn't control his temper. He had always been hot-headed and he didn't like to be wrong, when he lost that just made him fight harder. He may not always win the battle but he would be damned if he lost the war. He chose not to remember exactly what it was that ignited the spark between the two men, or what caused them to hate each other so. Perhaps it could be boiled down to nothing more than the house feud but he suspected it was something more deep seated than that. They were almost polar opposites. The few things that they were likely to have in common he would never know due to the fact that if they ever were to sit down and discuss them it would be only because the other was waiting for the poison in the drink to take effect. He didn't mind, Ashton had more than enough anger in him and Tristan was a willing target as any. It was good to feel the pressure returned to his own hand with an impressive force, like he was rising to the occasion.

The papers, comments about whatever mundane job Tristan now had meant nothing to him. Obviously it was a source of some power due to him having his very own office, and a secretary to boot. However, if he knew anything about Tristan, it was that he was a doer, he liked to do the best of everything. Sitting at a desk was not about to be good enough for him, no, Ashton had the job of choice here. Whenever he tapped Fordie into play he played his part with vigor. All Ash really needed to do was wait for his marvels to be told. Nobody needed to know why he was so good at his job, they just needed to know that he was. The old man was so excited Ashton was actually listening to hos story, muttering bits and pieces for him to add in as needed, nothing too elaborate, just enough to make his point. He could tell that where wasn't a definite end in the rant coming soon, but he could tell that there was a change in subject approaching, Fordie did love to talk so.”The Ministry is so honored to have Mr. Wentworth working for us now, Mr. Stavros. Minister Raghnall had no doubt that the addition of Mr. Wentworth to our law enforcement division will give us an edge over the Dark Lord and his followers. Perhaps he will be able to provide you with answers to any questions you may have.” If possible, his grin got even more smug. "Minister Raghnall himself, hear that?" He said as calmly as possible, he could hardly contain himself. It was a great moment for him, sticking it to his arrogant prick. Whenever Fordie veered off topic for a moment he took a mental snapshot of the outraged look in front of him.

Apparently the veer in conversation was to mention some of Tristan's accomplishments, such as single handedly organizing seating and vendors for the world cup, year after year he made sure there were no more accidents and that everybody had a place to park their broomsticks. It was all just so impressive. Turning his body so that he was aimed at Rutherford, but still keeping his attention on Stavros ”You see Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Stavros is an Auror such as yourself. Unfortunately, with the Quidditch World Cup coming up soon his attention has been required for the details surrounding that. I’m sure he’d like to get out of here every now and again though. Perhaps you can put in a good word for him.” Really now? He had never been called to action? Merlin knows that broom players just needed so much attention. He was nothing better in Ashton's eyes than a glorified babysitter. Putting on his most 'helpful' smile he nodded at Rutherford "Well, of course I will put in a word for him with Mr. Raghnal boss. Its no problem at all." and then let Fordie once again go along his merry story. Moving once again to the front of Tristan's desk he cleared his face. "Now" He breezed, leaning over the desk slightly "I don't know when I'm going to be able to get to those questions though" He paused, sifting through a few more bits of paper, moving a bottle of ink out of the way "as happy as I am to answer them, but I'll be busy doing something important. Not just sitting at a desk with my thumb up my ass like some." Shrugging he once again focused on the paperwork on the desk, rosters, budgeting, space approvals and the like. "Or maybe you have your thumb up other peoples asses?" He said lifting a letter to the Russian stadium where it seemed to be negotiating the terms of their pitch for use,dropping the paper once again allowing more things to be scattered across the desk

Rutherford was checking his watch at this time, not that the time mattered to Ash any longer, his aching stomach could wait. This was better than some cafeteria food. "But be sure to right them down and I will get to them whenever I can"Expressing overly fake concern for Tristan's well being and career. Something that he definitely couldn't care less about he stepped back, removing himself from Tristan's personal space .His day had turned out to be quiet the good one, granted he would have rather not have had to endure such an arduous tour to begin with, but it was all about finding the silver lining right? He only hoped that there were a few more surprises in store for him, maybe his air conditioning would be better or he could find some way to delegate and not have to be in his office ever, maybe his seat would be better. He didn't care, he was just enjoying how the mighty have fallen. Having to endure that awful week in the hospital with him had been probably the second most annoying thing in his life, the first being only his late wife. He couldn't stand it whenever women gave their attention to somebody else if he was going for it. The bastard always got extra pudding whenever he had asked for it. Ashton had always been stuck with the crappy jello. He knew they made that out of leftover bits of crap. It drove him nuts.
If he could make him pay, even if it was in a small way he would be glad.

[Deleted]

Tristan couldn’t take it anymore. Lunging at Wentworth, he took him down. His fists began colliding with the wanker’s face just as they had three years ago. As the color around his eyes changed to black and blue, Tristan picked him up and flung him into the desk. Wentworth’s body bounced off the edge of the desk and landed on an arm causing a crunching sound to fill the room. Tristan ran to the where the body had landed. Picking him up by his neck he grabbed Wentworth’s head and began slamming it down on his desk over and over. Still not fully satisfied, he grabbed several of the papers from his desk and began rubbing them in the man’s face. “Tell me Wentworth,” he growled through his teeth, “does this budget look appropriate for the World Cup? What about this one? Or that one?” Rutherford tried to interject, attempting to pry him from Wentworth’s limp body but to no avail. Tristan pushed the older man back into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Painful moans emitted from Wentworth’s mouth causing an evil smile to appear on his face. “What’s the matter Wentworth? These budgets giving you a headache just as much as they’re giving me? Too bad you can’t use your Auror greatness to just do away with them!”

