Madame Pomfrey was ticking items off a parchment 8 feet long when Miss Darling all but fell through the door.  She'd been working with Consulting Healers at Saint Mungos but so far they had no definite diagnosis for Miss Watkins, just parchment after parchment of illnesses that had been ruled out.  Tonight she was very cautiously withholding Miss Watkins' fever reducing potion, in hopes that the fever would kick her immune system up a notch and burn off the microorganisims flourishing there.

Of course, that meant strict observation, and as it was obvious that Miss Darling was not ill herself Pomfrey may have been a bit short with her in her attempt to infiltrate the infirmary.  At least, for the few moments it took for her to realize that something was wrong.  It was eeireily reminicent of last year, when Mr. O'Malley had run in, talking out of his head about bludgers and blood.

"Alright. Alright Miss Darling, I'm coming.  It's going to be alright, dear."

So when she reached Mr. Warwick there may have been a tiny bit of relief that there was no blood, at least until she realized he was shivering and thrashing and burning up with fever.

"Two minutes, I told him." She murmured to herself, joining Miss Darling on the flagstones to lay a cool hand on his brow.  "Mister Warwick?  Connor? Can you stand dear?  We're going to head back to the Infirmary."  She'd prefer to have him up and alert if she could.  "Miss Darling, you may accompany us for an immune booster potion."  She'd need to look the young witch over for symptoms at the very least.