" . . . and McGonagall make a spectacular interception—I think she was actually hanging upside down there for a couple of seconds. She's rather impressive for a third year, heh heh heh

She passes to Blume . . ."

Minerva circled up and away then sped along in front of Blume, positioned well for a pass, should he decide to make one. He was getting close to the goalposts. He was going to score. She could feel in her bones and blood, all of which sang at the thought of scoring again. Blume was right on form today. They all were.

It was a good thing too. Three of their team members had been injured and unable to compete during their match against Slytherin. Minerva herself had been quietly brooding in the hospital wing from a botched animagus lesson with Professor Dumbledore. She would have kicked herself if she'd been physically able to.

Now they needed to win this match by 180 points or they would not win the Quidditch Cup. The thought was unbearable. They'd been off by ten points the year before, due to Minerva's botched goal as the snitch had been spotted. She's screwed up very both this year and the last, but at least she could fix this year. She was not going to be the reason Gryffindor lost the Quidditch Cup two years in a row. If she did she was not sure she'd be able to forgive herself. Failure was not now and had never been an option.

Blume made a rather impressive feint and then put the quaffle through the far goalpost with a grace Minerva greatly admired. Adam Blume was doubtlessly the most graceful person on the Gryffindor team and, in Minerva's opinion, on any of the Hogwarts teams. It almost seemed odd to find someone with his grace playing quidditch. At least, until he forgot himself and ran into something. Despite his grace, he was an amazing klutz. At times it was hard to believe that he was not two people: one coordinated and one not.

Their third chaser, a short fourth year girl named Anne Tibbs, took possession of the quaffle as it was thrown back into play by Hufflepuff's keeper, Higgons. She performed a neat u-turn and headed back near the goalposts.

"A nice save by Higgons. Too bad for Gryffindor. Guess there's always next year, eh, guys? Heh heh heh."

Stupid, biased announcer . . . Minerva thought sourly as she zoomed after the Hufflepuff captain, Balthazar Hawkins, who'd been passed the quaffle by his teammates. He was nearly impossible to simply take the quaffle from and he was a player whose true talent lay in making long and amazing runs across the field to the opposing team's goalposts, so he did not often pass. It was up to Gryffindor's own captain and keeper, Aries Hunter, to keep him from scoring. That was no mean feat, Minerva knew. Hawkins was a big guy—somewhere up in the realm of two meters tall and 90 kilos—and he threw hard. He was tough too. Minerva had once seen him take a bludger straight to the ribcage and not drop the quaffle. He'd instead made what looked to be a rather painful pass to Masters, who'd easily scored against the stunned Ravenclaw keeper, Ceres Huang.

The fact was that Hawkins was, deservedly so, something of a legend amongst Hogwarts students. He was an amazing quidditch player, one of the best that Hogwarts had seen in years, as well as Head Boy. He and Aries had been in fierce competition with one another since they'd first laid eye on one another in some class or another. At least that was how Aries told it. In any case, Minerva knew for a fact that they were competitive now and that Aries liked nothing better than making a spectacular save against Hawkins. She saw him preparing himself in front of the goalposts, ready to nip the quaffle right out of the air.

"And Kirch nails Hawkins with a bludger right as he's about to fire off a shot at the Gryffindor goalposts. Bungled the poor guy's throw. Bet that'll leave a bruise too, big guy like Kirch, heh heh heh."

Aries was probably disappointed to not be able to make his game-stopping save, Minerva knew, but she would never say anything about it. He was nothing if not a team man. A win for the team was far more important to him than personal victories. He actually had a tendency to go into a rather foul temper when the team lost.

Minerva managed to give Zebulon Kirch a congratulatory nod before she moved quickly off to the other end of the pitch. Tibbs currently had possession. Hobbs managed to snatch the quaffle from her hands, but a moment later Blume had zoomed in and taken the quaffle right back. He passed it back to Tibbs, right before he was nearly unseated by a bludger, courtesy of Hufflepuff beater Hecate Greene.

