[This happens right after >this<]

He apparated in a dark back alley in Muggle London, close enough to the old Purge and Dowse Ltd. department store, which unbeknownst to the muggle population housed the famous wizarding hospital. Stumbling over a pair of trash cans, Rosier cursed quietly, already in too much pain to bother about making too much noise or a mess. He limped slowly, dragging his feet and clutching his very injured left arm. His wand was covered in soot and blood, his posh robes were ripped and charred…he didn’t even want to imagine what he resembled at this very moment.

After a few agonizingly painful minutes he managed to reach the entrance to St. Mungo’s. He wasn’t sure what time it is…it must have been some ungodly hour by now – it took him ages to put out all that fire. The fire…oh good god. Rosier closed his eyes for a second, but he could still see the blazing red and orange rattlesnakes and other foul creatures – the spawns of his own recklessness. He didn’t know what made him conjure fiendfyre, but in the end it proved to be rather…effective. But he won’t think about this now – first he will try to get himself cured, then think about the damage done to his flat and garden…and the peaceful community he lived in.

But things are about to get very ugly now. Rosier – once cool, collected and rational completely snapped tonight. He swore revenge on whoever did this to him, whoever deceived him with such cheap tricks and probably even spied on him for weeks. It was disturbing…but what was more disturbing was the revenge plot Rosier had in store for his attacker.

Stumbling ungracefully into the main lobby of the hospital, he almost crashed into the reception desk. The two witches present looked at him in horror, probably not sure if they should be scared of him or help him. Did he look that bad then? Yes….he probably did. He rested his injured arm on the counter, leaving an ugly trail of blood and soot. “Evening,” he said, but no actual words came out; this was more like a bark of an injured dog. He tried to sound casual, but he ended up deranged, probably even humorous if the situation wasn’t so dire.

Both of the witches still looked at him in horror, neither of them saying a word or moving a centimetre. His head spinning now, Rosier slowly pocketed his wand, thinking it will maybe make him look less dangerous or whatever…he actually didn’t know what he was doing or what was the next thing he wanted to say. But one of the witches finally moved towards him and spoke; “S-Sir! Y-y-you’re injured! Come here….Marge, call Foley immediately…”

“No!” Rosier cut her off quickly, trying to push her away with his uninjured arm. Now he remembered what he actually wanted. He was angry and he trusted no one. He wouldn’t want just about anyone’s help now.

“Marren. Get Jason Marren here!”

“But sir, you’re bleeding! Let me just..”

“No! I said Marren!” Rosier shouted angrily, grabbing the younger witch’s arm when she attempted to take him somewhere. No, he will not let them touch him…not any of them. “Stop wasting time now! I said I want Marren here – so if I were you, I’d bloody make sure he’s here in the next minute!” Glaring angrily at the witch he added; “Don’t you know who I am?”

"No! I said Marren!"

Vivienne Thorpe, with her sleepy grey eyes and calm temperament, nearly tripped down the last two steps to the St.Mungo's hospital lobby when she heard the shouting come from their reception area. It was always the late Healers who got the rowdiest patients. Her shift had only just begun and Viv was already beginning to wonder if she should have had that extra cup of coffee in the afternoon.

She picked up her pace and quickly rounded the passageway to the main entrance, only to find a rather disturbing scene.

“Stop wasting time now! I said I want Marren here – so if I were you, I’d bloody make sure he’s here in the next minute!” A severely wounded wizard was gripping the arm of a mediwitch, and staring angrily at her: “Don’t you know who I am?” he growled. There was a familiar look to the man but he could have been anyone in that bedraggled state-- and Vivienne hardly had time to place the face.

The other mediwitch looked relieved to see a Healer walking over. "Excuse me, sir," she raised her voice over the intimidated whimpering of the woman he'd just grabbed: "If you could be so kind as to release my colleague, I will gladly go to fetch Healer Marren." Viv never glared or yelled or threatened a patent. She only looked at the wizard with a firm, almost matronly sternness-- she held her wand tightly, knowing full well that a badly injured patient could also be a dangerous one. It did not always hurt to be wary.

