That Riddle Boy -13

Well, today was the day, and her heart refused to control itself in her chest. Quidditch between Gyriffindor and Slytherin. She bit her lip even as she thought about it—the most anticipated game of the season. No pressure, really—the eager stares from Gryffindors and antagonistic stares from Slytherins meant nothing. Really. She wouldn't fall in this game, as she had in the one for Hufflepuff, causing the enemy team to score a point and make the ensuing hour and a half excruciating as each team fought bitterly for the winning goal—not with the Cup riding on her shoulders, of course she wouldn't do anything ridiculous--

Lucy and Sarah took her shoulders, forcing her from her fear. "It's just breakfast," Sarah said meaningfully. "You eat it."

"No competition," Lucy added, a smile breaking through her serious tone.

"Sorry!" Minerva sighed quickly, taking her head in her hands. Her fingers trembled lightly as they touched her forehead. "I just hate this pressure."

"Minerva." Lucy squeezed her forearm. "It's a game. And for as long as you've been on the team, you've never lost to Slytherin! Once! Isn't that something to look up to?"

"Exactly, Minerva. Sweetheart, you're overreacting."

A deep breath in, deep breath out. They were right, of course—Gryffindor had never lost a game to Slytherin. What would make today different? She was a good player, and she would play as hard as she ever had.

It was settled. The trembling began to ease out of her fingers, and slowly her hunger returned. To the eager glances of her friends, she began to tuck in to her meal.

Just as she began to finish, she felt a pair of long fingers on her shoulder, and she turned expectantly. Dumbledore leaned over her, his beard nearly spilling over her shoulder. She smiled as he winked to her.

"Good luck today, Minerva."

"Thank you, Professor." He took his fingers from her back and touched her cheek lightly before turning back and returning to the staff table.

Sarah bumped her shoulder, forcing Minerva's eyes away from Dumbledore's retreating figure. "Someone's got a crush!" she exclaimed in a sing-song voice.

She stiffened at the mock. "I have not. Dumbledore is just a—an extraordinary teacher, and I'm honored that he—well—"

"Oh, come on, Minerva, we know you love him, especially with all those extra hours with him—" Lucy added with a roll of giggles which cause Minerva's slight blush to deepen severely.

"I do not love Dumbledore, and you both know that those hours are spent learning about the complex art of animagus: there's nothing inappropriate about it at all. Now, if you children will excuse me, I have a game to wi—" But as she stood she thrust herself into the person that hovered at her side; she gasped, horrified, and reached out for the person she had shoved.


"I'm so sorry, I didn't see—"

It was Riddle who stood at her side, his hair a bit disheveled from its usual greased style and his cheeks a bit red with indignation, but as their eyes met his expression cooled.

"That's all right, Minerva." His dark eyes were intent on her face and he stepped closer to her. "I came over to wish you good luck on your game."

"But I'm playing against your House."

He gave her a half-smile, the one that always seemed to make her melt. He took her hand in his, and brought it to his icy lips, placing a kiss just on her knuckle. "I know. But I wish you good luck."

"I. Well." She removed her hand from his and held it at her chest, the spot he had kissed burning, just as her face was aflame with sudden shyness. "Thanks, Tom."

Someone shoved against her waist, nearly causing her to fall onto Riddle—which, in hindsight, wouldn't have been so bad—but she caught herself at just the last second, as Tom stepped away to avoid a second collision.

With fire in her eyes she glanced behind her, only to find Lucy with guilty eyes and Sarah making hurried motions with her hands. "Go!" she stressed, pushing once more at her waist and hips.

She sighed with a smile as she glanced back to Riddle, but he had already turned to leave. She frowned as she watched him go, but with an extra hard push to her backside she found herself moving across the Great Hall and out to the Quidditch field.

~~

For a moment there was a lull in the game and she let her thoughts wander. She lifted her hand from the tip of her broom and stared at it, turning it this angle and that to see if it had changed at all after Riddle's kiss. It had been the first time a boy had ever approached her like that—had ever interacted with her like that. Her first "kiss" from Tom Riddle. She still wasn't sure quite how she felt about it. The spot on her hand tingled vaguely.

