By the time Eugene had been let into the exam room, he could feel the blood soaking through his shirt into his jacket. The tattered fabric was starting to get stuck in the wounds and he was basically a mess. Fortunately the idiot keeping a very illegal tebo in his backyard was facing some hefty fines and a possibly time in Azkaban.

Unfortunately for him and his colleague, the damn warthog-like creature was rather nasty and had the wonderful ability to turn itself invisible. Eugene managed to get his coat off, careful of the pocket that contained his likely rattled niffler, though Ginger was fine, cranky, but fine. He'd already checked on her and she had been appeased with some treats and his cufflinks to add to her mounting collection. Setting his coat on a nearby chair, Eugene gingerly perched himself on the exam table and started to unbutton his shirt. He'd been on his way home, his ministry robes in his locker in the department, when he'd gotten the last minute call to assist. Boy had he regretted that one.

Peeling the bloodied shirt away from his torso, Eugene surveyed what was a really nice gash to his side. It could have been worse he supposed; he could have been gored. Of course it was accompanied by a battery of bruises and abrasions thanks to being tossed about the cellar in which the idiot in Wellingtonshire had been keeping the tebo. Hissing in pain, he let the shirt fall back into place just as he heard the door open.