There were certain things that Pomona Sprout wouldn't discover about herself until several years later, but even at eleven years old, she knew that Minerva McGonagall would always be exceptionally dear to her. Fortunately, Min ("Minerva is such an old woman name!" she'd complained) seemed to be similarly attached to Pomona from the very beginning.

When they were young, their friendship was easy. Despite being sorted into separate houses, the girls were nearly inseparable outside of curfew hours. Both were Half-bloods with Muggle upbringings who were ravenous for knowledge about the wizarding world. Neither of them had been exposed to much magic growing up, but were tantalized by the knowledge that it existed, and so now even the most boring of homework was approached with some enthusiasm.

Things hadn't exactly gone downhill as the girls had gotten older, but sometimes Pomona found herself wishing things could be different.

For one, as they entered adolescence, Pomona had slowly realized that the feelings she had towards Min were feelings young women were supposed to have towards young men. Min, very unfortunately for Pomona, didn't seem to have any inclination towards the fairer sex. In fact, Pomona had recently noticed her friend's eye drifting toward her Quidditch captain, Gregory Harquin. It didn't matter if Pomona could just be normal or if Min could be as broken as her, as long as they could just match.

For another, Minerva had a habit of being reckless in the name of stupid things. This included Quidditch, even before Harquin had come for his seventh year looking like something out of a Renaissance painting.

Min's normal recklessness, combined with the recklessness that comes from an adolescent desire to impress the object of one's affection, peaked during a Gryffindor-Slytherin game. This was all on top of the fact that this game would decide the Quidditch Cup for the year, something Minerva cared deeply about. In games that heated, even the most gifted players were subject to fouls and falls.

It was horrible enough that she'd been shoved hard enough to fall off her broom, but even more horribly, Minerva didn't seem to mind being injured. Madam Kipping had put her under to repair her concussion and broken bones, but as soon as she woke, she was demanding, "Who won?"

Pomona was far from her only visitor. She watched as Harquin grimaced, and Minerva's face fell before even hearing the answer. "Slytherin. They were just scoring one after another after you fell."

"We'll get them next year," Minerva said darkly. "I've got two more years to tear Slytherin to pieces."

One of the other boys on the team - bulky enough to be a beater, and maybe named Boot? - snorted.

"What's so funny?" Minerva demanded, looking miffed.

Now, probably-Boot fully chuckled. "You act like you could do it single-handedly!"

"If Minerva set her mind to it, she probably could," said Harquin. He was so annoying.

And Minerva's blush and bright smile shone at him in a way that Pomona could only dream of.

Pomona wasn't able to get talk to her alone for another half-hour, and she spent it grumbling internally about stupid handsome boys and stupid talkative Quidditch teams and horrible friends who put themselves in danger for stupid reasons.

"So." Minerva eyed her carefully once everyone else had cleared out. Something in Pomona's face must've shown the annoyance-turned-anger bubbling up inside of her. "What did you think?" Is she serious?

"I hated every second," she said tersely, managing not to yell.

Minerva grimaced. "That sounds about right."

Finally, she was able to attempt to talk some sense into her best friend. "I can't believe you're more upset about losing than you are about getting hurt! You could've died, Min! Died dead!"

"Yes," said Min, "and Slytherin would've won anyways." Pomona had never found Minerva this frustrating before! And of course she was so much calmer than Pomona about a near-death experience, and Pomona came out looking like the mad one!

"Your life is more important than a stupid game of Quidditch!"

"A stupid match," Minerva corrected. "We've talked about that." She was right, they had, and it had never really sunk in.

"Do you really not understand why I'm so upset? It's like you don't value your own life,

"I know, I know." Min sighed. "I'm sorry, Pom." And then she was looking over at Pomona from a hospital bed, looking suddenly very frail, like she had actually almost died.

"Do you know? Do you know that I -" Do you know that I love you? Pomona wanted to ask. "Do you know that I hate you sometimes?"

"But I'm still your best friend." "Yes, you're still my best friend." That'll have to do.