The first thing Minerva saw when she regained consciousness hours later at St. Mungo's was Professor Dumbledore, sitting in a chair next to her bed, reading a book. She stared at him and wondered how long he'd been there. Perhaps he'd been there ever since she'd arrived here, waiting for her to revive . . . Oh, that was a pleasant thought. It put butterflies into her stomach.
Minerva suddenly realized that she could actually feel the butterflies. Feeling in her lower body had returned. They must have fixed her back. She wiggled her toes pleasantly, delighting in the fact that they moved as though nothing had happened.
"I see you have awakened," said Professor Dumbledore, looking over the top of his book.
She nodded and began to sit up in the bed. Dumbledore's firm hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"According to the healers, you are to lie down and rest. No doubt you feel far better than you did when you came, but only so much magic can be used to heal a person at one time. Apparently your fall was disastrous enough for you to still retain injuries."
With that said he pushed her gently back onto the bed and smiled at her, his blues eyes twinkling. For the few moments that Dumbledore's hand was on her shoulder, all questions of where her family—all doubtlessly somewhat anxious about her condition—was or any other stray thought at all, were pushed from her mind and she allowed herself to enjoy having his hand right there. There would be nothing more pleasing than if it stayed there all day, than if he stayed with her all day. Waking up to the sight of her professor was like an incredible dream and she simply could not help imagining him finding another teacher to teach his classes all day and spending his entire day alone with her as she recovered.
The hand was gone all too soon, but the fantasies remained for a few seconds longer, until her brother Jove walked into the room. Her features betrayed none of the antagonism she felt towards him at that exact moment, but it burned inside of her. She did not want intrusions right now. Especially not those of the brotherly sort.
"Hey, there," he said. "I'm glad to see you're finally awake. Mother will be crying with relief when she hears."
Minerva could just bet she would. It was disgusting. The time to cry with relief was, in Minerva's eyes, hours ago when the healers would have told her family that she was going to be just fine. By that standard she should have easily been spared what would undoubtably be her mother's unseemly shower of tears. Unfortunately for Minerva, however, her mother was prone to letting her emotions carry her right away with them. Her sister was very much the same. It was something that Minerva was careful to never let happen to herself. It was simply insufferable.
"You gave us quite a scare, Min," her brother told her. "What on earth could you possibly have been thinking?"
"I wanted to win the Quidditch Cup," she stated simply. It was then that it suddenly struck her that she did not actually know whether or not they had indeed won the Cup. She'd fallen and never found out whether she scored or if Hermes had somehow been beaten to the snitch. She turned quickly to Professor Dumbledore. "Professor, did we win the Cup?"
"You've got to be kidding!" Jove roared. Minerva ignored him and continued to look at Professor Dumbledore.
"Indeed you did," he answered. "Although I do believe that the Headmaster is waiting to award the Cup until you are able to be present, at my request. It seems only appropriate that you be there, given the circumstances."
"Surely not because she nearly died making sure they got it, Professor?" Jove seethed through gritted teeth, his voice thick with a harsh sarcasm and his hazel eyes flashing green with anger.
Minerva pinned her brother with her gaze, commanding an amazing amount of fear and respect for a fourteen year old, her own eyes blazing emerald. "If you don't cease with your idiotic insinuations that I intentionally risked my life then I swear I will turn you into a turkey."
"I hate to interrupt a family squabble," said Dumbledore, rising from his chair. "But I think it wise that you continue it later. As you both seemed to have noted, Minerva's recovering from quite a serious fall. She's supposed to be relaxed and resting."
Jove looked taken aback and even a little embarrassed. Professor Dumbledore was right, of course. What was he thinking, egging Min on like that when she should be resting? He was right, of course. It was stupid to care enough about some crazy sport that it landed you in St. Mungo's, but now was not the time.
He glanced at his younger sister, whose lips were pressed so firmly together in anger that they were white. She was normally something of a stickler for following rules, but it looked to him that she was mad enough at him that if someone were to lay a wand within her grasp she might just make good on her promise about turning him into a turkey. She could do it, he knew. Transfiguration had been his best subject, and in her third year of school she was already better at it than he'd been in his fifth.
He pushed his wand a bit deeper into his pocket and took a seat near the one Professor Dumbledore had just abandoned moments before. Minerva's still emerald green eyes flashed at him dangerously. She was still itching to have it out with him over his idea that her quidditch passions were either stupid or dangerous. It had been a freak accident. She'd probably live another hundred years and never see anything even similar happen to anyone else.
