Still Human Faces (Jonathan, Quinn)

SUNDAY, 22 APRIL 2001, 10:03 AM

“A man cannot realize that above such shattered bodies there are still human faces in which life goes its daily round.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

When the crowd of pedestrians was thick enough, Jonathan Gardner strode purposefully into the throng down the sidewalk and set his pace at just a touch slower than the people behind him. Tens of harried Muggles after Sunday morning shopping specials slowly passed him, until just as he approached the dilapidated exterior of Purge and Dowse, Ltd., there was only a elderly couple behind him. He stepped courteously out of the way, tipping his hat at them as they passed him, and then turned to the window and said to a mannequin, "Head of Department of Magical Sports and Games to see Quinn Regan on the ground floor." As a passing semi truck belched a large amount of black smoke into the area, one might almost think that the mannequin nodded - as if in assent - and that perhaps Mr. Gardner had simply fallen into the window and out of existence.

On the other side of the magical barrier, however, Mr. Gardner's trenchcoat immediately unrolled its tails into a full-length Ministry robe even as he did not slow his steps toward the receptionists' desks. A young cheerful red-haired lady rose from her chair and held out a visitor's badge as she said, "Here you go Mr. Gardner, she's in room G17." He inclined his head and gave a half-smile as he deftly plucked the badge out of her hand, clearly on a mission that could not be interrupted. With the same hand that held the badge he slapped his chest, the Sticking Charm adhering to the blue button-up underneath his open robe front.

While he didn't have any close history with Quinn Regan, the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons, he felt it absolutely necessary for him to make an appearance - both for public relations and out of a sense of personal concern - and inquire about her recovery from the previous day's incident. In a shocking display that flouted several of the rules of the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee, one of the Chasers from the Ballycastle Bats had Transfigured Regan into an Irish setter, preventing her from grabbing the Golden Snitch and furthermore causing her to fall off her broom. She had suffered at least major break in her leg instantly upon hitting the ground, whereupon Jonathan (who had been watching with interest during a routine performance analysis of the Falcons) immediately Apparated down to the pitch to assist the referee and Mediwizards who had also reacted right away. The roar of excitement from the Bats' fans as their Seeker snatched the Snitch, turned to horrified groans as Gardner had immediately pulled rank as the relevant Department Head and a representative of the ICWQC, voiding the win due to multiple major rule infractions.

Transfiguring Regan back had been easy for the Mediwizards but there had been complications in the bone breaks as they transmuted from canine to primate skeletal structure, so Regan had been carted to St. Mungo's for at least one overnight. Jonathan reached the door, which was halfway ajar, and gave a rapid knock at the door. "Miss Regan, I came to see how you're getting on," he announced himself. @Quinn Regan

With her leg still splinted and no one there to distract her, Quinn Regan was reading The Sunday Prophet, again. Normally, she would have loved the attention she garnered after a win for the Falcons, but under these circumstances? No thank you. She reread "Falcons' Seeker Regan still recuperating after late game Transfiguration" with a grimace on her face. That was such a tame way of putting things. Her leg twitched with a spasm of pain, as if it new that she was thinking about it.

She glanced down the page, focusing on the photograph that accompanied the article. At least no one would know it was her unless the saw the caption, as the photograph depicted her in her four-legged form that the Bats had so lovingly bestowed upon her. The Seeker had to commend herself for still looking fierce, even as a canine, as photograph-Quinn was barking wildly at all those around her.

Still, she had been so close to the snitch when it had all happened. She had been miles ahead of her opponent, could practically feel its wings beat against her palm. Quinn remembered watching her hand turn into a paw, and then everything after that was a blur. Thankfully she had blacked out most of the memories of the break and the pain and the loss, but she had been filled in on everything, multiple times.

Besides the healers, only her family had been allowed to see her the previous day. Her brother had accompanied her from Falmouth, having been in the boxes, watching what was supposed to be a fantastic match for her. And by the time she actually wanted to see anyone but healers, both her parents had arrived, and she wasn't sure what was worse: the pain in her leg or making her parents worry about their favorite daughter so much.

