Ivy wasn't hurt enough for the hospital, but she was hurt enough for it to be inconvenient. Her robes smelled like ash and the burn on her calf was angry, blistered, and making her limp. Once the paperwork as done, she headed up into the atrium of the Ministry and walked as briskly as the injury would allow to emerge from the building. With a crack!, she apparated from the street into the small garden of the McKinnon household.

It was evening, after most working hours — if he wasn't working the night shift, he ought to be home.

Ivy knew that she ought to knock on the door. Instead, she bent &mash; ignoring the responding ache in her blistered calf — and scooped up a fistful of pebbles. She straightened, and squinted until she was sure that she ha the right bedroom window from the outside — she started throwing pebbles at the glass panes.