"I'll go see a Healer as soon as we're done questioning Mister Waddlesworth," Harry insisted, glaring at Savage even as his entire body felt like it had been run over by a herd of hippogriffs. He'd had worse injuries; there was nothing life threatening that demanded he go to St. Mungo's immediately and check himself in. Savage gave in with a sigh, and Harry carefully made his way into the interrogation room.

Several hours later, Harry had lost track by the time Waddlesworth broke down and admitted to casting the Imperious curse on his mother-in-law so she'd stop hounding him about getting a job. By the time the wimpering man had been transported to the holding cells, Harry's head was pounding as much as his body was. The little man packed a punch, and could throw a curse better than some professional duelists Harry knew. He probably should have brought backup, as Savage had already reminded him, but it was meant to be a routine visit. Why did routine visits never end up being routine?

Harry sighed, and because he didn't think his body could handle Apparating, headed to the Auror's private Floos. His first instict was to go straight home, sleep off the bumps and bruises, but Savage pinned him with a look just as he was reaching for the Floo powder.

"Remember that Healer, Potter. I'll know if you don't follow through."

Knowing better than to ignore a direct order, Harry tossed in a handful of powder and stuck his head through, body screaming in protest at being folded in half this way. "Ernie? Are you home? Is it alright if I come through? Had a bit of a run0in at work, and don't want to go to St. Mungo's if it's at all avoidable."