Jove broke the descending silence first. "Mother, Father and Maia shouldn't be too much longer, Min. Father and I finally managed to convince Mother that she should eat some dinner about a half an hour ago. Both Mother and Maia have been so anxious over you that I doubt they'll be too much longer. Mother especially. She kept worrying every two minutes that you'd wake up without her there."
"Guess I proved her right," Minerva sighed, and her eyes began to return to the deep blue that represented their normal coloring as her anger abated in favor of the feeling that her mother's worries would make her worst nightmares pale in comparison.
"Unfortunately," said Jove with a nod. "She may forget in her happiness to see you awake. At least she will if we're lucky."
And with that, the last of Minerva's anger at her brother wilted, as they fell into their normal sense of comradery. The two got along very well, despite the eight year gap in their ages. They were very similar, really, and they differed on few matters—quidditch being the most obvious and prominent of those matters. Jove, just as studious as Minerva, had never gotten the attraction of the sport. To him, it seemed a waste of time that could be better put to studying, or now that he was older, research and experiments. Minerva, however, had inherited their father's love of the sport. She found it captivating and exciting, though no more so than studying. She merely had two passions where Jove had one.
Right now, however, the idea of their frazzled mother running into the room and scooping up Minerva, crying and babbling furiously had pushed their quidditch conflict far from both of their minds. They were united again, just as they nearly always were.
"Since it seems that you two will not be transfiguring each other into various animals, perhaps I should go inform your mother that you are awake?" Professor Dumbledore suggested.
"She would really appreciate that, Professor," said Jove.
"Then I shall do just that." And with a smile at Minerva he left the room.
Minerva looked after him for a few brief moments, before noticing the odd sort of calculating look that her brother was staring at her with. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
She pinned him with the same stern look that would, in later life, make some of her students cry, but Jove ignored it. "So, how do you feel, Min?"
"Far better than I did," she told him. She touched her face gingerly. "My face and shoulder both feel sore though. I mean, a lot of places do, but not as bad as this."
Jove couldn't help but laugh. "That's probably because they're all bruised up. Apparently, that's where that guy on the broom," and here Jove's face darkened somewhat, "mostly collided with you. Your face and your shoulder. The healers didn't want to be using more magic on you once they'd gotten you to the point where you'd live."
Minerva felt no small amount of mortification at the idea that Professor Dumbledore of all people would have seen her with her face like that but pushed it from her mind. Why should it matter what her face looked like when he saw her?
"Oh," she said simply. "How long was I unconscious for then?"
"About five hours. Honestly, I don't think that most people were expecting you to wake up for at least another 3 or four hours—not until sometime well into tonight."
Minerva was about to ask how long she'd have to remain at St. Mungo's when the door to her room burst open and her mother came running in, tears streaming down a face that resembled Minerva's remarkably, and threw her arms around her youngest child.
"Oh, my baby girl! You're all right!"
Minerva felt her face burn bright red upon hearing her mothers words and became even more mortified when her older sister joined their mothers in hugging Minerva tightly and sobbing.
Minerva's gaze fell on her brother, her bright red, bruised face looking desperately for help. Jove simply gave her a sympathetic look. Some help he was.
"I swear I'll never let anything like this happen to you again! We'll clear all the brooms out of the house and I'll write to the headmaster and tell him that you won't be playing quidditch next year, and . . ."
But Minerva did not hear the next words her mother spoke. Not playing quidditch? But that couldn't happen. She had to play quidditch. The idea of her mother taking her broom and not letting her indulge in something that was so indescribably marvelous was . . . was . . . There was simply no word ghastly enough for it.
The look on Minerva's face was one of pure horror as she looked over her mother's shoulder at her father. His eyes locked with hers but his expression was unreadable. Surely he would stand up for her continuing participation in quidditch. He loved it just as much as she did.
/E/E/E/E/E/
It was a good long while before Minerva managed to empty her hospital room of all but herself and her father. She felt tired from the effort, and the idea of sleep sounded lovely but she had to talk to her father about quidditch. She needed his reassurance that he would dissuade her mother from her crazed notion about ending Minerva's participation in quidditch.
"Father, I'm not really going to have to quit playing quidditch am I?" Her voice sounded small and hollow to her, not at all like her normal one.
