Apparently she had taken a long while to wake up after her fall on the pitch. And, in that time, the English mediwizards thought it pertinent to conduct further tests. There had been concern that such a steep drop and hard impact (magical cushioning or not) might trigger a negative response from any past injuries she had. They had been worried about her back, it was always her back when she got hurt, and that had led them to uncover her condition…
It was almost a relief to hear that she wouldn’t be playing another match in the tournament. Perhaps relief was too strong a word. It was… following the initial shock and slight panic of such news, it was a welcomed release, a happy, warm excuse. And after first settling a great many of future issues with Henry Wadcock, Rose sat back much easier in her makeshift bed underneath the quidditch stadium in the healer’s bay. Would she now be able to---?
Almost as if he had been able to sense her wonder at when she would be able to see him, Peter burst into view. A small smile appeared on her lips as Rose shifted to sit up. Noting he was still in his quidditch gear, she asked,
“Did we win?” Because despite everything going on, no one had informed her of that. The condition of Artie Griffiths she had been able to wrangle (he was alive), but everything else… not so much.
Rose pushed back some hair that had fallen out of her messy braid, looking to Peter with wide eyes. They searched his face, and not for the first time today, she forgot that she had been the one to plummet out of the sky dramatically. Instead, she felt happy to see him.