”Mr. Stavros? Mr. Stavros? Tristan are you alright?”

The sound of Rutherford’s voice broke him out of his daydream. “What...oh yeah. I’m fine. My deepest apologies Mr. Rutherford. I’m afraid my thoughts are still on the budget the Ministry would like to have for the World Cup.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.

Embarrassment flooded over Tristan as Rutherford informed Wentworth of his lack of fieldwork. If he knew the conversation was going to have reached this point, then he would have sent them off as soon as he laid his eyes on the prat. The fact that the man was speaking so highly of Wentworth’s greatness perplexed Tristan. An Auror? One of the best? A great addition? If looks could kill then Wentworth would be dead. He had to have cast an Imperio on the man. Tristan began scanning Rutherford for signs of being placed under the curse. Nothing visible showed. He was not convinced that Rutherford wasn’t under some sort of black magic. He also began to wonder if the entire Ministry had been put under some sort of spell. Why, he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was some epic battle of good vs. evil going down in the Atrium. Wentworth had personally come up to try to take him out. He had to get to his wand.

It took Tristan everything not to reenact his fantasy as even more garbage spewed from the wanker’s mouth. Of course he’d be so happy to put in a good word. "I don't know when I'm going to be able to get to those questions though as happy as I am to answer them, but I'll be busy doing something important. Not just sitting at a desk with my thumb up my ass like some." He could feel his body shaking with rage. Bringing his hand up to his face he breathed in and out deeply. Tristan needed to calm himself down. He had a job to think of. One that was supposedly right up his damn alley.

There was only one way to get rid of Rutherford and corner Wentworth himself. “Mr. Rutherford, would you mind if I borrowed Mr. Wentworth from you for a few minutes? You speak so highly of his work that I think he’s the man I need to talk to if I want to get myself up to that standard.” It nearly made him sick to lie though his teeth like that. Careful not to look at the expression on his opponent’s face, he awaited Rutherford’s response. ”Ahh yes! That sounds like a brilliant idea Mr. Stavros! Yes, Mr. Wentworth IS the man to talk to. I’ll step out for a few moments and come back to pick up the lad shortly. He’s still got plenty of people to meet!” The man waved back to the two in the room and shut the door behind him. Now was Tristan’s chance.

It took him only two steps to reach Wentworth. Grabbing him by his collar Tristan shoved the man against one of the office walls. Players that were flying around in the Quidditch posters stopped to look at the action. He pulled tighter at the collar around the prat’s neck. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Wentworth? What game are you trying to play here?” Tristan could feel a vein protruding from his neck. It took every ounce of him to not bring his hand up just a little higher and take hold of his neck. He doubted it would take him long to strangle him to death. The thought was so damn tempting. He realized how difficult it would be to explain Wentworth’s demise to Rutherford and the Ministry. Tristan was sure they wouldn’t believe the whole “He did it to himself bit”. No, not their new precious hero. No way would he stoop so low after being given the opportunity of a life time. Merlin did he hate Wentworth with a bloody passion.

“Well? Are you going to answer me?”

[Ashton Wentworth]

The fact that the man before him was speechless was interesting to Ashton. His eyes seemed to glaze over, he wouldn't be surprised if he had blown an internal gasket "Mr. Stavros? Mr. Stavros? Tristan are you alright?" Watching with interest he waited, Ashton was usually the first to throw fists whenever he was in the current company, but the key was to get Tristan worked up to the point that he would make the fight worth it. Apparently, Rutherford was more aware of his surroundings than Ashton had given his credit for. He had noticed that the conversation between the two had stopped completely, and they obviously weren't paying attention to his droll story. Weather he was paying attention to return focus to himself, or to express genuine concern Ash wasn't sure just yet. Stavros muttered something absurd about the cup information, and if that was true, then he really was far more stupid than Ash had originally pegged him. However, it did seem to be a good enough answer for Fordie as he turned away and excitedly pointed to one of the framed portraits on the wall, the people featured in seemed all too happy to help him with yet another obnoxious story.

His presence in this office was beginning to feel more unwelcome that normal, but that he minded. Doing a mental inventory, he made stock of where in his pocket his wand was located and the quickest method to extract it. He normally wasn't one to resort to magic whenever confronted, he preferred to take a far more personal approach to the whole matter, but he would resort to if if needed. Confusion flashed over Stavros' face, which only delighted Ash further. He couldn't help but picture the who of them in the mountains, raiding the giants to register any new offspring, and Stavros hiding behind a rock while Ash and whatever translator had come along did all the dirty rock. It didn't take more than a second before the image in his mind changed to that of Ash levitating Stavros right off the side of the mountain, maybe he could see Returning to reality he noted that he was still hungry, which would make fighting difficult for him, but with 'Ol Fordie in the room a fight was unlikely, which would prove to be a good thing. Last thing he needed was to be slugged in the stomach and end up vomiting on the carpet. Then again, it could be funny if some did make it onto the shoes of a certain somebody.