And suddenly she was aware of shouting all around her, and the image of her Captain, Wes, flying straight at her with an alarmed expression startled her, put her on high alert for some unseen foe—

She was struck on the back and air shoved itself from her lungs and she found herself falling, falling through the air as she struggled to regain her breath and regain her position on the broom still in her hand but the pain in her side fogged up all thought and she fell, fell into darkness.

~~

She was somewhere comfortable, but she couldn't move with the thing around her middle. Her head ached severely and when she opened her eyes, her vision swam, a pretty mix of light and pale color and concerned faces—concerned faces that eventually cleared into her Quidditch team.

Without her consent her throat emitted a moan, and she could hear the entire team sigh as one unit. "Madam Pendly!" one shouted by her ear, and she wanted to yell at him to stop, he was only making her headache worse, but her lips were clumsy and her voice crackly.

She could vaguely detect the sound of fast-moving feet, and the crowd around her parted to reveal a huffed but concerned-looking school matron, her face a bit red and wisps of dark auburn hair coming loose around her neck.

"Thank goodness you're awake!" She took Minerva's wrist to feel a pulse, and was content at what she felt. "Well, you should be fine, as long as you keep still and rest. That fall gave you a rather nasty concussion. And watch for your ribs!" She patted the top of her hand in comfort. "But you should be back to normal in a few weeks—a month, tops."

"What happened?" she finally was able to choke out.

"You were hit with a Quaffle!" came Wes's half-strangled voice to her right. "It was a foul, Slytherin never should've served—we couldn't warn you in time."

"Even worse, we lost!"

She wanted to kick the fourth year that suggested her life-threatening fall was less awful than losing, but they all were silenced with the sudden entrance of Dumbledore. All step-sided to give him access to Minerva's right-hand side, and immediately he placed a warm hand on her arm.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little funny." Her teeth were clumsy and mumbled her words.

Wes barked out a laugh. "I'll say. We just told you we lost—you're completely out of it if you're not raging at the news."

She blinked slowly, wanting to respond but not finding her tongue. Her vision blurred and she found herself succumbing to blackness.

~~

When she finally awoke, Dumbledore was holding her hand and sitting at her side. She tried to turn toward him but the brace around her middle prevented her from it.

"How long have I been out?" Her voice, though foggy with sleep, was much clearer than it had been, although the pain in her head was more acute than it had been earlier.

"Around four hours, I'd venture to guess." He released her hand, and stood so that she could see him better. "Your friends came around just a bit ago, but they went off to dinner. They'll be back as soon as it's over."

"You stayed with me this whole time?"

"Yes. I didn't want you to be lonely when you woke up," he replied simply, looking at the hands he'd folded in front of him. "And, to tell you the truth, I feel rather guilty for all of this."

"How? You didn't—"

"I was too slow to reach for my wand," he said slowly, meeting her eyes once more. "We professors, we all saw the fall coming—and yet we failed to help you slow before you hit the ground. We all apologize for it, me above the rest. You are my student, and as such, you are my responsibility." He sighed. "Madam Pendly says it'll take a few weeks for you to recover properly: a few of your ribs are broken and your concussion is rather fierce. I'm afraid I'll have to cancel animagus lessons until you're healed."

"I guess that makes sense," she sighed, bringing a hand lightly to touch her bandaged forehead, and she traveled down to rub her eyes. No more lessons—and there was no way she could tutor Riddle or Hagrid in this condition. She brightened a bit at the new concept of free time.

From the other end of the room came the pounding sound of feet on stone, and an excited cry of "She's awake!" With a subtle wink, Dumbledore left her, to be replaced by Sarah and Lucy as they excitedly surrounded her.

"I'm so glad you're alive!" Sarah enthused, as Lucy added, "It was a really ugly fall. I can't believe they let—" "—Slytherin win! It's a total—" "—disgrace!"

"Wait." Minerva held up her hands to stop them, and they quieted instantly. "We lost? I—think I remember someone telling me that—but—"

"Yes! Isn't that horrific?"

A rage filled her then. Slytherin win, after such an awful foul? Granted, they were winning by the time she'd been hit, but that didn't make it any less fair! There had to be a rematch. She began to sit up in her frustration, her face contorting with her anger, but the pain that resulted in her movement immediately quelled any of her concerns as the pain overwhelmed her.

"Are you all right?"

"Do you need anything?"

"Want us to fetch anyone?"

"No," she panted, clutching her side. "I'm—fine. But I am going—to—demand—a rematch the moment—I get out of here."