Although she was used to the sight, Hermione held her breath as she watched Harry fall. Down and down he plummeted, painfully fast. He'd taken a bludger to the head and was now staring down the hurting end of a week long coma in St Mungo's.
She hated it when he got hurt, but unfortunately, being Harry Potter's best friend had its drawbacks. This was one of them.
It was indeed a week later when Harry woke up. Groaning his pain he looked around. Thanks to his status in the wizarding community he'd warranted a small private room in the hospital. Hermione always joked that they reserved it for him because he was always there.
In the cheap armchair by his bed, sleeping uncomfortably, a stack of parchment on her lap and quill slipping from her fingers, was Hermione. There was no one else there.
Harry noticed another stack of parchment on the floor beside her chair and knew that she must have been writing her next book while she waited for him. She usually did.
Although it took tremendous effort to move his arm he grabbed a plastic cup from his bedside table and threw it at Hermione. She woke with a start and glared at him.
"That's only funny the first fifty times." She snapped at him. He sniggered then winced from the pain. She didn't even bother to look concerned.
"I know I get stuck in here a lot but you could at least pretend to be anxious for me."
"Oh Harry, Harry, Harry. Even at twenty-six you still want to be mothered don't you?"
With no scruples at all he replied that yes, he did.
She snorted and gathered up her papers.
"So, what's the diagnosis on my injuries this time?"
"Healers think you should take a break from quidditch for a while."
"What? For how long?"
"About a year."
"You've got to be kidding."
"Sorry, hun. You've hit your head too many times, and the Healers think that you've put your brains in danger. Of course I told them that you didn't have all that many to begin with."
"Ha, frickin' ha." Harry said sarcastically.
"In all seriousness, though, I kind of agree as does your coach and he said that you should take a break from the sport."
"Hermione, I'll go mad without quidditch for a whole year."
"I know. And I have a solution. Dumbledore dropped by while you were out of it and he offered us teaching posts at Hogwarts. Your coach has approved it and says he'll save a spot for you on the Tornados. We have to move back to school when the rest of the staff do in two weeks."
"How are we getting there?"
"Same way…well I always did. The train."
"I'm in too much pain to acknowledge the reference to the flying car incident. What jobs are they?"
"Most of the staff that we had are still there but a few are moving on. Madam Hooch is leaving and you're taking her spot. Madam Pince is going and so I'm to be the new librarian. We've also been ordered to think of an extra curricular club to run each."
"Like what?"
"We'll you could reopen Dumbledore's Army for example and I have no idea what my club's going to be."
Again Harry's chuckle was followed by a wince.
The next day the hospital said Harry was free to go, so long as he took the potions they prescribed for him and took it easy for a while. And take it easy he did.
The following two weeks were spent in busy preparation for the move back to their old school. Well, Hermione was busy. Harry had taken the Healer's advice to the letter and had barely left the sofa in their flat since his return from St Mungo's.
He just lay there, bossing Hermione around as she packed their trunks and boxes. Hermione was thoroughly annoyed with her best friend but since his recent stint in St Mungo's he had been guilting her about his 'injury'. He always did this after he was injured in his job, but she always fell for his 'wounded puppy' act.
That was until she mentioned that he had to actually plan his lessons and organise the pitch times for each house and organise something special for his first year to make his mark on the job. Hermione had a good giggle at his expense.