So I'm going through the now-wreck of my flat. Apparently, they even thought Neville might be hiding on the shelf with my tiger figurines. Because that's a practical and not at all completely mental thought to have.
It turns out that, even if the bones of your arm are completely shattered to bits, it's still a pretty quick fix. And since my head wasn't involved, I get to go home. At least we still won without me in the rest of the match.
Not that Quidditch even feels like it matters much after yesterday, but you know.