Mr. Rutherford, would you mind if I borrowed Mr. Wentworth from you for a few minutes? You speak so highly of his work that I think he's the man I need to talk to if I want to get myself up to that standard. Laughter spilled forth from his lips, was he serious? There was no way he could have taken him seriously. If he honestly thought that Ash was going to do anything to further the prats career he needed to be sent off to the looney bin. Squaring his shoulders he shifted his weight to the other foot. His brow furrowed, what was he getting at exactly? Perhaps all the talk about Ashton's 'bright future' had gotten under his skin, he seemed to be shaking. Perhaps he was just excited to be in such an important persons presence, which by all accounts he should be. But it was unlikely. "Ahh yes! That sounds like a brilliant idea Mr. Stavros! Yes, Mr. Wentworth IS the man to talk to. I'll step out for a few moments and come back to pick up the lad shortly. He's still got plenty of people to meet!" Wow, why hadn't he thought of doing that earlier? If he had known it would be that easy to get away perhaps he could of snuck off in search of food, maybe if he had gotten very, very lucky he would get an assignment, or a bomb threat...he would rather have to clean up snail excrement than follow him around to the final floor. Not daring to turn around to make sure that Fordie had actually left he took the click of the door shutting as confirmation, he didn't need the little troll sneaking up on him. The last time that had happened, he'd lost the bones in his foot.

The impact of his skull hitting the wall was surprisingly painful. His vision began to swim momentarily. A black spot hovered in the bottom corner of his vision, lingering annoyingly. Grimacing he turned his eyes to the man who had his by the collar. Jaw pulsing he grasped Tristan's wrists and pried them off of his collar. He didn't much care about weather or not his shirt was wrinkled he did care about some unwelcome hands on his body. Interesting, he seemed to be quicker, now he was more like a gremlin than a troll, and he was a persistent little gremlin. Before he could blink he felt the same hands on his collar again. "What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Wentworth? What game are you trying to play here?" Game? There was no game, he worked here. Doing far more important things that Stavros was doing anyway. "Well? Are you going to answer me?" Grabbing his wrist once more he shoved the man away from his frame in the direction of the opposite wall. Here they were again, not more than fifteen minutes after running into each other once again. Frowning his hand moved to the back of his head out of impulse. Rubbing softly at the spot where he had connected with he wall. His eyes lit with fire. Putting some force behind his hands he shoved the other man. "I work here" he stated simply. "Or were you not listening? I am the hotshot here, not you" Must be a big blow to his ego. "You really must be more stupid than I originally thought" like a child, he shoved the contents of his desk to the floor out of frustration.

Brow furrowing he advanced again, shoving again until Stavros was against the opposite wall "This really must be killing you huh?" grinning he moved as if to brush some dust off of Tristan's shoulder "Knowing that I've succeeded where you have failed so completely"

[Deleted]

Disdain. That was the only word that could describe Tristan’s feelings toward Ashton. Never before had he been filled with so much hatred towards another human being. To be honest, he couldn’t remember what had brought the two men to this point. The masquerade had been forever imprinted in his mind, but their conflict had begun before. Flashes of previous meetings while they both attended Galaxia occasionally came back, but none of the fragments ever conjoined. The only conclusion Tristan had ever came to was that during that battle he could have suffered a head injury that went undiagnosed. That or Wentworth just truly hated him for all those female Healers he had wrapped around his finger when they had been in the hospital together. He would have been jealous too if he had wanted pudding and got jello dumped in his lap instead.

Tristan wasn’t expecting the defense Ashton put up. He had the advantage of element of surprise, but apparently so did he. Wentworth was smaller than he was but he had judged him too quickly. He still had a few pounds of muscle in his smaller frame. Tristan began laughing as he was pushed away. “That all you got Wentworth? Come on, hit me harder.” Ashton responded as he was told. He continued laughing. He didn’t go out of his way to pick a fight. Call it testosterone or male pride; he wasn’t sure, but whenever presented the opportunity for one he got amped. The way the meeting was going Tristan was sure that something was bound to happen. He could feel it.

Another shove hit him square in the shoulders. “Come on Wentworth, I barely felt that one! How about you put some effort into the next one? Or, if you prefer, I’ll be more than willing to answer any questions you may have about how to properly hold your own in a fight. I’ll get to it whenever I can.” Tristan made sure to emphasize his last sentence as the words had come from Ashton’s mouth only a few minutes earlier.

Once again, Ashton went on about actually being hired at the Ministry. “Impossible,” he scoffed, “I bloody saw you at the masquerade you son of a bitch! You can try to brainwash all these sorry saps here, but I’m the only one who knows you for the traitor you are. And I swear to Merlin that I will be the one that brings you down, if it’s the last bloody thing I do.” Tristan meant every word of his threat. To see Wentworth being granted access to the Ministry added fuel to the fire that was already burning from within him. The fact that people did truly consider Ashton to be the new hotshot around the building irritated him to no end. It was a huge blow to his ego that he had been at the Ministry for so long and had not been granted any bloody opportunity to show what he was made of. And all this prat had to was waltz in with the same training Tristan had
and he was automatically somebody.