How did they not understand? Why were they just standing there, looking at him with such dumb expressions on their ignorant faces? Rosier wasn’t sure for how long he could take this – his head was spinning faster and faster every second. He could feel the thin lines of sweat dripping down his face…or was that blood? Everything hurt, he wasn’t even sure how injured he was. But his arm was the worst; he couldn’t even bear to spare a glance at it. He had enough of this, he just wanted to sleep now and maybe never wake up…yes, that would be quite nice. No..no, no – he needs to stay awake. He needs to get to Jason. He needs to send an owl…yes, or more owls, to Trevelyan, Pratt and Radley perhaps. And the bloody Catastrophes too – they are going to skin him for what he did to his garden.

Suddenly, there was another voice, probably speaking to him. Then he realized he was still violently gripping that poor girl’s arm. Shaking his head slightly, Rosier let her go, however not bothering to even mumble an apology. Did this woman say she could get Marren? He looked at her, squinting a bit, but only seeing a blurry silhouette of a woman. It was getting worse…he needed help, he couldn’t take this any longer.

“Yes…get Marren,” he said more quietly this time, as if all the energy has been drained from him. If he could, he would have probably shouted at her too. He hoped she could get him quickly though, he wasn’t sure for how long will he be able to hold on. “Tell him...Rosier needs to see him,” he added hesitantly to the witch, in case he looked as unrecognizable as he assumed.

Taking a painful step forward, he leaned against the wall thinking it will be easier to wait that way. However, when he came in contact with the wall he sort of slid down and slumped on the floor ungracefully, leaving a bloody trail all along the wall. Sitting down, he felt a bit better…the wall felt nice and cold. Maybe he could sleep here.

"Tell him... Rosier needs to see him."

A cog clicked into place at the back of Vivienne's mind and she knew who the injured man was immediately. It made no sense however, to see the Head of MLE come in here injured-- at least not on his own. Cameron Rosier left a crimson mark against the wall when he collapsed to the floor, causing one of the mediwitches to jump in surprise, the flighty creature. Viv swore and then her wand hand went directly the the St.Mungo's emblem on her robes. A small pulse of magic went through the embellishment, causing it to glow a little.  Hopefully Healer Marren would notice the beckoning. She looked up at one of the women: "I've sent for Marren but I'm going to run up to make sure he comes here immediately."

Casting a worried glance at Rosier, she quickly added: "Don't touch him unless he lets you but keep talking. We need him conscious."

Vivienne turned and hastened back to the corridor she had come from, heading towards the stairs. It was a good thing Marren only worked a floor up-- Merlin knew why the hell Rosier needed someone from that ward when his injuries appeared to be the result of spellwork. Probably his own damn doing, if the man's Hitwizards were anything to go by. Viv reached the top stair landing, a flurry of green robes, and very nearly ran into a wizard who was coming down from the opposite direction.

Jason didn’t stay late very many nights, but he had a lot of loose ends to tie up that he knew wouldn’t wait until tomorrow or the next day. Bureaucracy crap that reminded him how different his in-Charge position was to being another Healer. Regardless, he enjoyed his responsibilities, even if they were rather mundane at times. Sam all ready knew he was going to be late.

He had just dipped his quill into the ink when he noticed an odd glowing. Glancing down as he retracted the quill out, he stared at the emblem. And with that, he jumped up, dropped his quill, and was out the door. That wasn’t a good sign. As he glanced along his hallway, he noticed the couple of Healer’s standing around weren’t glowing. Letting out a sigh, he’d just started for the stairs when the door slammed open. Jumping a little, he stared at another Healer.

She looked a little frazzled (that was his assessment, anyway). But she seemed to be keeping her things together. And he saw the glowing emblem. As he neared her, he recognized her. “Healer Thorpe?” After only a few words had passed her lips, Jason’s face had dropped and he ran past her, jogging down the stairs and taking them two at a time.

Once he got to the ground floor, he realized why she had looked a little out of sorts. Moving over to Cameron, Jason pulled his wand out and knelt. Glancing over the bloody trail he’d left on the wall, Jason finally glanced at his friend’s face. “Hey, mate, not the best night to go out hedge trimming.” And with that, he motioned to the couple of medi-witches standing around. “Get a gurney, now. And you, open the nearest private room.” Both ran to the tasks, seemingly glad to have something to do besides stare.

