Stephen watched Oliver down the potion and slump to the floor, asleep. "That would be one way to calm him, I suppose," he said, wryly. "Well, bottoms up." He drank his own Calming Draught, which was of course perfect and made him feel much better about the entire farce of a duel. "Sure he will feel better when he awakens. He should be taken to the hospital wing, I think." And he directed the house-elves to deliver slumbering Oliver unto the tender mercies of Mistress Weatherwax.