He began to see red. As Ashton pushed those damn papers off of his desk he could barely see straight. Hours of time now lay on the floor. Even with the help of Marguerite it would take him until the business day was over and possibly into the late night, to figure out what went where. ”This really must be killing you huh? Knowing that I've succeeded where you have failed so completely." Oh he had no idea. An eerie calmness was taking hold of him. The calm before the storm. Tristan really needed to think about the consequences of his actions before he said or did anything else. It scared him to see how hostile the man had made him in a short period of time. Tristan turned around and placed one hand on the wall before him. Leaning into it, he lowered his head and breathed in deeply. “Listen Wentworth and listen to me good. You have no idea how hard I bloody trained. You don’t know the time and effort I put into being the best damn Auror I knew that I was. It’s not my fault that the idiots that run this government can’t see that. But believe me when I saw that my time is coming and when it does, I’m going to put you and all those bastards to shame.”

Now that he had given himself the chance to say what he needed to, the hatred began to rise within him again. Tristan turned his head sideways. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

This far down the line, it was unlikely that if asked, either part would be able to accurately explain what had started their quarrels. No doubt there would be finger pointing that led to poking, that lead to punching and it would just get carried away from there. Ashton knew that they had had classes together at various parts of their schooling, that they had graduated together. He knew that they hung out with different people and that over the course of the years, his group made fun of Tristan's and vise versa. He could remember sitting in a bar with a broken arm, and having to be re-admitted into St. Everdines that very night after Tristan had re-broken it with a pool stick. He had gotten into their share of scrapes and they seemed to alternate coming out the victor, if there was a victor to be determined. Their fate had been sealed the night of the Ball. Wrong place, wrong time. He had gone as a favor to Georgina, no alterior motive for the either of them. TO say that he had been an innocent bystander that night would have been the only time that that particular phrase could have been applied to him and his whereabouts, but Stavros seemed to think otherwise. Perhaps the need to prove people wrong had even pushed him in the direction of the ministry in the first place.

Oh, that would kill him. If Ashton granted credit to Tristan as the reason he had become in Auror in the first place. He had done it to get away from Georgie and to have something meaningful come out of his miserable life in the first place. However, perhaps his subconscious needed did play a part after all. Standing here, pushing the same man as he seemed to always be pushing against the wall he could feel a dormant need to win surfacing. It was easy to hate Stavros with his Greek bone structure and stupid hair. He had the height and Stavros had the build, if they were on the same side, they most certainly would have made a formidable opponent to just about any force. As Tristan fueled his inner fire he just wanted to push harder, he wanted to push his thick skull right through the drywall if given the chance. He wanted to punch the laughter right out of his body. He just seemed to crawl under his skin like a damned parasite and build a home there, it was infuriating. THE adrenaline was starting to take control of his mind, like his own personality was riding shotgun to his rage. As his own words were turned against him it was like something snapped, an outlet to vent his rage was presenting itself, and he had three long years of aggression to work though. Tristan might have bitten off more than he could chew this time. He didn't have his neanderthal friends to back him up or a teacher to bail him out.

“Impossible,” A moment of disbelief washed over his skin, calming his temper momentarily, could he really be that thick? His identification badge was hanging from his lapel, his Auror medallion was in his pocket, with some force, maybe he could fling it hard enough to make an indention in Stavros' dumb forehead. “I bloody saw you at the masquerade you son of a bitch! You can try to brainwash all these sorry saps here, but I’m the only one who knows you for the traitor you are. And I swear to Merlin that I will be the one that brings you down, if it’s the last bloody thing I do.” Frowning he grabbed one of the framed pictures off of the wall, dropping it to the floor. Disregarding the angry looks on the players faces as they scrambled to reach for another picture to hide in before being dropped on their faces. The sound of shattering glass did make him feel a bit better. So that's what he was one about? He still thought that Ashton was a death eater. He had made a lot of stupid decisions in his life, but nothing that monumentally insane. He had been raised with a sense of right and wrong, he knew the winners and the losers. Just because his moral compass didn't point north didn't mean that he didn't know where north was. Unclipping his badge he flung it at his head. Some people didn't know when to stop.

"What the hell are you talking about Stavros?" Pulling something else from the wall without taking the time to notice what it was, he was intent on making as much damage as possible to this little space. He would be happy knowing that he had done as much damage as he possibly could "We're on the same bloody side" His voice started to rise "that's thick, even for you" pulling one final thing from its resting place on Tristan's wall and chucking at his head he lost control. "You really can't accept that in better than you at something! How pathetic can you get?" that's when Tristan turned away from him. As soon as he had turned Ashton's hands dropped, was he giving up? This was new territory for him. He had been fully prepared to leave this room in a body bag. “Listen Wentworth and listen to me good. You have no idea how hard I bloody trained. You don’t know the time and effort I put into being the best damn Auror I knew that I was. It’s not my fault that the idiots that run this government can’t see that. But believe me when I saw that my time is coming and when it does, I’m going to put you and all those bastards to shame.” OF course, Stavros would be so full of himself that he thought that only he could possibly have problems. Ashton had busted his ass in training and got where he was now out of talent and luck. He was damned good at something for the first time in his life and he knew it. Apparently his boss knew it too and that's all that mattered. "Well, poor pitiful you" He could sit here and complain about how hard it was to get to where he was, and that Stavros had no idea what Ashton had been though, but what would have been the point? Its not like he listened to a damned thin that anybody but himself said anyway.

