Finding nothing else of note in his pockets and deciding she might actually sew it up later, Ester folded the jacket back over the arm of her chair and slid herself far enough down in its seat that when she stretched out a bare-footed leg out from her dressing gown, she could just about prod at him with her toe. Not that she actually needed to test his reactions - she was acquainted with all the side effects of every tincture of an opiate, and certainly well-versed enough to tell the jitters of coming off it from the enviable languor of being in it. It had not worn off on him yet.  

“Supposed,” Ester echoed, making a tutting noise with her tongue behind her teeth. Better forget what one was supposed to do entirely, if one ever wanted to be happy. “And what if you fall right out of the sky, buttercup?” What was the likelihood a bludger knocked his brains out while he was still halfway to oblivion?

Still, she was not quite awake enough to feel the full gravity of his dilemma, and probably did not know him well enough to care what he did with himself one way or the other at all, beyond a vague curiosity about how he would manage it. “I may have ridden a few brooms in that state,” Ester mused with an idle grin, “but never that sort.”

---