January 8, 2009
Montreal, Quebec (Canada)
Bell Centre (Montreal Canadiens)

With a pop!, the side along aparation was over and Ian and Eleanor were left standing in the darkness just outside of a muggle location that would be unfamiliar to her but that Ian knew like the back of his hand.

The nervous intimidation that he had felt mere moments ago following the ritual of meeting her parents (something he knew had been a requirement if this was to be a proper first date) was replaced by his confidence in the plans for the rest of the evening.

Even if they were still joking in a lot of ways about the nature of their relationship, Ian was committed to being serious, or at least showing that serious side to those who mattered to Eleanor. First, it was her family. And if they still wanted to pretend to be serious after tonight, Ian was fully prepared to take her home for a dinner with his own.

But now, he simply offered her a playful smile. He knew where they were headed and what they were doing and had refused to tell her ever since they had planned on this happening.

Squeezing her hand, Ian led Eleanor around the one side of the building to the front, where Centre Bell was prominently displayed in lights. In the glass window panes were banners depicting the figures of popular muggle hockey players of the Montreal Canadiens, one of the most successful teams in the sport.

Ian knew that Eleanor's family and thus much of her life was deeply rooted in Magical history. His mother's side was very much so as well. But bringing her to Montreal was going to be a means of showing her a very important part of the 'other' history that who he was.

It had helped that she was athletic and surely that would allow her to enjoy a fun game of hockey. With another squeeze of her hand, he told her, "Well, here we are. I present to you, the hack 'em, whack 'em sport of Ice Hockey."

outfit

Ellie gave a kick to the orange backpack sticking out of the bushes which lined the Georgian sash windows... The very same windows through which her mother, Cadence Holden St. James, had peaked glances of Ian Cuddyer, International Quidditch Superstar and perpetually polite gentleman. Ten minutes ago, Mrs. St. James had watched from the veil of white linen drapes and elf-scrubbed windows that decorated the tidy, creme exterior of 19th century Kensington home. Now they were being peeped into from the other side, spectator unaware that two figures had just shuffled out.

The wizarding household was oft overlooked by its muggle peers, but there were many magical dwellings scattered cleverly in the neighborhood, too, and many of the families had been talking.

With a tug, a turn, and a pop, the orange backpack and suspiciously shaky bushes disappeared before the first syllable could be uttered (undoubtedly a resounding ahhh!). Gone were trespassing tabloid reporters and overbearing fathers, and here were...

“Where are we?”

While no stranger to the muggle automobiles which plagued London’s cramped, cobbled streets, Ellie had never been so affronted by so many at once. All stationary and in pretty neat rows, like quills in a box. She whirled, as if she might be on the verge Apparating again, only she was not. She tilted her head toward Ian, newly-trimmed fringe falling into place, skimming a skeptical brow.

She grinned.

“Coco, We’re not in London, anymore...” She whispered, (mis)quoting the famous film she’d once watched in a classroom at Hogwarts. As he squeezed her hand, she pulled at his, playfully tugging him along like a rag-doll. “You know, you’re supposed to tell your date to dress appropriately. Have you ever been out with a girl, Ian?” She teased, knowing (or at least estimating) just how many girls (and full-grown women with husbands and children tying them down) would kill to be in her (decidedly inappropriate) shoes right now. “I didn’t even bring my ice-skates.”

"We are in Quebec," Ian announced with a grin. "Not exactly my old stomping ground when I lived in this vast expanse called Canada, but it is a very important place for most things Hockey related."

Ian watched her face with the interest of a proud parent seeing a child experience the world for the world, waiting for subtle hints at how she was reacting to where they were and gaging her reaction to it. He laughed at her next comment which alluded to a famous muggle film. "No, we most certainly are not." He then became a bit sheepish at her lighthearted scolding of him for not properly preparing her for their outing.

"You don't need skates for this, Miss Eleanor," he lightly protested, glancing down at her shoes. "We're not going to be playing hockey at all. We're going to be watching. And I think you would clearly be considered a rink or ice bunny." He nodded with approval and then let go of her hand slipped his arm around her waist.