Turning his attention back to Cameron, he gave the man a light slap on the unbloodied cheek. “Wake up, Rosier. Stay with me. Tell me what happened.”

They all left somewhere. It could have been nice and quiet (finally), but he could hear the annoying clicking of someone’s heels against the faux marble floor. Did they just leave him here? What was happening? He hoped that witch will keep her promise and get Jason here quickly. Too many confusing thoughts swam inside Rosier’s head. He tried to focus on getting things sorted – owls needed to be sent, meetings arranged…evidence gathered from the crime scene (something however told him that wasn’t going to be very possible). But he couldn’t focus; along with all the pain now came the inexplicable tiredness. He felt like giving up; maybe he should. It would be great to rest a bit…he closed his eyes and tried to think about something pleasant.

But a little bit of peace was apparently too much to ask for. His eyes were still closed and it seemed like too much effort to open them, so he had no idea who was talking or if the was person even talking to him. Rosier was also becoming more and more aware of the fact that the floor actually wasn't a comfortable place to rest…even the wall didn’t feel so nice and cool anymore. Then there was more noise, more talking, more heel clicking – it all made his headache so much worse.

Then, surprisingly, someone slapped him across the face. Instinctively, he opened his eyes and found himself face to face with his old friend. “Jason…” he started with a sort of a weak grumble, trying to form a bitter smile, but grimacing in pain instead. Good, he was lucky Marren was here tonight. Of course he wanted to know what happened, but even in this state of confusion Rosier was determined to keep the details to himself. He will of course need to tell Jason the whole story, but not here...These medi witches could easily inform the Prophet or whoever about this. They have already seen enough, they didn’t need to know he was attacked in his own garden!

“Rough night, I guess,” he said in response, trying to sound casual again, but failing miserably. “My arm…” he started, then tried to shift a bit to show Jason the injured arm. This however proved to be rather painful. “Oh for Merlin’s sake!” he gasped, clutching the injured arm again and gritting his teeth as if trying not to cry out in pain. “I think I was hit with the Inflictum Mactabilis curse in this arm…among all other bloody things.” The anger was coming back…why couldn’t he feel as nice and calm as he did for that one minute while leaning against the lovely, cold wall? “Get me out of here, Jason. We need to talk in private,” he finally said, still clutching his arm like it was some precious, fragile little thing.

Vivienne had never quite seen a Healer move quite so quickly as Jason Marren as he bolted down the stairway-- she had barely said Rosier's name when he ran down to the reception. She turned around, surprised, watching her superior in his haste. Friends, it occurred to her and she followed him down at an able but more relaxed pace. By the time she was once again at the reception, Marren was ordering the mediwitches to prepare the closest treatment room. They left without another word and Vivienne, happy to leave Cameron Rosier with the Healer-in-Charge, quickly went after the women to help.

"The Oak Room, Marge. They may need the dresser." Viv ordered the elder of the witches when she had caught up with them in the corridor. The Oak Room was one of the two closest rooms to the Hospital reception-- she called it that after the large oak dresser that occupied a corner of the room. It was stuffed full of potions, balms and various healing brews. The mediwitch nodded-- Viv let her leave to unlock the doors and set a sheet on the treatment bed. She waited a second to make sure that nobody else was using the space before turning around to return to the reception.

Vivienne walked in on a more conscious-looking Rosier speaking to Marren, clutching his wounded arm. He was weak and she only caught the tail of the conversation, "...out of here.. We.... talk... private..." She frowned at this. Aurors and Hitwizards, constantly buried up to their necks in conspiracies. They were both bodyguard and politician.

"The Oak Room is open, Healer Marren. Do you require any assistance?" Viv interrupted them in a clear and professional tone. Her gaze flickered from patient to Healer, indifferently. She had no desire to let on that she had heard anything-- it was better to stay out of their way and just do her job tonight.

