[134 words]
The blood under his nose and at the corners of his mouth was beginning to cake, making it difficult to breath and pulling at his skin whenever he tried to talk.
The cold winter air stung at his cuts, and he was beginning to feel a little dizzy; his ribs felt like they were on fire. He sat on the curb of the pavement, dropping his head between his knees.
This job had been alright when he was risking his life out of necessity, but now … now, the work wasn't as vital. They had the Ministry running a lot better, and Harry and Hermione could easily do the rest by themselves.
Now, it was time to figure out what he wanted to do.
He'd hand in his resignation in the morning.
Harry would understand.