Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling).
Paralyzed
-36-
One day, a month after having awoken, Hermione opened her eyes to meet the morning light with her usual frustration. However, as she adjusted to the state of wakefulness and blinked away the tears that formed from the brightness of the infirmary, she realized something was different. Something was missing.
She breathed in and out; no, the faint scents of dust, tobacco, antiseptics and stale tea weren't new. Neither was the altogether too-cheerful sun poking its beastly little nose in the leaded window, or the muted streams of prism rainbows from said window.
Hoping against hope that the change had to do with her own physiological self, Hermione attempted to lift her useless leg and arm. This was to no avail.
She heard Pomfrey's timer chime, and the resulting clomping of the good nurse's shoes across the marble floor, and she realized what the difference in her environment was. The Muffilato that surrounded Snape's bed was gone.
Straining with curiosity, Hermione closed her eyes and isolated the sounds she heard. Pomfrey pacing around in her office, the faint laughter of a group passing the Hospital Wing, the heaviness of her own breathing and the grinding of her teeth...
But nothing whatsoever from beyond the black curtain.
. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .