June 27th, 1890 — British/Hawaii Quidditch Match

Wandering the stands at a Quidditch match to provide some basic security should things get out of hand wasn't exactly a glamorous job, but it wasn't as though Adam could complain. He wasn't an auror yet, after all, and since they were firmly in summer vacation he wasn't even an auror-in-training, at the moment. He was just a poor young man who would take any opportunity to earn a few sickles in the Department of Law Enforcement. He didn't expect this to be a challenging job — so far the only thing he'd had to do was dodge a bit of vomit as he escorted a man who had had far too much to drink far too quickly towards the entrance to the stadium. With any luck, that would be the most exciting thing that happened to him that afternoon. During his quieter moments he was taking advantage of his ability to roam the stands to see a bit of the game. He wasn't what one would call a major Quidditch fan; he'd watched the games in school but couldn't see a reason to spend his money on either sport or attendance afterwards. Still, it was pretty exciting to see players who were so good zooming around in the air. This was the best of Britain, after all, against the best of Hawaii, so it was bound to stay interesting.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only interesting thing going on at the moment, it seemed — a flash of magic caught the corner of his eye. It might have been perfectly benign, but the stands at the Quidditch match was a strange place to be practicing one's hair-fixing charms or anything of the sort. He ought to go investigate, he decided, in case this was the beginnings of a brawl breaking out between two rowdy fans.

Using his stature to his advantage to force his way through the crowd and over towards where the spell had gone off, he asked in a firm voice, "What's going on here?"

  

"Yes", Ama had said at once when her friend Marcy had suggested this most unexpected diversion. "Yes, let's do it!" Ama had never been to an international Quidditch match in all fifty-five years of her otherwise eventful life, and that was precisely the reason why she agreed to it. And so Marcy, whose son worked at the Ministry, was able to procure them some much sought-after tickets, and it wasn't long before she and Ama found themselves surrounded by much younger folks as they took their seats, snacking on pumpkin pops and gasping with great aplomb as the game began.

Somewhere in the vicinity of half way through, Ama and Marcy finally figured out which side they were supposed to be supporting — though Ama was content simply to cheer for all the female players. It was during one particularly uproarious cheer that her hat fell off, knocked over Marcy's little flask of blackberry wine, and left Marcy with a tremendous stain all over the front of her white blouse.

"Marcy! I'm so sorry!" she stifled a laugh. "I'll fix it, not to worry..."

Ama raised three fingers gracefully and pointed them at her friend's blouse (for she was a practitioner of wandless magic), but such was the noise of their surroundings and the buzzing atmosphere, the fog of blackberry wine, the laughter she was failing to stifle... her incantation went awry, and her simple cleaning charm became two live bats clinging to Marcy's top. As Marcy hopped between panic and enormous amusement, a handsome young authority figure chose this moment to turn up in a state of gruff concern.

Tears of hilarity collecting in her eyes, Ama turned to face him, and explained; "I'm terribly sorry sir, I seem to have turned my friend's bosoms into bats."

  

---

The noise coming from the woman in the white top was lingering in that indecipherable gulf between laughter and tears and shrieking, which was, for the ease of confused men like Adam, generally labeled hysterics. He had no idea what to make of it, but he was inclined to think it wasn't a good noise — perhaps simply because he was here in a security capacity, and had wandered over already expecting some sort of trouble. Trouble this might be, but he was having trouble deciphering exactly what kind of trouble. There were no injuries that he could see, nor was anyone fleeing the scene or acting aggressively. Maybe this was, despite the commotion, a mundane occurrence.

Except the other woman spoke up then, and her explanation was anything other than mundane. Adam blinked at her, not even sure how to start responding to that. "I'm sorry — you what?" he asked, turning his eyes incredulously back to the white-topped woman, who was moving too much for him to get a good look at the... ahem, area in question. It was hard to tell from just a glance, but it did appear that something under her shirt was... moving.

  

Although Ama was these days unabashedly herself, which had had a profoundly positive effect on her happiness, she also lived with some caution. For if she wasn't careful, she'd embarrass her publicly estranged children. She would not be surprised, after all, if there was some Witch Weekly columnist in the stands whose quill might already be wriggling with glee as she watched the antics of eccentric Ama. So despite her laughter, Ama edged closer to Marcy and said in an urgent whisper; "not to worry, Marcy, we'll have this sorted for you soon; but we must calm down! There is a sensible young man here now, look how handsome..."

Marcy paused in her laughter to look up, and the two bats peeked out of her blouse to do the same (because bats have an affinity for handsome men). But the movement of the bats got Marcy giggling again, and Ama pressed her hand on her own forehead in amused exasperation.

Thankfully, it looked like she hadn't actually replaced Marcy's baps with bats, but the bats would not stop clinging to the inside of her blouse, even as their little heads poked out comfortably from the collar.

"Perhaps I can just... remove them..." Ama suggested uneasily, "but I wouldn't want to hurt the little things..." She looked side-long at the flabbergasted fellow, assuming he was an expert in some form or other. "Any ideas?"

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   Adam Ragge

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There was nothing Adam would consider himself to have less expertise in than magic that dealt with a ladies' breasts. He was relieved to see, as the affected woman settled somewhat, that the bats didn't appear to be transfigured bosoms themselves, as he'd at first thought based on the other woman's statement. They were, however, still quite awkwardly placed, and Adam had to wonder what, exactly, they had been trying to do in the first place that would have resulted in bats being conjured in the front part of a woman's blouse. Luckily they didn't seem prone to attack, or anything — he wasn't sure if bats generally were or weren't prone to such things, but many otherwise innocuous small creatures could become vicious when cornered, and they were certainly rather confined where they were...

"Can't you just undo the spell?" he asked, glancing nervously up at the pitch. He didn't want to try and scoop them out and end up sending them flying off towards one of the players and causing a calamity. Preventing disruptions was the entire reason he was being paid to be here, after all, so he wasn't keen to be the cause of one. Not to mention that scooping them out would involve being rather more intimate with this strange woman than would be appropriate.

"Finite incantatum should do the trick, shouldn't it?" he asked, holding his wand ready but waiting for the woman he'd been talking to to actually cast the counter-charm. These things were best undone by the same wand that had done them, whenever possible, Adam had found; it was less likely that there would be any unwelcome side-effects.

  

Marcy had by now managed to calm herself somewhat, largely by pressing her hand to her mouth; but meanwhile the Quidditch match was back to full-swing, creating a great cacophony of noise that was making it very hard to concentrate.

Finite incantatum... right... of course. Good suggestion.

Taking a breath, attempting to find a pool of focus in this ocean of noise, Ama tossed her hair back, raised her hand elegantly, and tilted three fingers, muttering the spell...

A flash, a squeak from Marcy — they were gone! The bats were gone. Ama chuckled in relief. But now that the spell had been reversed, the blackberry wine stain had returned to her white blouse with a vengeance. "I could try again", Ama offered uncertainly. Marcy added; "I might just do it myself", then an eavesdropping stranger from the row behind piped up; "I wouldn't mind trying!"

"Okay, no, let's just leave the stain on the bosoms, no more talking about the bosoms." "Please stop saying bosoms", Marcy pleaded.

"It's fine, you can't even notice the stain, can you?" Ama turned to the young man who'd come to help.

  

---

The bats were gone, which was a relief. The stain that had appeared on the woman's blouse might have caused her a great deal of embarrassment, but it was unlikely to physical interfere with the match — or to go make a nest in some poor woman's hair — which meant Adam's job in peacekeeping was complete. He wasn't quite free to leave, yet, though, because he'd just been pulled into this conversation in the most awkward fashion imaginable. Was the woman who'd cast the spell originally actively trying to make him blush? He couldn't answer the question without looking directly at her friend's breasts, which he was absolutely not going to be caught doing.

At least the friend (Marcy, apparently) seemed nearly as embarrassed as he did. He felt for her, especially after the bloke in the row behind them had quite unnecessarily chimed in with his opinions on the matter. While he wasn't about to encourage anyone to go creating bats from wine stains once again, it didn't seem fair for her to have to go the whole rest of the match (which could have been hours or even days, Quidditch being what it was) wearing that stain like a badge across her chest.

"Uhm — here," he offered, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and transfiguring it into a plain shawl. It wouldn't be the height of fashion, or anything, but it would at least serve to cover the stain until she was able to get out of the stands and handle it in a less public forum. "This should help."

  

Ama was glad she and Marcy had recovered from their fit of unconstrained giggles, for it had been exhausting, and they probably wanted to watch some of the Quidditch at some point. But she also suspected that this young man was probably far more glad than she that the ladies were finally acting their ages.

Well, not acting their ages, but acting mature.

... Well, not acting mature, but no longer dying of hilarity at the word "bosoms".

"My hero", breathed Marcy thankfully, accepting the shawl and throwing it over her shoulders to cover the glaring stain on her blouse. But she balked when she saw how plain it was, failing to disguise her picky distaste.

"She means thank you", Ama said, turning back to the chap with an apologetic smile. "Are you security for the match?" she added curiously, privately quite proud that she'd just gotten a sports term correct ("match").

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   Adam Ragge

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Adam noted that the woman wasn't thrilled by his fashion sense, but there was nothing to be done about it. He honestly didn't have much taste one way or another about these things even if he had the transfiguration skill to make it more elaborate. It was a good thing for him that men's fashion was so simple by comparison — and that most of his clothes were provided by his loving mother. Under normal circumstances he might have invited the pair of them to try and embellish it themselves, if they liked, since he didn't need the handkerchief back. Given how well the last attempt at spellcasting had gone over here, though, he thought he'd better not invite them to do anything. Whatever their magical talents might have been under normal circumstances, in their current state of excitement (or drunkenness, or both) they'd do much better just to sit and watch the match.

"I am," he answered with a modest nod. And then, although it was by no means required information nor even directly related to the question she'd asked, he added: "I'm training to be an auror."

  

Although the match continued with considerable gusto, Ama was glad that their own little drama had finally come to a close. But the further they got from the (albeit hilarious) heat of the moment, the more Ama wished she could have a proper sit down and a cup of lavender tea.

But she still had some remnants of adrenaline, and her energy was maintained by an interest in this young person — this Auror — who'd come to their rescue without shrinking in horror at their misbehavior. "A noble profession indeed", she said of his career, smiling.

Her own son worked a high-risk profession in the Ministry, and had in fact risen to the Head of his department. But an Auror was something else entirely, and a vital lifeline in their changing world.

"Are you expecting anything dramatic?" she asked curiously, flicking her gaze back up at the match as if expecting to see a robed skeleton fluttering darkly among the players.

  

---

"Oh, no," he answered with a shake of his head. If there had been any reason to suspect something interesting, they would have gotten a real auror involved in it, not him. Security for a match like this hardly even required magic, in his experience; most of what needed to be handled could be done with an intimidating pose and a slight flex of muscle. You didn't really have to do anything, unless things got out of hand.

"A few drunks getting into a brawl over a stray comment, maybe," he speculated. "That's all that one usually expects at games like this. Though with so many foreigners in the stands, it does offer more opportunities for misunderstandings," he mused. Still, he wasn't expecting anything dramatic by any means.

  

Ama wondered if some part of the young man privately hoped for something dramatic, even if he didn't expect it. In Ama's experience, young men often sought the chance to prove themselves — and certainly experience some thrills in this world, though that was hardly exclusive to his age or gender. Ama and Marcy's adventure today was a case in point.

Being a "foreigner" herself, Ama smiled. "I think that makes it all the more exciting", she admitted. "Especially with all this going on above us", she nodded towards the match, which had dipped into a lull before erupting into epic cheers again as someone (Hawaii?) scored. "I dare say the thrill of it all is helping me remember some actual Quidditch terms".

  

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Adam chuckled at her comment about being able to follow the Quidditch terms only because this match was suitably 'exciting.' He certainly hadn't grown up attending Quidditch matches and being steeped in the sport; this was, as far as he was concerned, a past time for wealthier people than him who had too much extra time on their hands. "I know exactly what you mean," he said congenially.

The match seemed to be gaining some speed again, and this little event had resolved itself, so he supposed he ought to leave the two women alone and go back to what he was being paid to do — prowling the stands to look for any signs of trouble. "Well, enjoy the rest of the match, ma'am," he said in parting.