Quinn scratched her less than perfect locks, a look of utter confusion mixed with embarrassment painted on her face. Sitting on the white, terrifyingly clinical bed, it was clear that the former Gryffindor had enjoyed a rather raucous night out. Yes, total sobriety was long gone, but the girl was by no means smashed beyond all recognition; Quinn liked to call it 'merry'. It had been a blurry (but still memorable) turn of events that had landed her in St. Mungo's, and unfortunately, she was a patient rather than a midnight visitor.

The throb in her ankle burned. Looking down, her bare feet showed clear evidence of cobbled street smudges and general dancefloor muck, but the sheer size of her swelled up joint was the most alarming element. On her walk home, Lou and Quinn had loudly parted ways professing their undying love and sheer adoration, and Quinn caught herself stuck in the midst of a bunch of male revellers. Like-minded in nature, they'd welcomed the screaming, dancing blonde with open arms and soon enough, they were all on first name turns, exchanging conversation despite Diagon Alley being dead and every bar closed.

She wasn't sure how it happened, but an impromptu firework display from some over-enthusiastic wands had resulted in Quinn falling to the floor, a Catherine Wheel whizzing and stuck to her ankle. Some shrieked, others gasped, Quinn merely laughed in hysterics at the pure ridiculousness of the gunpowder/magic-fuelled predicament. The pain came after. Firework extinguished, the group of lads were perfect gents and had brought her to St. Mungo's; the most caring had offered to stay but she insisted they go home - she was fiiiiine, she was fiiiine! After an hour of convincing, he made his way home (not before sneaking a corner of parchment with his owling address into her bag) and her only company was a highly amused nurse that took off Quinn's boots and left her in that room until a healer arrived.

Looking about, she clapped her hands together absent-mindedly, unsure of whether to owl her parents or Lou or even Grace. Mr and Mrs McAvoy would be shocked (but mostly unsurprised) at their daughter's transgressions, whilst her comrades would find it ultimately hilarious. Waiting for the healer to arrive, she sighed, her blackened ankle hurting more by the second and her smile becoming more fragile with it. "Ouch..."

Needless to say, he was exhausted. Flynn wasn’t exactly happy that he got the graveyard shift, but at the same time he knew that someone needed to do it. Despite the fact that he would rather be at home in bed, he did not let that show. He greeted every patient with the same amount of fervent excitement.  At this time of night, most of his patients were tired and sleeping, though there were always a select few newcomers who were coming in after parties, who had somehow gotten injured.

His eyes had slight hints of dark circles underneath them, hinting that the healer was starting to get a bit tired. Flynn’s face had been clean-shaven this morning, though now stubble was apparent. It wasn’t like he was going to shave during his meal breaks.

Flynn entered the room, and gave Quinn a beaming smile. “My, my. You’re out late. Hopefully we didn’t keep you waiting too long.” He pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed so he could sit down and get a good look at her ankle. “My name is Flynn Hughes. I’ll be your healer tonight. I’m sorry if my dangerously good looks are offensive.” He teased, his eyes crinkling up cheerfully.

“Now, what happened here?” He began to examine her blackened ankle carefully. It didn’t look too serious to him, though it was hard to tell what he was dealing with until he knew what caused the injury.