"That looks like it really hurt there. That's all right, Blume'll bounce right back. He's a real magnet for pain there, especially in the form of squirrels or pixies, heh heh heh. I'm sure we all remember that incident in Care of . . ."

Minerva quickly quit paying attention to the commentary. She, like everyone else, knew that story quite well and it had no place being told by an announcer as a match was going on. Moreover, she'd just received the quaffle from Tibbs. She pelted toward the goalposts as fast as she could and sent the quaffle whizzing past Higgons' ear and into the goalpost.

The announcer had had to stop right in the middle of his story about Blume's most comical moment. "Ten points to Gryffindor! That brings us up to 70-50, with Gryffindor in the lead. They still need ten more points and the snitch if they're going to take the Cup, though, so Hufflepuff still has a chance."

That was the third time she'd scored that day. Minerva had been doing great—probably very much due to her perceived responsibility for losing the team the Cup the year before and the match against Slytherin earlier in the year. Moreover, she was quite determined to not see the Cup not go to Hufflepuff for the fifth year in a row. She wanted to see it take its proper place in Professor Dumbledore's study.

Blume intercepted a pass between Masters and Hobbs and turn quickly about to face the Hufflepuff goalposts and a waiting Higgons. Reading one another's minds in an instantaneous fashion, the Gryffindor chasers quickly made a formation and began using some combination passes. It was a risky tactic to try—some of the passes involved the Gryffindor chaser jumping clear off their brooms to take possession of the quaffle and then pass it again—but they not yet had any major disasters in employing them and when they did it right it was practically impossible for the opposing team's chasers to gain possession of the quaffle.

As she dodged a bludger aimed at her head and kicked the quaffle over to Tibbs, Minerva caught a glimpse of Hermes as he darted about the field, in search of the golden snitch. He'd likely not found it yet, though Minerva knew that even if he had he would let it go. He wanted the Quidditch Cup. The only reason he'd caught it last year was in order to keep the other seeker from catching it and thus adding insult to the injury of losing the Cup.

The Quaffle flowed smoothly between the Gryffindor chasers, at times no more than a red blur in the air—Tibbs, Blume, Tibbs, Minerva, Blume, Tibbs, then back to Minerva yet again. The goalposts were not far away. They were quite in range to score. Once they did Hermes could finally catch the snitch whenever he wanted.

A bludger hit Minerva squarely in her left shoulder blade and she let out a cry of pain as the quaffle slipped out of her hands and Hobbs zoomed in underneath her to catch it. She could have killed herself. She'd lingered for too long and allowed herself to be hit by a bludger. It was absolutely unacceptable. She'd done it again. She'd screwed up.

She shook off the ache in her shoulder as best she could and went speeding off after the other five chasers as they moved toward the other goalposts. Tibbs managed to come out from underneath Hobbs and intercept his pass to Hawkins. She made excellent headway with the quaffle back down toward the Hufflepuff goalposts as a very determined Masters tailed her closely. She narrowly avoided his attempts to steal the quaffle from her hands and Minerva thought that if she'd been a larger and slightly slower person she probably would have been unable to avoid them.

It was all for naught however, and it was as Masters duplicated Tibbs own move to retake the quaffle that Minerva caught sight of Hermes and the small blonde Hufflepuff chaser. They were in a mad dash for what could only be the snitch and Minerva saw Hermes doing his best to block the other seeker so the snitch could escape. He was not doing well and his actions were getting increasingly desperate. He might soon be forced to do as he'd done last year and catch the snitch before they'd secured the Cup.

It was all just like last year. To Minerva's utter guilt and horror she saw the match of the year before nearly duplicating itself. She had to do something to stop that. She couldn't let it happen again. She couldn't fail this team. She couldn't fail Gryffindor and she could especially not fail Professor Dumbledore. Not again.

