The last thing Piper remembered was falling. 

It was peaceful, almost. Like really flying. 

It wasn't until she came to in the Hospital Wing that Piper felt the pain. And it was excruciating.

The problem with the lack of electricity in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing was that it greatly increased the inefficiency of medical examinations. Some were easy to spot, like the broken wrist and dislocated shoulder that Piper had involuntarily used to try to break her fall. Others, like the broken ribs and fractured tailbone, had to be painfully poked and prodded before they were discovered. 

But at the end of the day, broken bones were child's play. Quick to mend, and though newly repaired bones were somewhat more fragile and it was recommended a patient not strain them for several hours after mending, they were nothing to be overly concerned about.

Bruising, on the other hand, was a different matter. The one that blossomed across Piper's side where the bludger had hit could almost be considered beautiful--it swirled outward, intricate as a rose in deep shades indigo and violet, while small purplish-crimson ones speckled down the side of her body that hit the ground like a thousand tiny kisses. Healing bruises required potions that circulated through the cardiovascular system, and that took time.

Though she was plied with plenty of pain potions, there was a pain that magic couldn't fix. It was a pain that squeezed at Piper's heart: the weight of the loss of the game, the fact that she'd let her own distractions get the best of her when it mattered most, when people were relying on her. She’d let down Tshila, and Caldwell. Herself.

And despite the traumatic events of the game, it was Loxley's words ringing hollow in her ears that lingered, not the whoosh of the wind when she fell. When the potions finally took hold, Piper's sleep was restless.