"A broken rib and a concussion, from what they told me" after the fact, and she was sure that was her father's instructions, "the rib was close to a lung, but he's home and on the mend. Or rather, he was home, he brought me here."
She made it a point to look at the scars and let him see, let him see that she didn't flinch and they didn't make a damn bit of difference to her.
"I ought to hex you but considering you did as promised and didn't get yourself killed, I suppose I can't." It was a safe bet though that either or both of his parents would at some point, she imagined.
"Plus I can't really be glad you act like a Gryffindor the times it suits me and then have kittens when it doesn't." You either accepted and loved someone for the way they were, all of it, or you didn't really love them, and she did; love this boy.