Ian felt relief flood through him to know that flashbulbs would not be going off the moment he attempted to show Eleanor some affection. Leaning closer so that he could nuzzle her ear, he whispered, "But tonight, you're my little ice bunny."

"Quebec," she repeated, her smile growing still. She'd traipsed around parts of Canada with him, but there weren't many Wizarding stadiums smack in the middle of big cities; she had not visited Quebec while teasing tabloids and swimming through a sticky summer of rumors and rockstar-level fun with her friend-turned-date.

"So, then, are they the enemy?" She challenged, wondering which team's name she'd be fiercely screaming. Or grappling with... one never knew, exactly, what might end up doing at a sports match. Spectator, rabid fan, team player... the lines were very blurred.

But apparently Ian was playfully keen to keep his date in check. No skates. Not hockey. They were definitely going to be profaning and sending rude hand signals to the referees, then. And Eleanor would need her own color-coded memorabilia to be part of the pack.

Curling into his touch, as if it were the most natural thing in all the world, she tried the title on f or size. Ice bunny. They swept into the crowd in front of the stadium, not a paparazzo in sight, and waited in the growing queue to fork over a pair of tickets and enter the vast belly of ice and excitement. "Ice bunny, huh?" She whispered back. "I definitely should have worn less." One needn't know the definition to know that much. "Or at least a jersey. Buy me one?" She offered a pair of puppy eyes. "Your first big investment with that hidden fortune of yours."

Ian chuckled and ducked his head. "Yes, they would be the enemy. But, unfortunately, they are the better team and have been for quite some time," he explained to her. With another brief smile, he tacked on, "Much to my father's chagrin. But, the rivalry is still a pretty big deal. In fact, it's the oldest one in the sport."

Ian planted a kiss on her cheek when she talked about wearing less. "I think you wore just enough." But he nodded when she quietly demanded that he buy her a jersey. "Sure. Whatever you want. Jersey.....the little foam hand...a hot dog...even a beer...." He reached down and laced his fingers through hers and tugged her inside the arena after having their tickets inspected. "We'll make you a proper fan. But first--" He continued following the throngs of other fans through the corridors but he glanced down quickly at his watch to see how much time they had before the game was to begin. "I want to show you something."

A moment later, they found themselves in an area that was heavily themed in the home team's memorabilia, including a plethora of enlarged photographs and statues of famed former players. But there was also a chronological trip through its history, with a significant part of it dedicated to the rivalry with the Toronto Maple Leafs. Ian headed over to where a wall depicted some scenes from the 1980's and he crouched down to point to one in particular.

At first glance, the photo looked like utter chaos--a brawl on the ice between the two teams with individuals hard to make out, except the occasional name or number on the back of a jersey.

"C'mere," Ian beckoned Ellie closer as he touched his fingertips to a figure in the picture. Without being close, it simply looked like another player was about to haul off and deck the other. But further inspection made it clear that the person with his back to the camera was not just any other player. The name 'CUDDYER' was clear for all to cared to see.

"Cool, huh?"

“How old?” She challenged playfully. Her arm slung around Ian’s shoulders, and she ruffled the side of his hair, leaning into him with a faux serious whisper. “I bet Quidditch is older...” But that meant very little; who cared about old? Ellie wasn’t exactly her parents: she didn’t mind muggle culture, and she found the new and unexplored parts of the world the most exciting. In true Gryffindor spirit, she bumbled through the stadium entrance and soaked up the crowd, loving it.

The kiss to the cheek didn’t hurt, either.

Biting her lip, babyish teeth over a vibrant lip, she eyed everything she wanted like a child. Ian’s menu for the night (souvenirs and proper junk food) was an alluring one. Instead of dinner at home, nicked from the kitchen stove and picked at in her room while she developed the day’s photos, she was going to chow down on the sort of thing every young person loved. It sounded like the perfect plan to Ellie.

Soon they’d whirled through such a massive, spinny corridor and taken one too many turns, so that Eleanor became less certain of hockey’s muggle origins. Perhaps Hogwarts had started out as a hockey arena. Perhaps the ice sport was ancient.

