Author's Notes: I hope everyone is enjoying this. I've enjoyed writing this chapter. Disclaimer still applies; I don't own them, I'm a destitute college student.
You were hurtling towards the ground, accelerating faster and faster; the whole debacle took place over maybe five seconds, but that was all you needed, wasn't it? Wasn't it?
Damn you, Minerva! You just had to have your wand with you! Even being hit in the back with two blunt objects couldn't stop you! You whipped your wand out, gave it a wave, and floated serenely to the ground, as easily as though you fell from hundred-foot-high precipices daily. Damn you!
The entire school began to cheer and chant your name, even as you doubled over in pain from the attack of the Bludgers, clutching your back. We should have aimed for your head; maybe then you would have died and all of my grief could be assuaged. But alas, no. The referee blew his whistle and thus, Gryffindor got SIX free shots at the goal stands, and of course they scored on every single one. You, being obstinate, insisted you were fine and continued playing, and surprise, surprise: Gryffindor won the match and the Cup. Your team landed on the Quidditch pitch, all of you beaming happily, when suddenly, to my great pleasure, you began to cough up blood.
Oh Minerva, I was so thrilled! I watched with immense satisfaction as you placed your hand to your mouth, brought it back, and the look of alarm registered in your eyes, in your team's eyes. Slytherin had reigned supreme, even if we had lost the match, 40-370. You accepted the Cup from Headmaster Dippet, but quickly passed it on to the Seeker on your team so you could try to push your way through the swell of the crowds. I could see the look of pain on your face as you held your back. I knew then, that I would forever remember this match; not because of the horrendous defeat, but because of your injury.