If Cameron was able to grimace, then that was a good sign. Of some sort… A small, relieved grin slipped on to his lips. If Cameron was still able to talk… and was therefore arousable, it made his job a little easier. Nodding at the bloody man’s obvious assessment of his own situation, Jason stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Wincing at the obvious pain his mate was feeling, Jason fingered his wand.

He thought over the curse in his head—he wasn’t an expert on spell damage as he would have liked, being that he knew creatures best, but the spell started to bring back vague ideas. And then it hit him. Eyes wide, he used his wand to strip away the arm of Cameron’s robes, careful around the area his mate was still clutching his arm. Luckily the bloke could afford to get himself some new ones.

Nodding at the obvious statement slipping out of Cameron’s mouth, he glanced over what he could of the wounds on his arm. “I’m working on—” Nearly jumping out of his skin, Jason wheeled around on the balls of his feet, crouched down next to Cameron, blinking at the sudden voice of Vivienne. At first he shook his head, and then he nodded. “Yes…” The medi-witch he’d sent off for the gurney arrived, and he stood up, quickly but carefully moving Cameron onto it with his wand. “Don’t move, Rosier.”

A flick of the wand sent the gurney towards the Oak Room, and Jason walked quickly after it. “If you have time, I just need help stabilizing his wounds. He—from his description, it sounds like he was hit with the Inflictum Mactabilis curse.” Jason could keep a straight face through it. It wasn’t like it was a complete lie. Just a bending of the facts to what Cameron could have said.

Once in the room, he moved Cameron on to the bed, ushered the medi-witches and gurney out, and closed the door. “Rosier, we’re just going to stabilize the arm first. This is Healer Thorpe. How long since you were able to move the arm?” As he spoke, he chose a couple of potions from the dresser—one to help with the pain, and the other would cause loss of feeling in Cameron’s limbs. It would allow Jason time to work on the arm without his mate feeling it.

Angry and in a lot of pain, Rosier was put on the gurney and taken somewhere. He didn’t know pretty much what was going on as soon as he lied down and stared at the ceiling blankly. He was still overprotectively clutching his injured arm, which seemed to hurt even more since Jason took a look at it. This will need to go faster though – Rosier had no time to waste, he needed to contact people…make sure that he reaches the right people before another disaster of epic proportions ensues. He didn’t need another scandal in the Prophet. His head started hurting so badly, he thought he was going to go blind. Apparently he needed to stop thinking.

He was placed on a cold, hospital bed while the room around him was spinning. Jason was telling him something and Rosier tried very hard to make some sense out of it, but it all sounded like an echo.  “What?” he said, making a face and looking around the room again. Was he asking him about his arm? Surely he knew how the Inflictum Mactabilis curse worked. But it was obvious his injury was more than that. He needed to tell him… But then he noticed that woman there…didn’t Jason say something about some other Healer? No…he didn’t want other people…he couldn’t talk about what happened. Why were they making it difficult for him even now when he was in such a pathetic state?

“Look Jason,” he started, mumbling the words out incoherently, but still attempting to sound serious. “I don’t want her here. She has seen enough – I want her out of here,” he finished bluntly, more bluntly and coldly than he usually would. Cameron was known for making blunt statements, but it was never like this – so inconsiderate and bold. He glanced at the witch then, apparently not caring what she thought of this arrangement and said; “If you want to help me, then leave.”

He hoped they will understand, that they will know what’s at stake. But all this was getting ridiculous and Rosier was painfully aware that this crazy night probably hasn’t even started yet.

Vivienne narrowed her eyes at Cameron Rosier but didn't frown or show any sign of taking offence. "If you want to help me, then leave," he said.

Really, this was the last straw. She could take injured aurors and yelling visitors and sarcastic Hitwizards but there was very little reason for her to tolerate anyone so downright uncivil. Even if he was in excruciating pain. Viv nodded curtly at the patient and looked at Jason Marren in an offhand manner: "Désolé. I don't believe myself equal to this task, sir. Excuse me."It was said in a monotone but her body language was clearly irate as she brusquely turned and left the treatment room. The door closed behind her quietly.

