Who: Roger Davies and Lavender Brown When: Late Monday night Where: St. Mungo's, then... TBD What: Roger needs someone to take him home. Rated/Status: Lowish? Incomplete.
“I do not believe for a second that this was a Quidditch injury, Mr. Davies,” the Mediwitch tsked, examining his face with fingers that were hardly gentle. Roger groaned, but that was his only complaint. He was at Mungo’s, rather than arrested, so that was one thing, at least. And they’d been nice enough to patch up his broken nose, which for a while had been a leaky blood faucet, along with a dislocated jaw, and two broken ribs. He also had a concussion, which they’d monitored for a few hours, and the nurse kept rudely prodding him to make sure he stayed awake. But finally, they’d deemed him fit to go home- with one caveat. He needed an escort.
Roger was not going to owl Katie and explain to her that he’d gotten into a fist fight with her ex-boyfriend. Katie was generally an easy-going girl, but he didn’t want to explain to her that he might have implied in front of an entire bar of people that they were having wild crazy sex. All the time. At least, he didn’t want to explain that tonight. It was late, and hopefully he could just sneak in, go to bed, and put this off until morning. Or maybe, if he was extremely lucky, she’d be too busy to notice anything was off until he went to America. Except it looked like he’d walked face-first into a bus. That’d probably be hard to notice.
“Who do I need to contact for you, Mr. Davies?” The witch asked, tersely. “Unless you’d like to stay the night with me.”
He could have picked anyone. Any one of his teammates would have happily dropped what they were doing to take his sorry arse home. But for some reason, the last person he wanted to see was the first name that fell out of his mouth.