She was off like a shot towards the quaffle as Masters made a pass to Hawkins. It was going to fall about five meters short of Hawkins and she had the perfect opportunity to scoop up the quaffle and make a long shot at a goal. Hopefully she would make the goal, and do so before the snitch was caught. She pushed her broom harder, trying to gain every ounce of speed from it, all the while her mind desperately reeling against the idea that she would fail.

She dove in between Masters and Hawkins, catching the quaffle with her fingertips. She immediately turned towards the Hufflepuff goalposts and launched the quaffle as hard as she could towards one of the goalposts. The ball had only just barely left her hands when something far too large to be a bludger slammed strait into her. Hawkins had also noticed that the pass would be short and had been moving it to catch it. He'd not been able to stop for Minerva and had slammed into her.

The entire thing felt to Minerva as though it were occurring in slow motion. She first noticed that she'd been hit and as the momentum pushed her sideways off her broom, her first thoughts were annoyed observations that without her on it, her broom was uncontrolled and likely to be damaged or lost.

It was not until she was actually beginning to move downward that it actually occurred to Minerva that she was going to fall, and then subsequently hit the ground, a true testament to exactly how quickly it actually happened. There was no time for anyone to do anything to slow or break Minerva's fall. No one had been expecting her to scoop up the quaffle the way she had and then no more than two seconds later she had fallen three stories and hit the ground with a medley of sickening cracks. There was not even the time for anyone to pull out a wand.

The crowd was stunned into silence, staring at Minerva as she lay in a scarlet heap of quidditch robes on the field's miraculously green grass. Everyone forgot about the quaffle that had soared from Minerva's hand and through the middle hoop as well as the struggling snitch in Hermes' hand. All of their attention was focused on Minerva and the teachers running out onto the field towards her unmoving form.

A streak of auburn lead the pack of five or so adult witches and wizards that were moving to Minerva's aid as their colleague's went and took charge of the students in the stands. Professor Dumbledore's heart was in his mouth as he ran toward his favorite and most talented student. A fall like that could kill a person and it seemed hard to imagine that a skinny girl of barely fourteen years had survived.

He was only a meter away when he heard a low moan emit from the figure on the ground. And he briefly marveled at the fact that Minerva McGonagall was not only still alive but still conscious as well. He was not certain how she'd managed to remain conscious after that but felt that it could only be a good sign.

"Minerva?" he asked, leaning down beside her. "Minerva, how do you feel?" It seemed a silly question—obviously she would be in immense pain—but it was also the most pertinent at the moment.

"My back, side, head and neck all hurt," se answered in a voice so quiet that even leaning close to her Albus could barely make out the words she was speaking. "In short I'm really not doing well at all."

Minerva tried to brush her thick curtain of black hair out of her face with the arm she had not landed on at all so she could see and speak to Professor Dumbledore with greater ease. Her movements were stiff and even moving her good arm was causing tremendous fiery pain to course through he upper body. Professor Dumbledore helped her pull her hair away from her face and it was an amazing relief to feel the brush of his fingers against her drawn, paper-white face. Finally a pleasurable sensation that she could concentrate on instead of the pain. It was a terrible shame that it only lasted a few brief seconds. At least her lower body was mercifully free of pain, though it was hard to notice that due to the cacophony of pain the rest of her body felt.

"I'm going to take you up to the hospital wing, Minerva," he told her. "It's possible that was may have to transfer you to St. Mungo's after that but I promise that you will be quite all right but the time all is said and done."

"Mmm," was the only response Minerva gave and Professor Dumbledore could see from the stained determination on Minerva's strikingly white face that she was doing her best to remain conscious. He conjured a stretcher below her and began hurrying her up the hill and towards the castle.

He turned to the short, brunette flight instructor, who'd refereed the match. "Persephone, fly ahead of us to the hospital wing and warn Tyr that we have a student coming up from the quidditch field."

Madame Persephone Rayce gave a short nod and mounted her broomstick. She stole a stunned look at Minerva on the stretcher, then took off toward the castle.

