He had noticed her, it was hard not to notice someone who looked that, well that disheveled. Malcolm didn't want to think rudely about it, but she did look a little bit trashy in his personally opinion. He preferred women to be properly covered and not looking as though they were lost in a part or perhaps she was a stripper. Malcolm didn't focus on her face so he didn't recognize her as a fellow Quidditch player. A part of him thought it would be good to help her out, another part thought she was perfectly fine on her own. He looked away before she stepped on the grass deciding she probably needed to walk off whenever the hell she was one. Probably lots of dugs.
He was about to walk off when she called out to him. (He'd turned off listening when he heard her curse as he wasn't really sure what it was about, nor did he want to). He hadn't noticed she was sitting or had stepped on the glass. It felt like a train wreck unfolding in front of him. He looked down at the blood and than at the girl. Wasn't that Flint's crazy little sister that played for the Bats? He decided not to mention that. He did however find the way she requested help to be extremely rude. He understood that pain often made people act differently, but something about the way she said made him uncomfortable.
"Sure." He answered. If he were anyone else he might have said something rude. He knew she played for the bats, knew she was a witch. "Mind if I just…" He pulled out his wand. "I'm not bad at healing charms." Luckily it was insanely early and really not many people were around, let alone muggles.