“Now get the hell out of my office.” Thats when he snapped, could feel his fist clenching and unclenching at his side, taking a step toward him his jaw locked. "Why.Don't.You.Make.Me" He breathed as close to Tristan as he possibly could be. He had turned his back on Ash, which was not a wise move. If he really had taken all of the same training, he hadn't listened. Turning you back on the enemy was the worst possible move you could make. It gave them the advantage. While he might need to think about his job, Ashton had the freedom to not care. He could just say it was an accident, or his temper. That he was still 'learning' how to conduct himself in an office after not having one for so long. He would do what was needed as always. If it cost him his promotion so be it. Grasping the man by the collar he pulled with as much force as he could muster toward the now bare desk. "You're not the only one with problems. Just the only one too lazy to do something about it apparently" He stated heading toward the man once again.

[Deleted]

Ashton’s continued denial of his involvement with the Dark side made him want to punch out every window in his office. Tristan had no proof of Wentworth’s dual life, but he couldn’t see any other reason for his hatred of him. Tristan wasn’t the type to just hate someone with everything he had. In his mind, that was the only logical reason for his loathing of Ashton. His behavior at the masquerade had been suspicious and that was all he needed. The fact that he had bewitched everyone at the damn Ministry further fueled his fire. To him, Wentworth hadn’t been any better than him at Auror training. Unless something had gone on behind closed doors, Tristan considered the two equivalent in almost every aspect of their training. There had been times that he questioned who would walk away unscathed if the two had focused their negative energy towards the other in a duel.

Tristan ignored the insults and the fact that his office was slowly but surely becoming destroyed. Not a single sheet of paper was left on his desk. He had been scratched along the side of his face when Ashton had decided to pull a tantrum and throw his favorite Greek Quidditch team poster on the floor, sending glass flying everywhere. Even that didn’t seem to process with him. “I don’t see you being better at me in anything Wentworth. I’m just more pissed that your association with the other side has granted you the power that you have now. I hear the Dark Lord can work wonders in making sure his followers find themselves in positions of immense power. I just only wish I knew the secrets of it.” Throughout Ashton’s whole tirade, Tristan kept himself against the wall. He was so damn angry. He kept foreshadowing being escorted out of his office by several of the pathetic excuses for security that the Ministry had. Hell, he could even see getting sent to Azkaban for killing a government official. It seemed worth it though. He’d rather be brought down secretly saving millions from having their government betray them then let Wentworth get away with his plan.

"Why.Don't.You.Make.Me?” Had he done it? Had he finally ignited the fire that was building under Ashton’s own skin? He could feel the foul breath of the man exhaling heavily from around him. Tristan was a believer in personal space and Wentworth had overstepped every boundary in it. Pushing himself from the wall, Tristan began to roll up the sleeves of his work shirt. He knew it was coming. It had been inevitable from the moment Ashton had set foot in his office. The idiot had his head so far up his own arse that he knew he would probably receive no sort of punishment for messing with Tristan the way he had been. A slap on the wrist would have been the extent of it. On his end, Tristan would lose his job and have to become a rogue Auror if he wasn’t sent to Azkaban. It was amazing how the entire course of one’s person life could change it a matter of minutes.

He felt his own collar now being tugged. Tristan was surprised with the force Ashton had been able to muster to send him stumbling backwards and landing on his desk. "You're not the only one with problems. Just the only one too lazy to do something about it apparently." As much as it killed him to admit it Wentworth had a point. He had been wallowing in his own self pity for far too long. Instead of waltzing up to the Magical Law Enforcement department to demand a meeting with the head, he simply sat behind his desk thinking about doing it. He was disgusted with himself. Tristan had never been one to sit back and let life’s opportunities pass him by. Why the hell had he allowed it to go on for so long? Even he didn’t have a suitable reason for it. Wentworth was right. If he wanted to be an Auror so damn bad, then it was time to finally start doing something about it.

Tristan had no clue where Wentworth’s own wand was, but he sure as hell knew where his was. Without considering the possibility of where the man’s was, he quickly reached to his top left drawer and pulled his wand out. “Hey Wentworth,” he began, aiming his wand at the sorry sap, “don’t you remember the first rule of training? Never underestimate your opponent.” With that, Tristan quickly said the first defense spell that came to his mind from his training days. A yellow light shot from the end of his wand and into the body of Ashton, sending his opponent flying back into the wall of the office sending his Auror and Department Head certificates flying to the other side of the room. Using this as his chance, Tristan sat himself up and began walking over to Wentworth. “For someone who is supposedly so magnificent at what he does, you make some stupid rookie mistakes.”