He looked at her calmly, hazel eyes dragging themselves slowly over the bruises on Minerva's face. "I'm not certain that's not a very good idea."
Minerva felt her eyes water. She'd been certain that her father would be on her side. He loved quidditch. He'd played when he was in school too. How could he even think about making her stop playing?
Tear drops began slipping down Minerva's face and her hand automatically reached to where her pocket should have been, going for the tartan handkerchief that she kept there. Her hospital robes had no pockets, however, and her handkerchief was still at school. She carefully used the corner of her blanket to dab at her eyes.
"Father, we both know that that was a freak accident. It's never going to happen again."
Her father suddenly looked very old to her. "It happened once and you nearly died. Next time you could really end up dead. Then, how would I feel? Allowing you to go on in a sport I know is dangerous and having you end up dead."
This was completely unreasonable. She was fine. She wasn't dead, and the chances of something like this happening again were practically nonexistent. Even deaths in professional quidditch were rare. Her father knew that.
"I won't end up dead. You know that. You know how rare deaths are. You can't stop me from flying . . . from playing quidditch. You wouldn't have stood for it if someone had done it to you. How do you expect me to feel?"
"Your life is more important than your feelings, Minerva," her father told her resolutely, but Minerva could see that she'd struck a chord with him.
"Fine then, how would you feel if suddenly you couldn't play quidditch again?"
Something flickered in her father's eyes and Minerva knew she was getting somewhere.
"Father, the idea of having you make me stop playing quidditch . . . it's . . it's . . ." and her voice was terribly desperate.
Her father's resolve cracked. He'd never been able to deny Minerva anything and his good sense told him that she was right about the possibility of her dying. There was little real danger in the sport. Injuries abounded, but death was uncommon. A quidditch death at Hogwarts had not occurred in over 30 years.
"It's a terrible thought for you isn't it?" he asked sadly. "Rips your heart out?"
Minerva nodded, more tears leaking from her eyes. She removed them quickly from her face with the blanket corner.
"I can't promise you anything, Minerva. Your mother feels very strongly about this and I just can't blame her. I will try though."
Minerva took what she could get. Having some hope was better than having none.
/E/E/E/E/E/
Minerva was at St. Mungo's for another four days before she was allowed to return to Hogwarts, and even then she was confined to the hospital wing.
She had many visitors, however, to keep her busy. At least during the non-class hours. The entire quidditch team (Aries, Hermes, Dan, Kirch, Blume, Tibbs, all of them) and Malcolm had all practically come running into the hospital wing when they heard she'd returned to the castle. Not long after they had left, Malcolm rather reluctantly, Balthazar Hawkins had made an appearance. His dark face had been dark with guilt and he'd apologized profusely for knocking her off her broom and nearly to her death. Nothing that she said seemed able to dissuade him of his guilt.
Malcolm was by far her most frequent visitor (even beating out Maia and Muriel). He would come by everyday about 30 minutes after class had finished, bearing both his books and hers, as well as all the homework she had from each of her teachers. He would spend tow hours with her everyday, going over what she had missed in class and helping her with anything she needed. Because of Malcolm she was not behind at all, with the exception of herbology. Malcolm could not take even a sample of most of the plants they were working with to her. Still, he did his best. On the first day he'd come to her with her homework after class, he'd been bearing a rather large flower of a powder blue color that reminded her strongly of his eyes.
"It a tempus flower," he'd told her. "It changes color with the time of day. The sap of this plant is part of what makes timeturners work. They were my favorite plant last year, so I snuck down to the greenhouse and nabbed you this one. Don't tell anyone."
She smiled at him and took the flower. "You shouldn't break the rules, Malcolm."
He smiled back. "I had a good reason."
"It's still not a good thing to do," she told him.
His face became slightly pink and Minerva found herself wishing he would smile again. Smiling made Malcolm even more handsome that he already was. She wondered why he didn't have a girlfriend. He was so attractive. Surely there had to be dozens of girls who would jump at the idea of dating him. She knew that if he ever asked her out, she would.
Such thoughts like those had occasionally abounded as the days wore on. Seeing Malcolm was the best and least boring part of her day. She was sick of being stuck in bed all the time, only getting up to go to the bathroom. Even then she was confined to a set of crutches. No one wanted her walking until they were sure her back was completely all right.
It made for boring days. There were the visits from Malcolm and the sprinklings of visits from other people—even Professor Dumbledore every other day, to Minerva's great pleasure—but it really wasn't enough. She wanted to get back to class.