Quinn had finally seen her manager and her captain in the past few hours, only to find out that she was barred from training for at least a few days, which only added to the pile of good things the woman was collecting. Her brother had been in to see her again after that, leaving her the paper that was still clutched in her hands, and she was sure that he had more than a few more copies. She had an agreement with the check-in desk to only allow visitors who were actually important, like her family and her teammates, though she was still graciously accepting any and all sympathy gifts, after they had passed a safety check of course.

So when she heard a knock at the door, she folded down the top of her newspaper and peered over it, fully expecting to see the face of another Regan. When she was greeted with not a family member, but the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Quinn quirked a brow, setting the paper aside and straightening up in her bed as much as possible. At least she had been brought her own set of pajamas and didn't have to wear anything horribly hospital-like.

"Oh, I'm just peachy, thank you," she folded her arms across her chest, her gaze narrowing. "Have you ever had to take a potion to get rid of fleas? I highly recommend it." She tilted her head enough to motion towards the empty armchair at her bedside, wordlessly inviting him to sit. Quinn would much rather formally complain about her situation instead of reading about it for the hundredth time.

Regan folded down her newspaper and then set it aside as she registered who Jonathan was. She responded with what Jonathan understood to be her customary sauciness, not disrespectful but simply applying a sort of dry humour to deal with her situation. Jonathan was, accordingly, unoffended by the sarcasm.

"I imagine it's a delightful concoction," he answered as in similar a manner as he could manage, which still didn't come out so much funny as it did impassive. He took the seat that Regan indicated with her head and eyed the newspaper for a moment before returning his attention to the Quidditch player. "I hope you know that I am truly sorry for the entire situation, and yes, I know how hollow that sounds," he went on. "Being Transfigured like that in the midst of an adrenaline-filled match is, I am certain, no easy thing to recuperate from. Mentally if not emotionally or physically.

"I wanted to assure you that, first, my ruling on the match was upheld by a preliminary approval sent over from the International Confederation's Quidditch Committee, and a 10 to nothing win has been recorded in favour of the Falcons. Furthermore the Bats are on probation for the next game and Mr. O'Kernaghan has been suspended for the next two games. Second and most importantly, Captain Quigley has approved the disciplinary action and furthermore is paying for your care here at St. Mungo's from the Bats' team savings. He expresses his sincerest apologies but feared to come here and say so himself since it seems you attempted to give him a nasty bite after the incident," here Jonathan genuinely smiled for the first time, recollecting the amusing example of justice he had witnessed.

"Now, in order for me to present my report for final approval by the ICQC, I will need to collect your view on what happened," he went on, conjuring a notepad and a Quick-Quotes Quill in the space to his left and sucking the nib of the pen briefly before setting its tip to the paper. "You may include or gloss over your emotional state and mental trauma as you see fit. I am forcing no information out of you other than the barest of facts, but anything you wish to add will be including in the information I relay to the Committee." He folded his hands on his right leg, which was crossed over his left knee, and leaned back, ready to hear Miss Regan's account of what happened.

Oh wonderful, the Falcons got ten points. Nevermind that they had more points before the incident and were going to have at least 150 more if she had been allowed to do her job, but sure. Thank you, Mr. Gardner for those ten points. And a two game suspension? How fabulous. Quinn nodded, however, to show that she was paying attention, careful not to let her face betray any other feelings on the matter. She smiled, accepting Captain Quigley’s apology on behalf of his team, however, quite pleased to have kept him too scared to pay her a visit. “If only I hadn’t repressed that memory,” Quinn let out a dramatic sigh, though after a drawn out pause she returned Mr. Gardner’s smile. She was well aware of the incident he was referring to, having enjoyed that particular detail of the story quite a bit.

She nodded again, having already been told by her manager that this interview would be coming. She had already planned out what she was going to say, being sure to play the victim while still ensuring the Committee that she was still fit to play. It was a fine line to toe. “Well,” she started, unfolding her arms from across her chest and neatly placing her hands in her lap. “They were playing a dirty game from the start. Byrne flew into me and caught my elbow and I was the one who got the foul called on her.” She paused to make sure the quill was getting everything down, especially how it was the Bats’ seeker who made that foul. She didn’t want that included in her stats.

