InsaneJournal

 The bandages on his cheek and leg were gone, and all that was left for Bill to face at Saint Mungo's was the dreaded full moon. The Healers were near certain that he'd come out unscathed, but it was better to be safe than sorry and they'd booked him a cell in the transformation ward for the night.

It was early evening, an hour or so before moon rise, and Bill paced very slowly across the hospital room, leaning heavily on a cane. His leg, mangled in the attack, would still take weight but not very steadily. The irreversible scarring was so immense that the Healers had informed him it was very likely he'd always have a limp. With time, he'd be able to lose the cane, but not until he rebuilt the muscle.

He was unsure what to expect when it came to the full moon, but he did feel different. The hospital food, already rather disgusting, had proved revolting this morning. The sausages tasted overcooked to the point of boot leather and his lunch meat later in the day was too bland to eat. He desperately wanted a good, juicy steak but had to settle for some hot cereal instead.

And there was the fever, and the restlessness. He was burning up and uncomfortable. The scars left by Fenrir itched terribly but he was admonished by the Mediwitch for scratching. Throughly disgruntled and feeling a bit sorry for himself, Bill flopped down on the edge of his hospital bed and looked at Fleur with a frown.

"I would like to go home now, please," he said, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.