Albus hurried himself and Minerva toward the castle. She would be quite fine as soon as she arrived in the hospital wing where her numerous injuries could receive some attention. Until then she was still in some danger. There was no telling what might be happening to her body as a result of that fall, a thought that Albus hated. Minerva had managed to endear herself to him even beyond what could be accounted for by her status as his most talented student. This girl was someone special and it was easy for Albus to see that. She was capable of many great things and would make herself someone important. That was the reason he'd come to view her as a sort of protege or apprentice rather than his mere student. Beyond that, the girl herself was someone Albus found to be quite companionable and easy to get along with. In some ways he was finding that she made herself something of a friend as well.

The school healer—actually a nurse whom no one had the heart to refer to by a term so feminine—was waiting at the door nearest the hospital wing when they arrived. He held the door open for Dumbledore and the stretcher and hurried with them up a flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

"I need to know exactly what happened," he told Dumbledore. "Persephone came to warn me that you were bringing up a student who'd fallen from their broom but I couldn't get much else from her. I told her to go check on her little boy just to get her away from the hospital wing by the time you got here. She's absolutely hysterical."

He leaned over to examine the student on the stretcher and caught sight of Minerva's pale face, which was beginning to form bruises from where she'd been hit by Hawkins' shoulder. "Oh, Minerva . . ."

"I took a pretty nasty spill of my broom, Mr. Farron," she told him hoarsely. "I think I broke a number of my ribs."

Talking took a lot out of Minerva. Her head was swimming and staying conscious was becoming increasingly harder.

"She collided with Mr. Hawkins in midair and fell 10 meters to the ground. No one had time to catch her or slow her fall."

Tyr Farron gaped at Minerva. No wonder she looked half dead. Surviving a free fall like that was no small thing. It said a lot about young McGonagall's resilience that she was alive and conscious.

"I'm fairly certain she's done a lot more than break a few ribs, then. There are probably ruptured organs and internal bleeding. She may even have damaged her spinal cord. Minerva, can you move your legs?"

She had not given any thought to moving her legs since she'd fallen. Legs were for getting up and walking. She was in far too much pain to do either of those things. Now that she'd thought to try and move them, however, she was finding that she simply could not. Her foggy mind reeled with confusion. Why couldn't she move her legs?

"Why won't they move?"

Her voice was thick and sluggish. She felt unconsciousness looming darkly at the edges of her vision. She fought it off as best as she could.

"Some sort of back injury then," Mr. Farron muttered. It was impossible for Minerva to tell whether he was speaking to her, himself or Professor Dumbledore. He seemed to be staring vaguely at the ground. His eyes suddenly locked with Dumbledore's and it was very apparent at whom his next statement was directed. "Non-curse injuries or no, I can't take care of all of these. We need to get her to St. Mungo's."

Minerva had begun to float in and out of consciousness, only catching snatches of what was said and comprehending very little.

"I thought we might," Dumbledore nodded and glanced a tad anxiously down at Minerva, who was still lying on the conjured stretcher. "I shall go inform them that their services are needed. May I use your fireplace?"

"Of course, of course," Farron told him. "I'll do what I can for her in the meantime."

Dumbledore began to quickly move toward's Farron's office.

"Professor . . ." Minerva's good arm made a painful jerking motion as though to grab at Dumbledore. She did not want him to go. She wanted him to stay here with her. Someone else could go. She needed him here.

"He won't be long," Mr. Farron told her comfortingly. "Now drink this. It should keep you from dying of blood loss. Then I want you to do your best to relax."

She complied as best she could with what he'd said, drinking from the proffered goblet and then lying down as she waited for Professor Dumbledore, doing her best to remain conscious. He seemed to be taking forever, despite the fact that she found more and more frequently that the world went briefly back and she was missing snatches of time.

By the time Professor Dumbledore had returned, Minerva had completely lost consciousness.