"Oh, Healer Tho--"

The mediwitch that greeted her just outside halted abruptly, staring at Vivienne's terse expression. Not a common look on the typically unperturbed Healer. She stared at the woman, not really seeing her, and then mutterred a swear word so incredibly sordid that it left a bitter taste in her mouth. The mediwitch gaped, clearly taken aback. Viv made an impatient sound: "Not you, Marge. Mon dieu. A man like that, I'm not surprised he was hexed."

That didn't mean that he shouldn't be healed, however. Marren was no doubt a capable wizard but he was accustomed to creature attacks... not to mention there was a clear attachment between the two and Merlin knows it isn't necessarily a wise measure to treat someone you know that well. Vivienne focused her gaze on the mediwitch and spoke in a softer tone this time: "Could you run up and fetch Healer Greenburg?" Her hand went to the emblem on her chest: "I'll send for him but if you could just let him know that Cameron Rosier is the patient..."

In a heartbeat, the witch left the corridor. Viv watched her leave before heading for the reception herself, where she hoped that she could pull herself together before receiving the Healer-in-Charge. It would be easier for a figure of authority to impose on the MLE Head; she did not trust herself to deal with the wizard, lest she lose her calm.

Simon had been getting ready to go home for a few hours' sleep, and was in the process of pulling on his coat. His office was dark, Simon having extinguished the candles, and the fish were fed, their quiet splashing as they nibbled at the food the only sound in the office. Other than the clock and the shuffle of the heavy weave of his coat, of course. And a muffled curse as he hit his hip on the edge of his desk.

That was shattered, not too unexpectedly, by his office door opening swiftly and banging on the far wall. The bright light from the hall spilled in, along with Marge, who squeaked in surprise at the noise of the door - and then blinked for a moment as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. "Healer Greenburg?" She asked, and when Simon stepped forward she quickly composed herself.

"Healer Thorpe needs you in the Oak Room, sir. It's a Mister Rosier," she said. "They had him on a gurney-"

She might have had more to say, but rather foolishly Simon rushed past her, his long stride carrying him off down the hallways. He was driven as much by habit as concern; how many hundreds of Aurors had come in just like this? He didn't get called on to see them as much anymore, but after serving during the late 90's, a pattern was built into his head.

The Oak Room was his second stop, his first being a pickup of his tool bag. The door was closed, and he opened it quickly, stepping inside - and only paused when he'd closed the door behind him, his eyes locked on the man on the bed before his gaze snapped to the other Healer. Who was most definitely not Thorpe. No amount of lighting could make Jason look like Vivienne.

"Marren?" He asked, confusion only a tiny bit evident. He walked to Rosier's side, eyes once again on the wound, seeing familiar signs. It was bad, that was for sure.

The witch clearly took Rosier seriously because she stormed out of the room soon enough. This was good – thought Rosier, the less people get involved, the better. But he felt so terrible…he wasn’t sure how long will be able to go like this before he passes out. He turned his head and looked at Jason, but saw only a blurry silhouette of his friend. Rosier wanted to tell him the important details, but he had to make sure Jason understands this was very confidential information. The device he was hit with was something the Ministry was not familiar with and if their enemies started using new weapons, this information could become very dangerous if it reaches the wrong people.

“Jason…my arm,” he started quickly, not thinking about how to explain this clearly. “It’s not only the curse…I was hit with some sort of an explosive…device.” It sounded so ridiculous, but he needed to explain as much as he remembered before someone else intervenes again. “I…I believe I was hit with something made out of glass, which exploded – that would explain the cuts.” He didn’t know what else to say – he didn’t know about the contents of the device…he couldn’t know that even if he were an expert. “This information needs to be kept off the record, of course.” But that much was obvious – Rosier trusted no one here, except Jason. He knew his friend would never sell out this information to the Prophet to cause a frenzy among the wizarding community.

He suddenly remembered something else. “I also wanted you to know…” he started, but the door flew open again. Sighing, Rosier tried to determine who interrupted them now, but even if he could see properly, he wouldn’t know the wizard. Rosier didn’t say anything this time, he just hoped this Healer won’t ask too many questions. Why did they not understand he only wanted Marren here?

