No one had expected it to be a big thing; bar fights with conflict originating from the war would occur almost biweekly, even 5 years after it had ended, and by now the Aurors had developed a routine as to how to tackle them. Most of the time it was just a matter of calming down the involved parties, and by now fights rarely became so violent that they had to take people with them and into custody. As Harry, slowly regaining consciousness, was flooed to St. Mungo’s with his hair and shirt a bloody mess, he tried to figure out what exactly had happened.<br/>The fight had yet to become violent as they arrived, though a crowd had gathered to watch it unfold. Harry didn’t recognize the kid by looks but by name, as he fiercely defended his father’s innocence of the war crimes the other accused him of having committed. The last thing Harry remembers was stating his name and rank, before everything went dark.<br/>Only half aware of the Healers that met him, Harry raised his hand to his face trying to place the pain. He barely brushed the bruise on the left side of his jaw before someone took a firm grip around his wrist and forced it away, and with a low grunt of displeasure, Harry tried to figure out how the bruise was connected to the bleeding cut that stretched from his temple and deep into his hair (because this pain, on the contrary, he had no trouble pin pointing).