“Anyway, it was all standard flying. I saw the snitch first. I know Byrne had been following me, had been for a while, actually, but he was far behind.” And that fact had been confirmed, though she might have been exaggerating just how far ahead she was. “I hadn’t had any interaction with any other players the whole match. Our beaters had even kept the bludgers away. I don’t know when O’Kernaghan got his great idea, but it seems like it took a bit of forethought. Irish setter? Really?” Quinn paused to take a breath, to get her story back on track. This was starting to be more ‘complaining’ than ‘formal complaint’.

“I was a few inches from the snitch. My hand was outstretched, about to close around it. He must have seen the chase for it as that’s when it happened. I noticed my hand first, but that’s only because I was looking at it.” She slowed down her words, going for a more dramatic element. “Time seemed to slow. My balance was all wrong. Then my grip was gone and I was falling.” She trailed off her words, staring wistfully out the window.

But after a few seconds’ pause, she turned back to Mr. Gardner. “I don’t remember anything after that. I do know that they transfigured me back before attending to my leg, but I guess I need to file that complaint somewhere else.” She shrugged, looking at him curiously. “Would you like more detail than that? I’m sure it could have been traumatic for some spectators, if you still want to add some color to the whole thing.”

Jonathan dutifully paid attention to Regan's account, including her verbal and physical tics, trusting the quill to write the letter of what she said, along with the obvious pauses and occasional editorialisation. He nodded along with several items as she went along with her story, fully aware of the foul that Regan was referring to. In truth, although it was the Falcons' performance that Jonathan had been there to analyse, the Bats had been under his scrutiny for a few weeks now for this type of behaviour. Whether they were beginning to perform poorly because they had decided to play dirty, or they had decided to play dirty because they were beginning to perform poorly, Jonathan wasn't sure. They were certainly much sloppier, talentwise, than they had been at the beginning of the season in January.

But again, Regan was right. Had Jonathan still been refereeing, as he had done before becoming the Assistant Department Head in 1995 and then the Department Head in 1998, the Bats would have been called not only for the cobbing incident and the blagging foul declared later in the game, but also for blatching, stooging, and an attempt at subtle haversacking. He didn't share with Regan that he had already launched another, separate investigation into his referees for the match and was planning on making the entire roster of umpires re-take the Q.O.R.E. to prove they actually knew what the rules were. The business between the Department Head and the Falmouth Seeker was that of the Transfiguration incident, not an entire culture of lazy officiating.

The biggest, most obvious offence of all was the violation of the British Ministry's Rule #6: "Players may take their wands onto the pitch, but they must not be used on or against any players, any players' broomsticks, the referee, any of the four balls, or the spectators⁽¹⁾." In truth, Jonathan wanted to call for the immediate removal of Burney O’Kernaghan from the Ballycastle roster, but unfortunately his Ministry Department only controlled the schedule of matches, the playing and moderation of games, and the coordination of playoffs. All Quidditch clubs were privately owned and the way the teams made money was by having players that fans wanted to pay to watch play. It was an issue that came up practically every year at the International Confederation's Annual Quidditch Meeting, and had never changed yet. Jonathan simply didn't have the authority to include a player ban authorisation on the agreement that teams signed to be part of the British & Irish League - not if he still wanted the ICW's support behind him.

Something Regan pointed out was something that Jonathan had been wondering about. The choice of an Irish setter? A lot of people might think it was a very clear shot and, as the Seeker pointed out, it seemed like it took some forethought. After all, Quinn Regan was the only pureblooded Irish on the Falcons' roster. But on the other hand, Ballycastle was the only team from Northern Ireland that participated in the League, and O’Kernaghan did not seem like a particularly forethinking person. There was no denying his skill as a Chaser (when he played clean) but it was always odd seeing him playing that position, built as he was more like a Beater and with a sloping Neanderthal forehead. Jonathan made a mental note to look into that aspect of the incident and see what he claimed he had been thinking when he did it.

At Regan's last question, Jonathan shrugged casually. "As I said, anything you wish to add, I will include in my report. I won't pretend this is a personal visit as we haven't really ever talked until today, but for what it's worth I wish I could do more for you, and more against the Bats." He turned up his hands in a gesture of helplessness that his face made plain he wished he didn't feel. "So if you believe you can provide enough concrete information to warrant a stronger punishment, I encourage you to do so."

