Lizzie stared at the ceiling and tried to make out what it meant. There was a kind of pattern there, but her head was spinning so that she couldn’t focus properly, and she didn’t realize that she was lying down until the voice next to her spoke.


"Can you hold it?" he asked, his voice clipped and impatient.


She turned and looked at Ashley, who she recognized by his tone as much as anything. Bloody toffee nosed git. But after she had worked out that he was not floating sideways in the air, but she was lying down, she realized he was holding out a glass of water!


Water! Wonderful cold, soothing water. Though her chest complained and her arms ached she struggled up into a sitting position. Holding out her hand she gasped, “I’ll try.” The glass felt cold and slippery in her fingers and she pushed herself up more to hold it in both hands. She sipped and closed her eyes.


The water was bliss in her mouth and hell when she swallowed. Lizzie choked, coughed, shook, and splashed water on herself and the coverlet. Then she carefully sipped some more, bracing for the agony of swallowing.


“I could do with a dram of Ardburgh,” She said, “But the water's aye fine.” She turned and carefully put the glass on her night table. “Thank ye,” she sighed and flopped back on her pillow.


“You are not going to stick me with that,”


Lizzie turned and looked over at Ashley and Madam Pomfrey.


"If you must annoy someone, tend to her,"


“Too late. I’ve had that pleasure,” She whispered. “Yer turn, laddie. Be a brave, big, Head Boy, now.” She took a kind of painful delight in knowing she could still make fun of Ashley no matter how sick she was.

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