Standing in front of a showcase of perfectly still photos, shiny trophies, and signed memorabilia, she squinted at all of the faces of hockey’s history. She poked her fingers at the funny muggle photos, and then zeroed in on what Ian had to show off.

Her fingers grazed over his, and her face fell toward the glass with ginger excitement. Squinting, and then widening her eyes in turn, she saw it: his name. “Look at that, you’ve been lying to me about your age this whole time,” she laughed, and then pulled away from the glass to grin at him. “That’s brilliant. Do you still have your dad’s jersey? I always thought you looked like your mum, but now I think you look like him...” She’d seen pictures of both, now.

"Pretty old," Ian assured her with a nod. "But...alas, you are right. Quidditch is most definitely older." Then he just grinned. "But they're both full of excitement. And chances are, if you can play one, you can play the other." He looked Ellie up and down, sizing up her ability to play hockey, knowing that she had played Quidditch. "Yeah, you could probably be more than just an ice bunny."

Despite hockey's relative youth compared to the magical sport, Ian was proud of this part of his own history. Showing Ellie small bits of who he was was his way of opening up to her. Letting her see the real part of himself that he tended to keep hidden from everyone else.

Ian's laughter at her comment about his age caused some of the other visitors nearby to look at them strangely. But he didn't care. He quickly turned his attention back to Eleanor.

"Do I still have it?" he echoed, with a hint of incredulity at her next question about having his dad's jersey. "Of course." Then he grinned like a cheshire cat. "And what kind of fan would I be if I wasn't brave enough to wear it into enemy territory?" Ian unzipped his jacket and flung it open to reveal a blue and white hockey jersey, the Toronto Maple Leaf colors. It was the number 22, like his quidditch jersey number. Ian then wagged his brows at Ellie. "If you think you are bold enough to do that, I can let you wear this one. I do have something else underneath."

And before she could say anything else, Ian reached down and pulled up the jersey to show his bare stomach underneath. Only it had the same number 22 written on it in blue paint. "What do you think?"

She grinned, lifting an arm to show off muscle when he conceded that she could be more than a mascot. She might have (albeit playfully) punched a man who told her otherwise; but Ian wasn't that kind of guy. He was softer, well-spoken, sweet, but honest. Not too proud. In fact, a sort of anomaly for someone who had risen so quickly. Most of them were more like William Pennyapple, iron egos behind their magazine-ready faces.

Eleanor produced a camera from seemingly nowhere. She'd promised herself she wouldn't go snapping away on their first real date, but now she couldn't help it. A whirl of purple smoke, and the Cuddyer's corner of the hall of fame was properly lensed.

She quirked a brow, suspicious but deadly curious behind a messy fringe. He began to strip right there, and she rather hoped he wouldn't stop at the jacket. She was not disappointed. Two layers came off, and Ellie found herself holding the prized jersey...

... And staring at a half-naked Ian, all painted chest and teasing trousers. She'd opened her mouth to tempt him further, but he'd beat her there, and now she was more than a little speechless as she stared at his blue flesh.

"What do you think?"

"I think... I already know who the winner of this game is."

Ellie set down her purse and camera, and pulled Ian's jersey over her short dress and tights. It swallowed her in the way boy's clothes often did, and it smelled wonderful, like Ian and ice. She grinned down at her new garb and back at her bare-chested date. "Let's go shout the other team straight out of their skivvies, yeah?"

The date was going swell. Once Eleanor was clad in the Cuddyer hockey jersey and he was clad in...well....a bare upper torso....they headed inside the arena to prepare for the pre-game pomp and circumstance. Ian was excited to share it all with her. Even though he was a visiting fan, he belted out "O' Canada" at the top of his lungs with everyone else like a proud Canadian. And then, the puck dropped and the game began and he felt like he hardly spent any time in his seat.

His team was losing -- getting their asses handed to them, really --but seeing the game through Eleanor's eyes took the sting out of that realization. And at one point, the game play stopped for a bit of commotion, to which he had to explain to her by yelling, "Did you see that thing flying through the air??" Pause. "It was a tooth!!!!"