(Sorry again, it just seemed fitting and thought you'd be able to do a great job of countering. Just let me know if you want me to change.)

[Ashton Wentworth]

Why the man couldn't accept reality whenever he was being slapped in the face with it, he just didn't understand. To his recollection, Ashton had not ever done anything that he shouldn't have, he had never hung around with anybody that he thought might have been a Death Eater, he hadn't run around the halls of Galaxia screaming 'death to the muggles LONG LIVE THE PUREBLOODS!" and couldn't have even if he had wanted to, he had no idea what type of blood he has. He had no idea who his parents were, if they were still alive much less weather or not they had attended any sort of school for wizardry. Unless Tristan just assumed that all Slytherins were Death Eaters, which was an absurd assumption. By that logic, half of the headmasters of Galaxia were attempting to convert the school a long time ago, logically speaking after that long why hadn't anybody succeeded by now? Grimacing at the look he was receiving from Stavros as he spewed off more dribble about how evil Ashton was, moron. As he turned his body around Ashton was forced to take a step back, he watched with interest as the man rolled up his sleeves, was he about to take a swing at him finally? Time to take this up a notch apparently. He squared his footing and shoulders to brace for impact, only nothing came. Frowning, that's when he pulled the man into the desk. He wasn't surprised that the man was flown by the force, he was surprised at the sound his body made as it hit the desk, he had just wanted to get a point across, if he managed to bruise the man or knock the wind out of him all the better. Pulling his jacket down his shoulders and off of his body he figured that he was going to need the better range of movement. Due to the fact that his jacket was growing far too small for him, he didn't want his arms to be constricted just because he was attempting to look appropriate during his first real day of work here. Not that this was going to earn him a gold star or anything.

He had made a valid point, if Tristan had held any promise as an auror they would have placed him somewhere by now, or he could have gone and taken it for himself. They respected self starters, he wouldn't be punished for wanting to take action. It was a quality that the bosses tended to admire. Ashton had been afforded the opportunity to work with a few of the 'team' so to speak on various missions throughout the years, they all seemed to be pretty much the same. Square jaw, muscular build, fluff for brains. Stavros would fit right in. That is, before Ashton had returned anyway. If he thought that Ash was just going allow Tristan to be placed in a position where they would have to see each other on a daily basis, he had another think coming. That was the last thing that he wanted, was to have to watch him sitting at an even more pathetic desk, he would never get any work done. He already didn't do all that much to begin with. What if they were assigned together, like partners his skin crawled at the very thought. Shuddering he turned to see what the man was doing anyway. At the sound of his surname being called he found his sight, “Hey Wentworth,” It took half of a second to spot the wand in his hand, he wanted nothing more than to snap it. Perhaps Stavros had grown more feeble than he had thought. The blood drained from his face for a moment, his train of thought had completely disappeared. His arms fell to his side, even if he did reach for his wand at this moment it would be of no use, he would have already cast a spell and Ash would have taken the brunt of it. He had always been useless at wordless magic, so there were no defensive spells to be had. “don’t you remember the first rule of training? Never underestimate your opponent.”

Of course he did, he just apparently didn't think it was worth following. He had spent the last minute just doing that, thinking that Stavros would indulge in an honest fight when that wasn't going to be the case. The yellow light came splitting into his head, he could feel it like a giant fist in chest as his body was taken backwards. The force caused his body to shake the thin walls, the door came rattling, he could only imagine what the people outside of his office thought right now. The poor receptionist had to be scared out of her wits, since he doubted anything interesting ever happened on this floor. He just knew that the few other bodies sitting outside in their plain desks were watching the door with interest. The soft hum of the classical music resounding over the universal PA was the only sound he could hear anymore. No more typing, signing or chatter. After the boom that was his body hitting the wall, everything had grown silent. The flutter of paper was the first thing he saw as his eyes uncrossed. The impact had caused him to lose his balance. Once again, feeling the back of his head his face darkened. He was going to leave here with a damned concussion. “For someone who is supposedly so magnificent at what he does, you make some stupid rookie mistakes.” He could hear footsteps approaching and the glass shattering underneath his foot as he stepped on the once in tack frames. Merlin he hoped that Stavros was forced to clean all this up without magic. "Merlin you love to hear your own self talk don't you?" Rising softly to his feet he pulled his wand out of his pocket. His voice was altered due to him biting down on his tongue from impact. Touching the tip of his tongue with his fingers he frowned at the watered down blood he found. Great, now he was going to taste iron all day.

Posing his wand his eyes bored into Stavros and he cast one of his better offensive spells, an ivory jet of light left the tip of his wand as he sent his opponent flying backward onto his desk, he could hear the sounds of wood cracking underneath the weight of his damn gremlin body. Advancing toward his body hopefully before Tristan could recover he used his wand to levitate his body and push it in the direction of the wall he himself had just been pushed into, it hadn't felt very good. IF they were just fighting then he wouldn't have been forced to feel that. So much for honor, well if he wanted a full out duel then he would get one. Ashton was damned good at his job, and he wasn't that way because he was afraid to break a few bones. He had been in the hospital more times than he could count, and his stubborn need to win was generally the thing that placed him there. The door rocked once more on its hinges. "The second, is never turn you back on the enemy" which, in his opinion, should have been the first rule, it seemed more important to him. Even if Ashton had been the one to force him to turn his back, he was going to overlook that little detail Advancing to the spot he had just been blown into himself he shook his head, placing his boot against the weakened wood he leaned his full weight onto it. The door started ti give way, he very much wanted to take this little spat into a larger playing field. If he could guess, he would get very embarrassed, very quickly. Which would give Ashton the upper hand.

