The pale wood of the table underneath made the wand stand out. It had scrapes and gouges one would expect for a table well-used and washed down often — a good table for a hospital. The small window filled the room with light from the sunny day outside, making the tidy, bland sickroom glow golden. A woman was resting in a dull, grey metal bed made up with white sheets in the center of the room. A tall man with blond hair shifted in the chair next to the bed. His leg bounced up and down as the hour ticked down.  His shift was almost over, his coffee mug long since emptied. He watched the woman in bed with brown hair that curled almost audibly, freckled tan skin, and lips parted as regular breaths passed through them. Her face was cut and scraped like she had faced down a windstorm. One of her arms, while whole, was shattered like a mirror. The other arm and torso covered in bruises or scars, some in bright colors, testaments to her skill and tenacity. The door opened, and Minister Shacklebolt walked in with Inspector Umbridge.