She stared at the door to the hospital wing. There were still thirty-five minutes until Malcolm would arrive and she ached to see him. She wanted someone to relieve her boredom and she wanted to see his handsome face and the flash over his curly blonde locks in the sun that streamed in through a window in the hospital wing.
Five minutes later the bell rang, and while she knew that the halls of the school were all filled with a brilliant noise that normally grated on her nerves, in the silence of the hospital wing she longed for it. She hate being cooped up here. She loved being guided through her classes by Malcolm (he was such a sweet person), but she really wanted to actually start going to them again. She and Malcolm could still find plenty of time to spend to together when she was out of here and back in class. Maybe they could even find more of it.
Five more minutes crawled by. There were only twenty-five minutes until Malcolm got here. Then an hour after that Professor Dumbledore would be by to check on her, and smile at her and wish her a speedy recovery because he wanted to get back to their animagus lessons . . .
The door opened and Muriel walked in. Today was obviously going to be a good day. Three visitors at least. She might not even have much time to herself and her books (which Malcolm continually brought her from the library) tonight. The thought was pleasing.
"Hey, Minerva," she greeted cheerily. "What have you been up to?"
"Waiting for Malcolm."
"Oh," she said. "I see. Should I leave?"
"No!" cried Minerva firmly, her eyebrows bunching together, as Muriel began to turn around. "I sit alone all day while you guys have class." She heaved a wistful sigh. "Why would I want you to leave?"
"Well, you said you were waiting on Malcolm."
Minerva was confused. "And?"
"Well, I know you fancy him," Muriel stated. "So I thought you would probably rather be alone with him."
"How do you know?" asked Minerva, who was careful to keep her face neutral despite her blush.
"I just know you," said Muriel with a shrug and sat down on the end of Minerva's bed. "You're not a very, obvious person, Minerva, don't worry. You're a bit too restrained in the emotions department to be obvious. I don't think many people know you like Malcolm. I know Malcolm doesn't." She gazed kindly at Minerva. "And I know I'm the only one that knows you have a crush on Professor Dumbledore."
"I do not!" The words had left Minerva's mouth before she could even think about them. They were quite true, though. Muriel was dead on about Malcolm but quite the opposite about Professor Dumbledore. He was too old for her. She definitely did not have a crush on him.
"Of course you do," Muriel snorted. "And why wouldn't you? You spend a lot of time with him, Min. He's like your mentor. A lot of people get crushes on their mentors. It's human nature."
Minerva's mind railed against what Muriel was suggesting. Professor Dumbledore was her teacher. The entire idea that she would have a crush on him was highly inappropriate.
"I fancy Malcolm, not Professor Dumbledore," she stated defiantly.
"Suit yourself," said Muriel with shrug. "Either way, you ought to tell Malcolm that. He would die of happiness. He's fancied you for the past two years."
Minerva gaped. She'd never noticed anything of the sort. "Why hasn't he told me?"
"He's way too shy for that, Min," said Muriel with a short laugh. "Even the rest of the Gryffindors aren't always as brave as you are."
"Well, that's just silly."
/E/E/E/E/E/
"Well, I should probably go, Minerva," said Malcolm reluctantly. He didn't want to leave. He loved spending all this time with Minerva. He hated—hated—that she was hurt, but her being here did give him a splendid excuse to spend time alone with her every day. Whenever he was with her he felt like his heart sang with joy. "Here are some of the books you asked for from the library."
He leaned closer to her than he felt he should have as he handed her a small stack of books. His hands trembled slightly. What if she thought so too? What if she suddenly asked him why he was so close to her and began yelling at him? He could happily and easily face any manner of strange and evil monsters—he was no coward—but having Minerva yell at him would just make his heart crumble. He knew the notion was silly, Minerva would never do that, but it still worried him.
He really is just too shy, Minerva thought as she took her books from Malcolm's trembling hands.
With the abstract thought that Malcolm looked very handsome even when nervous, Minerva decided that this entire thing was far too silly to endure. She closed the distance between them and gave Malcolm a short kiss.
Stunned into silence by what had just happened, Malcolm tentatively touched his lips. He could feel the moisture on them from where Minerva had kissed him. Elated, the largest smile Minerva had ever seen him where spread across his face. His features shone with a light she had never seen in him before.
Suddenly made confident by Minerva's actions, Malcolm leaned forward and kissed Minerva again.