[Deleted]

(I may have misread the door part wrong. If I did, let me know so I can adjust.)

The adrenaline coursing through his veins was incredible. It had been a long time since Tristan felt this way. Probably since Auror training. Call him sadistic, but it was a feeling of control that he longed for. Seeing Ashton’s body buckle underneath a spell he had conjured was incredible. He had so many images racing through his mind as he continued to walk towards Ashton. He needed to decide which one held the most potential for him. He could do the body-binding spell. With it, Tristan could send Wentworth flying every which way without the prat doing anything to him. He could set his clothes on fire. He would probably die laughing from watching the man try and put out his body. Tristan had always been curious if the saying stop, drop and roll actually worked or not. The bad thing about that idea was that the carpet in his office would get burnt. The smell of burnt carpet would make the whole place smell bad and possibly catch his entire office on fire. He would lose his job without a doubt if that happened. Not to mention that Tristan was wearing his favorite suit and the smoke would stain his clothing.

Tristan began twirling his wand in his hand. ”Merlin you love to hear your own self talk don’t you?” No, he just loved having power. He pointed his wand in direction of Ashton and grinned. His mouth opened to say the next spell he could think of, but it closed suddenly as he realized Ashton had his own wand in his hand. Damn. He was sent flying back before he had even knew what hit him. Tristan groaned as he landed hard on his desk, cracking the wood underneath. The chances of the desk collapsing were significant. Doing his best to get himself off of it before the thing collapsed Tristan was once again caught by surprise as his body started levitating. “What the…?” His body hit the same wall that he had conveniently sent Ashton through not even a minute earlier. He slid down the wall, landing on his shoulder as he did so. A loud crack sounded followed by intense pain in his shoulder. Tristan howled. His arm had been knocked out of its socket.

He groaned in pain as he managed to pick himself up. "The second, is never turn you back on the enemy.” How he wished he could have thought a little more carefully about that one. Grunting, Tristan stared a hole through Ashton as he hunched forward. Bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and brought his right hand up to his left arm. He grabbed his shoulder and popped in back into place. The pain was bad, but not as horrible as he had imagined. He had broken his leg one time playing Quidditch and had to endure his bone being re-grown throughout the night. This didn’t hurt nearly as bad as that. His shoulder still throbbed as he took a few steps in Wentworth’s direction. He had no idea where his wand had landed but he had to think fast. His gaze went to his door that was getting ready to give way. Tristan knew his body would be the one bringing it down if he didn’t do anything. The last thing he needed was to be embarrassed in front of his entire office.

Grabbing Ashton’s collar once more with his right hand Tristan used every ounce of strength in the right side of his body and heaved himself into the man. The two of them crashed through the door with Tristan landing right on top of Ashton. He could hear all the gasps from around them. Apparently they had made enough noise to bring the entire Ministry down. Well, maybe not the entire Ministry but there were definitely more people on the floor than usual. He looked to Marguerite. She was terrified. Squealing, she ran away from her desk and to one of the lifts. “Playtime’s almost over Wentworth,” he commented, turning his focus back to the wanker in front of him. “Better make these last ones count.” With that, Tristan sent his fist straight into Wentworth’s cheek. He wasn’t sure of the effect, but knew that once he brought his hand back his knuckles were bright red. The pain from his shoulder alleviated slightly to the other side of his body. Rolling off of him Tristan slowly got himself up and extended his unwounded hand in the direction of his office. “Accio wand!”

[Ashton Wentworth]

He could see the look of utter shock on each one of the ministry workers faces. Now, this was his first day and all but he was willing to guess that things of this nature didn't normally take place here, this was supposed to be the building that solved problems, not started them. This floor in particular didn't do much anything except entertain the brain dead and the weak, so a real live brawl was hardly something that they knew how to properly process. Much less their department head in a fight with an almost stranger. The little glimpses he caught of the office whenever he had a moment to look around included what he could assume was the rest of the department off of their break maybe a shift change, there were just so many people, no doubt the little secretary had run off to go get help because it was far above her pay grade. This had to be an enlightening experience for her, to see her boss for what he really was, a hot headed moron that didn't know how to pick his fights. At least, Ash didn't think that he did, but he thought that he could take just about anybody if given enough liquid courage. Truthfully, the boys were quiet the pair, what Ashton had in height, speed and agility, Tristan had just as much of in Brawn, Force and knowledge. The only down side was how stubborn the pair were, their general unwillingness to bend whenever it came to the other. Had they not been enemies they could have just as easily been friends. Then again, as with any 'pack' there could not be two 'alpha' males. This building was going to be in for a rough time. He could hear the hushed voices muttering to another, and the few females gossiping about who the boss was fighting with and if they had seen what had started the fight. The men were talking and he assumed they were placing bets, it was what he would have done if the roles were reversed.

