When she finally opened her eyes, a ray of sunshine from the window blinded her. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to lift her hand against the sunshine. She couldn’t. A sudden wave of panic took over her. Her eyes shot open, and she turned her head to look at her hand. It took much more strength than she expected to perform such a simple action. Her hand was free and lying above the blanket. The spot where Flint made the cut now turned into a thin pink line. Ironically, it crossed over the word Mudblood. She just couldn’t move it. Hermione gathered all her will and lifted her finger only an inch above the bed. Moments later it dropped down. Hermione’s thoughts felt like porridge, all in one pile, too slow and impossible to separate one from another. Her eyes scanned the room. All she knew that it wasn’t Flint’s house and most probably a hospital. Relieved, she closed her eyes and immediately fell asleep.