Dumpster Pigeon Adventures
Henry groaned as he limped into the St. Mungo’s emergency ward, one hand pressed to the bleeding gash on his collarbone.
“Hey! Hey pretty boy! Why were you talking to her, huh?”
It stretched almost from his neck down to his sternum, and it had painted his white shirt a sickening, dripping red.
“Creatures don’t talk to good witches. They don’t look at them, they definitely don’t try and touch ‘em.”
The whole left side of his face ached where the spell had sent him reeling into a brick wall. He was worried his cheekbone was broken, agony lancing through his face as it burned down his chest.
“Hey, isn’t it like bestiality? Someone being with you? Huh? Answer me, freak!”
He could taste blood in his mouth, blood was dripping into his shoes, there was red staining the silver shock of his hair and bloody hell, why was the room spinning?
He got maybe halfway to the help desk before the world went sideways, the floor dropping from beneath his feet. The only thing that kept him from another head injury was some quick spellwork or- maybe just a pair of really strong arms. It was difficult to tell.
He blinked hazily, looked up into a pair of narrowed eyes. Coughed and spoke past the burning in his cheek, because he was that kind of stupid.
“Can you”- fuck, coughing, ow, how was his throat so dry when he was pretty sure he’d swallowed a fair amount of his own blood?- “save m’ face first? It’s kinda- the moneymaker.”
