Chapter 778 - Slug Club Banquet Ⅳ (2/2)
Rowan's thoughts are interrupted by a gentle pounding at the door. ”Prefect Prince, are you feeling better?” Professor Mortimer asked with no small measure of concern.
”I am feeling better now, thank you, Professor Mortimer, for asking,” Rowan rasped as she weakly climbed to her feet and opened the door to the girl's bathroom.
Pointedly studying the pale, cold, sweat-covered face of Rowan Prince, Professor Mortimer frowns. ”Prefect Prince, did Murtagh Burke perform an illegal legilimency on you?”
Rowan does not answer the question and instead says, ”I believe I can make it to the infirmary from her, Professor Mortimer. Your assistance will no longer be required.”
Professor Mortimer's eyes narrow dangerously, before nodding curtly at the girl. ”Very well, Prefect Prince, I shan't pry this once. However, only this once,” she warned.
”Your acquittance is much appreciated, Professor,” Rowan sincerely said, before walking past the disapproving figure of Professor Mortimer and making her way down the hall.
The entire trip down the hallway, Rowan could feel the hawk-like gaze of Professor Mortimer on her back. It was not that Rowan could not trust Professor Mortimer, but she preferred not to at this time or maybe that simply was just a lie to console herself with. Rowan's streak of distrust was not always obvious, but in situations like these, it tended to rear its ugly head.
A tired sigh of relief escaped Rowan's throat as she made her way to the infirmary. Inside there were more than a few curtains pulled around white linen bedsheets for the privacy of the currently indisposed. A kind, but stern woman in her mid-thirties rushed about as her red dress, white apron, and white matron cap flutter about as she checks on patients and strictly fills the sweet boxes in neat rows next to each bedside.
Madam Pomfrey catches sight of the pale figure of Rowan and says, ”Prefect Prince sit down this instant. You look as though a breeze will cause you to topple over!”
”Certainly, Madam Pomfrey,” Rowan replied to the infirmary matron's orders, and with great relief stumbled into the nearest chair.
Madam Pomfrey begins to wave her wand performing diagnostic spells, before letting out a loud tsk-tsk sound. ”Prefect Prince, you've run yourself ragged that your immune system has taken quite the hit. You've got the start of a nasty cold. I want you to lie down and rest! I'll be back shortly with something to get you back onto your feet!”
”Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” Rowan sincerely thanked the infirmary matron.
”Nonsense, it is my occupation and duty,” Madam Pomfrey said, before flouncing away and shouting at two boys to desist in chatting and rest peacefully in silence. She had patients, who needed their rest!
Lying down on a white linen bed, Rowan tiredly pulled the covers and closed her eyes. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry, and she felt a bit warm. Maybe, she was ill, but because of overexerting herself. Still, she was alive, and that was what counted in the end.
By the time, Madam Pomfrey returned with the potion in hand, Rowan was sound asleep. Not wanting to wake the sleeping Slytherin Prefect, Madam Pomfrey elected to spell the potion into her patient's stomach. It was not the preferred selection for a healer as many of the properties of a potion were rendered null, but at times that was the only available choice.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't too worried as she could always keep the poor girl in bed a day or two to rest. With that cheerful thought in mind, she flounced away to quiet down several noisy miscreants. She was running an infirmary, not a canteen!