Quinn considered her options for a moment. She could play up just how emotionally and physically damaging this whole ordeal had been to her, garner sympathy from the Committee, hopefully earn her attacker a harsher punishment. She could also play the martyr for the public, once her side of the story inevitably got out. But that could lead to earning herself more time on the bench, both for the Falcons and for Ireland, and that was the last thing she wanted.

She didn't think that any more embellishment than what she had already offered would go in her favor. Just one more way the League was out to get her. "Unfortunately, that really is all I can provide," she mimicked his hand gesture with a frown, "As everything else I know about the incident is what I've gathered from the Prophet." She crossed her arms in front of her as she  looked him over once again.

"Will there be any additional restrictions regarding the carrying of wands in the playoffs? Not that I think the Bats will get very far, but in case we do get matched up against them." She was very confident that the Falcons would progress far along the bracket, if not make a miraculous grab for the title, but there was still the possibility of retaliation against them from the Bats should they face off again any time soon. She would appreciate some reassurance that this wouldn't happen again. Common fouls, sure, but being a dog really wasn't her cup of tea. She decided not to mention how grateful she was that it had been a clean transfiguration. Inflating the egos of the Bats anything more beyond their miraculous win over her was quite unnecessary.

Jonathan admired Quinn Regan's decision to be morally upstanding and not embellish anything further, as it appeared she was considering doing so. While the Department Head wouldn't have minded if she had done so, it would turn a cut-and-dried major rule violation into a psychological circus with people touting emotions and feelings on both sides; anger was a tool for the Quidditch pitch, not the committee room. So he nodded neutrally but emphatically when Regan declined to provide any more information. He looked over at the pad and examined what his Quick-Quotes Quill was finishing up with, and nodded again, pleased with what he had gathered so far. This would go over well when he made his case to the International Confederation.

Speaking of which. Regan's question was one he had unfortunately been expecting, and he did not have an answer she'd probably like to hear. "Regrettably, I am not in control of the rules and restrictions of the game. The ICQC regulates all those elements of the league games, and in reality our Ministry only is responsible for registering teams, scheduling games, reporting scores, and enforcing the rules that have already been laid down. When I make a motion for a change in the wand-carrying restrictions -- and rest assured, I will be making a motion," Jonathan promised the bedridden Seeker, "it will be the fourth such motion since I was installed in the bureaucracy, and I have severe doubts that anything will change. But, we can at least try."

He took his wand and silently incanted Evanesco on the Quick-Quotes Quill, which was in the middle of transcribing the last exchange (he didn't care if it was made public but it had no bearing on his interview with Quinn), and then rolled up the parchment and stood, tucking it into an inside pocket of his robes. "I thank you, Miss Regan, for your time. I will do my very best to see that it was not wasted." He bowed slightly in her direction and made his way back out the door, calling back as he did so, "One of my assistants, if not myself, will be in touch with you during your recovery and also to inform you of the progress of our investigation and reparations." Already his mind was in a distracted state, partially thinking about the information he had gleaned from Quinn Regan and partially preparing for his next rounds with Captain Quigley and with Ambassador Afonso.

☙ exeunt ❧

It took every ounce of control she could muster to not roll her eyes at his response to her question about increased wand regulation. That had been the answer she was expecting, of course, but certainly not the one she was hoping for. Surely there had to be someone more sympathetic to her cause that had some sort of control over this? That wuld be something she would have to look into during her inevitable free time over the next few days.

But she nodded to show her appreciation, or at least to show that she was listening, though she had started to tune Gardner out some time around the word ‘bureaucracy’. She watched with a slightly narrowed gaze as he stood up, not completely thrilled with how this meeting had turned out. She wouldn’t admit it, but she had been expecting some sort of outcome a bit more in her favor. More sympathy wouldn’t have hurt, either.

Quinn didn’t respond to his final comment, having to refrain from asking a new line of questions about why this incident wasn’t his top priority, how he thought she deserved to be delegated to his assistants. But that would have to wait for another time, she supposed. Pulling the Prophet towards her one more time, the Seeker was finally able to use her saved eye roll for the photo of herself barking angrily.