Alicia nearly rolled her eyes at the way Oliver was looking at the mug. Then again, maybe she couldn’t blame him. After all, he hadn’t been able to taste it the first time, and was still oblivious to the fact that the toddy actually tasted good. Oh well, she guessed she would just have to wait until he tasted it himself, although odds were that he’d still claim it tasted horrible. The joys of a sick Gryffindor man.
“You know,” she said carefully, leaning back a little as she looked very thoughtful. “It’d be a lot easier if you just convinced Percy to play Quidditch. That way you’d only have to make one person change career instead of two.” She shrugged, nonchalantly, trying for all the world not to let his talk of her missing out on Quidditch get to her. Right now, with him sick and her patience being tried, it wouldn’t be nearly as pretty as it had been the last time. “Besides, you’re forgetting that Percy doesn’t look nearly as good in Healer robes as I do. Of course, if you’d rather he be the Healer, I can Owl him right now, ask him to come home and take care of you. I’m sure you’d both like that a whole lot better, right?”
“Drink your toddy,” she told him. “I promise you, it’s nothing but seeped herbs with a dollop of honey a healthy dose of Scotch whiskey. It’ll do nothing but make you relax so you can get some rest.”