April 28th, 1894 — Hogsmeade Memorial Assembly Rooms, Duelling Tournament

shortly after this

In an instant, Nick’s ego had shrunk ten times in size. As had the rest of him, apparently: he could no longer feel his arms or legs. His hands and feet felt preposterously enlarged. He was trapped, trapped in a mess of fur and engulfed in a heap of his own clothes. It was dark in that makeshift tent, but his eyes felt weaker than ever – unhelpfully tiny pinpricks of sight – and his nose felt disturbingly long and wobbly.

He screamed, and started writhing, and waddled his way blindly off the stage before Nick knew what was happening. He didn’t know what he had become, but why hadn’t they transfigured him back?

He scrabbled out of the bind he was in, finding better purchase on the floor proper, but feeling – lots of beings around him? Nick didn’t particularly want to get trampled on, so he tried to dart out of the way, in some animalistic instinctive urge for somewhere safe and sheltered, and – barrelled his way brainlessly into a safe, dark hole.

(Er. Someone’s underskirts or trouser-leg.)

---

Philomen had stayed after his loss to spectate the rest of the tournament, since he was really just here for good fun anyway. So he'd been privy to the indignities of those who came after him. Though nothing quite beat being turned into an animal, that was for certain!

He was, rather understandably, momentarily distracted by the ladies who were spectating nearest to him, and had begun shrieking as soon as the transfigured Mr. Blott scurried into the crowd. Phil was turning to the lady nearest to him--presumably to ask if she was all right, silly as that was at the moment--when he felt something scurry over his foot and then up his leg.

"I think I've got him!" Philomen called out, bending forward to slap his hands around the shape moving under his trouser leg. Hopefully without hurting it.

---

Nick, his brain much diminished in size, had not yet considered his route from a human perspective; the mole wanted to burrow deeper from the light. He wriggled under the hands enclosed around him, trying to scrabble upwards to safety.

Stun him?

...hold on, were they talking about him? Mole-Nick quivered in indignation. Shouldn’t someone be trying to save him? The duel was over, dammit! The only spell he wanted was an untransfiguration.

That he would have to come out to get untransfigured had not crossed his mind.

---

"That might not be a bad idea," Philomen said. Never having been transfigured into an animal himself, Phil wondered what this must all feel like for poor Mr. Blott. He imagined it must be rather frightening, or else he wouldn't be taking cover--even if "cover" was "inside someone's pant leg." Stunning him might not make things less frightening, but it would at least get him to stay still long enough for someone to put him to rights. "Would you be able to stun him at this angle, do you think?"

---

He felt the light searing through the trouser material and straight through his furry chest – struck unconscious, his plump rodent body tumbled back down towards his host’s ankles and bounced straight off his shoe, ending up splayed out on the open floor, one very stupefied (and pathetic looking) mole.

---

Phil sighed with relief as the man-turned-mole slipped out of his trouser leg--and, apparently, he himself remained unscathed. Thank Merlin. "We should probably get him to someone who can untransfigure him," he said, scooping up the stunned mole.

---

(The man certainly did not like being a rodent. But he was unconscious, and could not currently speak. Or squeak, as it were.)

---

Philomen was too embarrassed by the fact that he hadn't thought to do anything himself to help the man's plight to mention that he was a healer. Instead, he said, "I'll take him and find the mediwizard." They were probably expecting this, anyway. "Thank you for the help."

---