He ran ignoring the pain, sprinting towards where he thought one of the long counters that the goblins usually sat at was, half-blind with all the dust from the reductos that Shacklebolt and Johns were still spitting from their wands as they stood either side of the doors. They were giving him a chance at least, and he felt a sharp pain of gratitude and anger, because it was more than he deserved, but so much less than she deserved.