Miss: Mistress Beeblossom questions you further and puts you to bed.

⚂⚃ - 1 = 6, Miss.

"Your balance is still off, Mister Aberdean," Bertha Beeblossom says. "On no account shall you mount upon your broom, no matter how you protest that you can fly better than you walk."

To be sure, you think Housemistress Beeblossom's décolletage is a powerful magnetic attraction pulling you off plumb, but you do have to confess to a bit of dizziness. Saving someone's life by magical means can be hard work.

Draining work.

Housemistress Beeblossom questions you again about the circumstances of the fateful episode that exhausted you. You're getting the sense that the Headmistress has been less than forthcoming. Of course you have no reason to hold back or dissemble. Though recalling the particulars causes a certain flow of humours to your member, lifting up the front of your infirmary gown in an obvious, upstanding way. You get a little tongue-tied at the Housemistress' further questions.

"Very well, Mister Aberdean," she says. "I appreciate your candour. You should rest, again."

She tucks you back into bed, and with a kiss upon your lips, ushers you into dreamland.