William Arthur Weasley was having a very bad day. First he woke up to the smell of burning French toast, Fleur having decided to take a shot at making breakfast before Molly woke up (and how a French woman can bollocks up French toast is beyond me, he thought). Then he was almost late for an Order meeting he'd completely forgotten about and hadn't prepared for.

Being attacked by a werewolf didn't help matters in the slightest.

As he woke, the first thing he noticed was a horrible smell that seemed to be clinging to his face. He sat bolt-upright in bed, nearly banging heads with his mother and Fleur, who had been leaning over him in their concern.

The second thing he noticed was the large white mechanical man at the foot of his bed, watching him intently.

The third thing he noticed was that the smell was not getting any better. Suddenly angry, he began wiping frantically at his face to rid himself of the smell.

"Whoah there, champ!" called the white machine. He had an American twang. "Madam Pomfrey says you need to keep that on there for at least another few thousand astroseconds. Hold still." The thing's left hand promptly disappeared, to be replaced by a pair of thin tubules that extended toward Bill's face. The young man instinctively flinched away, baring his teeth, as the tubules found their way into each of his nostrils; a second later, he could smell nothing at all, and began to calm down.

"What was… what are… what?" he managed, looking to his mother for support.

"Perhaps I should explain," the mechanical fellow said in his oddly cheerful voice. "My name is Ratchet, and I am an Autobot. A medic, to be specific. Myself and some of my colleagues are helping your Madam Pomfrey tend to those who were wounded in the battle."

"Wounded…" Bill looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time the mixture of blood and chartreuse goop covering them. "My face…?"

"It was Grayback, dear," Molly said, tears welling up in her eyes. "He was human at the time, but we don't know what will happen to you yet."

"So my nose…"

"Was likely enhanced by the werewolf's attack. I froze it with some Novocain so the ointment smell wouldn't bother you," said Ratchet with a smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to continue my rounds now that you're awake."

As the Autobot proceeded to another bed, Bill had a clearer view of the rest of the hospital wing. Sure enough, mixed in with the witches and wizards were more mechanical men, some lying on metal slabs (transfigured from beds, from the looks of them) and some moving about the room, offering assistance. One of them, a relatively small yellow one, was approaching his bed with a young man in Muggle clothing whom he'd never seen before, and Fred and George.

"Bill! You're awake!" said one.

"Yeah, and you haven't sprouted whiskers yet. Pay up, Fred."

"You two slipped me something, didn't you," Bill managed, before slipping thankfully back into unconciousness.