Upon seeing the state of his face, Madam Promfrey had tutted about unsafe sporting events, and had directed them to the nearest bed. Hooch released her firm grip around his waist and stepped back, pulling his glasses from her pocket and repairing them with a tap of her wand (he presumed so at least, as everything was one big blur). She reclined against the foot of the nearest bed, arms across her chest, apparently resigning herself to waiting with Harry.