He was taking the pain of the wound better than a lot of her patients would have, which impressed her. Many (excluding those younger than say, 12) would have continued to show ill manners despite her being there with the sole purpose of seeing them healed and on their way. And he was good-natured which was also hard to come by, especially after being poked and prodded at.

As if his question was posed for a test, Tilda rattled off the side effects she'd mentioned: "Fever, coughing, excessive sneezing - and I do mean excessive, mind - in addition to some hallucinations and uncontrollable laughter." That last tid bit had caused her a lot of trouble a few years back with the laughing plague. She cast a rueful smile at him. "Everything good can be dangerous in large quantities, Mr. Scamander, as I'm sure you're more than aware of, working in a profession such as yours!"

The fizzing and smoking had stopped, which Tilda took as the sign. She eyed the wound as she gave the orders. "Oh - alright, Mr. Scamander, you're about ready to be off. Just...don't...move...." She took her wand, eyed the wound and without warning, gave it one sharp poke. Instantly, the wound sealed up, leaving only a faint sign of battle wound. Judging by the look of it though, Tilda figured it'd heal up and leave no trace of having ever crossed paths with a Tebo within the next few hours. "And there we have it!" she proclaimed with triumph.

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