Ashton had yet to meet the rest of the Aurors that he was going to be working but, but is Stavros hadn't made the cut they were sure to be very formidable allies indeed. He wouldn't have been surprised in the least if they all showed up here to restore the civil rest to this bunch of pencil pushers. The abundance of blood bursting through his veins was a welcome rush, he hadn't been able to really burn off this much steam in a long time, his job hadn't allowed for it. Given his new position it would be welcome. Every painful sound he could pull out of Stavros just fueled his fire, the sound of his shoulder wrenching out of it's socket gave him a sick sense of glee, it probably wasn't a good thing that he derived pleasure from this mans pain. Whenever Stavros had gone to pop his shoulder back into place, he had briefly considered pulling it all the way off of his body, it wouldn't have been irreparable damage, they would have had the healers here fast enough, but it would have been amusing to watch Stavros cry like a little girl. It had hardly even registered as he fell through the remnants of the door that Stavros had returned to his feet. He must have looked highly surprised at the fact that he had wound up on his back. He could feel splinters lodging themselves into the back of his shirt and the small of his back where the shirt had ridden up in the fall. A large piece pressed directly in between his shoulder blades painfully, but nothing that he couldn't ignore. “Playtime’s almost over Wentworth,” At this he couldn't help but laugh, he hadn't been aware this was a game, his wist tightened around the handle of his wand, lucky he had been able to hold onto it for this long. Better make these last ones count.”

Before he had a chance to push the wood up against the other mans Adams apple like he was intending, a sickening thud resounded in his head. Was that a tooth? He could feel the blood pooling from the inside of his cheek, spreading around his mouth and coating his teeth. He could feel his vision swimming in front of his eyes, his limbs didn't want to respond to his brain. For a moment he lay there, paralyzed by the impact that his jaw had just received. The grip on his hand slackened and his mouth didn't want to work, he was going to have a wicked bruise in a matter of moments, he could already feel the blood pooling under the skin, spitting out what had already seeped down from the gash his teeth had made against his cheek he attempted to close his mouth. Merlin it felt like the other man had broken his fist using Ash's face. He hadn't been hit that hard by anybody other than Georgie's father, that had been years ago and he had been a much larger man than Tristan is. His eyes widened as his willed his jaw to pop, or even to move. Sure he had been through plenty of painful experiences in his years, but for some reason he couldn't think of any at this very moment, and nothing he could think of was very comforting at this moment. The pressure on his body lessened as the man rolled his gremlin body off of Ash's lean one. He would have grimaced, but it wouldn't show externally with his face not working. Rolling as well he pushed his body up onto his elbows with some effort, grasping his wand as firmly as he possibly could. His whole upper torso was sore from the fall, but he managed to rise to his feet as Tristan summoned his wand.

Clasping his hands together in front of his body he pulled them backwards then as swiftly as he could thrust them forward into Tristan's gut. The whoosh of air that was forced out of his opponents lungs was like music to Ashton's ears. Glancing around for wherever Tristan's wand had fallen he remembered his own in his hand "Thupefie!" He had meant to say 'Stupefy' but his jaw was only working on one side, the result was what could only be considered a relatively weak spell, it had been meant to knock him out, but managed only instead to knock him on his behind. Swearing under his breath he really wished that he had taken the time to master wordless magic, it was definitely going to be next on his list after today. He could remember thinking that it was something that he was never going to have to use outside of the classroom, he had never envisioned something like this happening, yet here he was. If he could go back and kick his own ass, he would have just to have avoided this situation today. Dropping his wand since he found it useless he moved over to where Tristan had fallen, kneeling on one leg he grasped a hold of Tristan's collar with one hand, and lined up a punch to the mans jaw with the other. Thrusting his tired body into the punch it didn't have the same impact as it would of it he could see straight, but he knew it had to of hurt just a little. Ashton had yet to win a single fight between the two of them, one would think he would have given up a long time ago, but he just figured somewhere down the line, he would win one eventually, so he was going to keep trying. It was hard to mask the satisfaction he felt as he delivered a second punch to the mans face, blood still pouring out of his own.

"MY WORD! What's going on here??" He paused with his fist pulled back behind his head, turning to look over his shoulder for the source of the voice, his eyes scanned the now quiet crowd who were attempting to make it seem as if there was nothing wrong, and that they hadn't been witness to what was going on here, they attempted to go about their business. People never really grow up. He attempted a smile, but since his face was still dripping intermittently. He was going to have to get a new shirt, he didn't see the point in attempting to get the blood out of this formerly white shirt. His eyes finally settled on Rutherford, standing over where there should have been Tristan's secretary, no doubt she had run off to go get him. The half smile quickly dropped off of his face. Administering a half assed punch since he was already poised to go he dropped Tristan's collar quickly, hoping that Tristan's body would fall to the ground as roughly as possible. He had almost completely forgotten about Rutherford at this point, something he was surprised of given how boring and drawn out he was as a person. Well, whatever happened now, they were already found out.