Jason didn’t have time to apologize for Cameron to Vivienne. He just gave her a half shrug, nodding slowly. If Cameron wasn’t injured, Jason might have punched him in the arm. He could have used the help to act quicker on Cameron’s injuries. Once the door shut, he frowned at his mate. “That wasn’t—”

“Jason…my arm.”

He shut up for a moment; he’d berate the man later for being careless with his words. What Cameron was saying, however, might change what he chose to do. Looking at the arm, it looked as if the burns were getting worse. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think up what kind of an explosion could have caused this. “Well that’s obvious, mate.” Jason knew not to keep a record of Cameron’s exploits. Glancing up to his friend’s face, he gave the man a small smile. He could try and keep it as lighthearted as possible.

Lifting up one of the potions, he once again moved it side to side. Jason paused once more from administering it as Cameron started to talk again. He didn’t get to find out what he wanted to tell Jason—Glancing up suddenly at the door opening, Jason blinked in surprise. “Greenburg?” Vivienne Cursing himself in his head, he frowned slightly and glanced back down at the arm. Staring at the blue pus, he stood up suddenly, feeling a little overexposed.

Unstopping the potion, he moved it to Cameron’s mouth. “Here you go ma—Rosier. Got to take care of this… venom first.” Not very many things turned into blue pus with continued exposure. Not many things, at least. And he’d had his fair share of runespoor run ins as of late. “It’ll be painful otherwise.” Glancing up at Simon, Jason hesitated only a moment. “Runespoor. You know how to dress the wounds for that?” Not only did he have to deal with a spell wrecked arm (which would have made the venom dig deeper), but now the addition of a rather nasty bit of magic.

After spilling the pain potion into Cameron’s mouth, he glanced into the cabinet once again, fingers moving quickly over the words. Finally finding what he wanted, he turned back and offered it to Cameron. “To help… counter some of the effects of the runespoor.” A lot of trial and error had been going on around the hospital to combat runespoor. Everything else, as far as Jason had been experimenting, had to be applied directly. Like the cleaning potion he hoped Simon was preparing. “Appears to be runespoor burns, multiple cuts, and he thinks he was hit with the Inflictum Mactabilis curse.”

He didn’t need to tell Simon how that had happened. And after things were stabilized, Cameron could continue his fantastic tale. “Drink up, Rosier. This stuff is not so pleasant.” And with that, he tipped the next potion into the Department Head’s mouth.

"Runespoors?" Of course, the instant question of why was I called was also instantly answered; spell damage to the wound itself. Well. Wasn't that a lovely combination...these bastards really were good, weren't they? And they'd gotten the new Department Head...the last thing they needed was another Robards, or to let an innocent man die.

He nodded wordlessly to Jason's question, moving to get a better look at the wound, lips pressed so tightly together you could have used them as a ruler. It certainly seemed that Rosier's assessment was on the mark; the wound wasn't going to make any progress healing with the effects still on it, but they couldn't take the time to heal it with the poison in his system. Hm.

"What did you give him?" Simon asked, turning and setting his tool bag on the table. "And where is miss Thorpe?" Even as he spoke he was rifling through his tools, wand held carefully between his fingers.

Later than expected, it was a bit of surprise to see Marge come bounding down the stairs without the Healer-in-Charge, and Vivienne's face said just as much. The mediwitch was quick to respond: "Oh! He went to fetch his bag. Did he not come through the reception?" There was no point in answering even-- clearly the wizard had gone around the other way to the Oak Room, it was probably faster if he went to collect his tools. Viv dismissed her colleague and headed down the corridor back towards the treatment space.

As she quietly opened the door, Greenburg could be heard talking to Healer Marren. "... give him?" His voice was serious and focused. It came across as wonderfully unambiguous after the evening's general upset. "And where is miss Thorpe?" He asked.

Viv cleared her throat and shut the door behind her: "Here, should you require any assistance." She strode calmly to the medicine cabinet and stood there with calm, deferential composure-- clearly indicating that she was on standby if they needed help with the patient. Her gaze fell competently on Rosier's wound, though she avoided his face, and Vivienne frowned in concern. Merlin. The things these people get themselves into.