Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling).
Ooh. Ahh. Haven't updated this beauty for a month. Come on, girl, you aren't dead yet, stop rolling idly in the haystack, get out of that stable, and giddyup. Thanks to Escoger for reminding me about this piece.
Paralyzed
-37-
She couldn't understand it. If Snape had been moved, then, by George, she ought to have heard it.
They must have done it right in the middle of the night, she reasoned. That or very early this morning. He was here last evening.
Feeling a bit curious, she propped herself up on the bed with her good arm, awaiting the arrival of her breakfast. It wasn't that she was unduly concerned--there was no doubt in her mind that Snape was in no danger under the capable hands of Madame Pomfrey--but she still felt a little bit protective.
After all, I did save his life. It would be a shame if he never got to 'live' in the real sense again, she thought.
"Time for your nerve analysis," Pomfrey said, entering her curtained domain with the warm, apologetic look of an astute poodle that has tracked mud onto the nice clean floor. "Spit-spot, spit-spot," she gently clucked as Hermione lingered over the porridge, "there'll be plenty of time to fill your stomach once I've finished your morning ablutions."
The process of emptying bed-pans and testing her body for new developments was tedious, but finally it was over, and Hermione ventured to ask about the Potions Professor.
"When did Professor Snape vacate the premises, Pomfrey? Did he take a turn for the worse...and have to go to St. Mungo's?" It hadn't happened before, but Hermione assumed that it was the most likely prospect.
"Why, no, dear, he's still here," Pomfrey said in some confusion, drawing Hermione's curtains down and stepping over to her other patients' bed. "Lawks-a-mussy, why ever would you think that..."
As she said this, however, she drew back the black curtain and gasped.
. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .