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."