Minerva groaned low in her chest as he pulled the strip tighter. Damn it!" She ground out. They were in a low cave. They we cold; they we wet. And, Minerva was missing a piece of her thigh while Albus' nose looked as if he had gone three rounds with Hagrid. This had turned out to be a most unpleasant Tuesday.
"Hold on, my dear. I know it hurts, but I would really rather you didn't bleed to death today. Miss Pomfrey would kill me, and then your mother would murder me. I am far too young, and up until a few hours ago ,to pretty to die." He leaned over her exposed thigh, trying to ignore the expanse of skin before him as she held her torn robes out of his way.
The falling piece of rock had done a considerable amount of damage. They had only gotten away from the last skirmish intact, the only true victims being his nose and pride. The forest was dark and night had crept up on them. He shook his head and examined his handiwork. The bleeding had finally stopped, and the skin of her leg was pinking up nicely.
He reached out and grabbed another strip of her robes and began to mop up the excess blood. He used gentle, even strokes and tried to control his breathing. His heart had stopped when she had cried out and fallen. Now, however, it was the smooth skin and warmth that toyed with the beat. His hand stopped, and he leant forward. "Well, what do we have here?" The blood had given way to show a faint scar on the inner side of her thigh, midway above her knee.
Minerva propped herself up on her elbows and looked down only to flop back in an undignified heap. "Last Christmas."
Albus traced the round mark gently, skimming the edges with the tip of his finger. Her breath hitched and his sped up.
"Alastor gave our training group Christmas day off, and Poppy convinced me to join her for a party...a muggle themed party. She wouldn't let anyone use magic, so I was reduced to using a muggle curling iron to set my hair. Have you these them, the little torture devices? You heat them on the stove and hope you don't set you entire head ablaze. Well, I didn't quite get the opportunity to try. It was glowing softly when I pulled it off." Minerva took a deep breath in and huffed.
"Poppy chose that moment to flounce in and I wasn't paying enough attention. I turned and caught my thigh with the hot iron. I then proceeded to drop it on my foot and broke my little toe. I was swearing, Poppy was screaming, and Rolanda was knocked out cold when she fell off the sofa laughing and smacked her head on the table. Served her right. We never did make it to the party, and I had to spend the last year listening to Alastor go on about constant vigilance!"
Minerva growled and Albus chuckled. "My poor Minerva." He whispered, fascinated by the small mark. "My poor...Minerva." His head quirked to the side and dipped, his eyes never wavering. Minerva watched, her breath stuck in her chest, as he brought two fingers to his lips, a small movement of his mustache, and those same fingers found their way back to the mark, caressing.
There was silence before he removed his fingers and continued to wipe up the area. "A kiss to make it all better." He said. His voice was rough and barely audible.
There was a pause. "And...and if the discomfort should return, would you be available for a second application.?"
The rag fell and his fingers stroked along her skin. "When we get back to Scotland, I shall be happy to provide my assistance in a purely preventative capacity should that meet with your approval. I wouldn't wish you to suffer a relapse." He pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around her having already propped the leg up on a large stone. She lifted an arm and the cloak in invitation. He slid in beside her and his hand came to rest on the inside of her thigh. She leaned her head against his shoulder and nuzzled the filthy cloth. "Well, they do say prevention is the best medicine."