A foul-mouthed expletive erupted across the hospital room (a word far too sordid to ever be repeated). Bristol laid back, teeth gritted, bare chest heaving up and down as hospital healers slapped him with various pads and magical bandages. He hated hospitals. It wasn't that uneasy annoyance in an uncomfortable place - no, Bristol hated them and avoided St. Mungo's at all costs. His occupation however, was at odds with such a disposition and he'd seen many a team mate admitted for weeks on ends. Luck had been on his side till that day and Bristol cursed ever getting on a broom as he was transported inside.

It had all happened so quickly. Thirty minutes into the match, sky high with quaffle in hand. As usual, Bristol Collin spearheaded a formation of chasers and beaters as they charged towards the hoops. A bludger aimed for the chaser to his right was quickly deflected. "Well played!" he exclaimed as they raced faster and faster. It was just in sight. He made the throw. The quaffle soared through the air, so close, so close, so close. Bristol narrowed his eyes and threw his arms up in the air as the goal bell rang, teammate and fan alike cheering in celebration until - crack.

Bristol fell from his broom as gasps and screams erupted from the stands. Pain seared through his lifeless body until crash landed on the wet grass. He arched his back momentarily, whimpering slightly, hands attempting to locate the source of pain yet unable to move. Bristol had felt nothing like it before and soon enough, black mist clouded his vision. He'd passed out.

"It was a rogue hex from the crowd," a healer advised as two others hoisted Bristol onto a bed. He grimaced and cursed again in an Essex drawl that was amplified further in dire situations. That was one of said dire situations. "We've got report that aurors are on the case Mr Collins but until then, we'll have to run a series of tests." He nodded slowly, accepting a mouthful of potion from the same St. Mungo's employee. Again, he was asleep.


The Tutshill chaser awoke once more, the pain still present but dulled with heaps and heaps of magical cures. He tried to sit up in bed, wincing in pain as trembling elbows propped his cruel body to a more sociable height. There were a couple of cards, a fruit bowl and a bottle of something vaguely looking like firewhiskey. How long have I been in here?

Looking around the room, his dread almost mirrored the gut-wrenching burn that slammed through his muscles. Bristol really did hate hospitals.

"Merlin man, what am I doing here?" There was nothing left to do. Bristol's trembling hand reached for the bottle of firewhiskey and without even looking at the gift tag, unscrewed the top hastily and took a generous gulp. Anything had to be better than this hospital rubbish.

St. Mungo’s had been abuzz ever since the incident. The hospital got its fair share of Quidditch injuries, sure, but this was more than an injury – it was an investigation. That meant that on top of the healers swarming around, there were also a number of aurors and a few concerned fans milling about. Luckily it wasn’t on Cass’s floor, so he didn’t have to deal with unnecessary people getting in the way, but his curiosity got the better of him when he overheard some of his colleagues in the break room discussing what had happened. It wasn’t really his business, but maybe he could pop up to spell damage just to see what all the commotion was about…

When Cass heard that it was Bristol who’d been attacked, however, that certainly changed things and Cass was no longer checking up on the floor for the excitement. Truthfully, he couldn’t help but worry a bit as he headed up a few floors with a bottle of alcohol in tow (it would be necessary if Bristol was up), assuring himself that Bristol would be alright. He had every faith that his friend would be better in no time, but the fact that this sort of thing had even happened unnerved the healer. He knew that sports fans could get a little crazy, but this? This was insane no matter how you looked at it.

Bristol was still out when Cass arrived, so he allowed himself a peek at the chart – to make sure one of his best mates wasn’t about to die, of course – and left the firewhiskey on the bedside table before leaving.

It wasn’t until many hours later that Cass decided to try again. He knocked once on Bristol’s door before letting himself in the room, wondering if Bristol had even woken up yet. No doubt the healers up in spell damage had given him enough potions to put him to sleep for a while. It looked as though Bristol was just waking up, however – and had already helped himself to the firewhiskey.

“Hey, look who’s finally awake,” Cass gestured toward the bottle in his friend’s hand, “I thought you might need that once you woke up. The hospital food’ll get old pretty quickly.” Leaning against the wall, Cass offered Bristol a look of concern, his brow slightly furrowed in question. “How are you feeling, anyway? You’ve been out for a while.”