Of course this was a cold.  Wasn’t it?  Or maybe it was the flu.  It all amounted to the same thing, didn’t it?  She needed a potion and it would clear out and she could be on her way.  Gloria didn’t think she could possibly count the number of times that she’d had viruses steamed out of her ears and this one should be cleared out, too.  And then perhaps one more nap . . .

"You've been in here since sometime Friday," he said. "It's Sunday."

Gloria’s eyes pinched tightly shut.  That couldn’t be right.  But she remembered Pomfrey and 
Jane in the dormitory, and she remembered some treatments here in the Infirmary.  If she weren’t so bloody tired she might be able to put it all in the right order.  

"She wouldn't let anyone in here for more than seconds at a time yesterday. You need rest, love. Lots and lots of it,"

Rest did not sound like such a bad idea.  Maybe she would change her name to Rip Van Winkle and just keep right on sleeping, considering how tired she felt.  Just sitting up to try to drink, and coughing, felt like an intense exercise.  Gloria curled both of her arms around Connor’s arm as she lay there on her side, deep under the blanket, her breathing rapid and shallow.  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.



Gloria Watkins