Falling from great height isn't probably so unfamiliar for a junior Quidditch beater. This is a familiar feeling: the deafening sound of air whipping by, the clouds receding quickly, ears popping on the way down.

When Lydia hits the cloud, it's a half-second of being embraced in a cool, misty hug before she's launched right back up into the air, again. Five, ten, fifteen feet before she arcs and comes back down.

Down and up. Down and up. Until finally, she's slowed down enough that she can stop herself with her own two feet.