Disclaimer: I don't even own my car, much less the characters of the Harry Potter universe.
Author's Note: If blood and pain make you squeamish, you might want to leave now.
I'm Free
The pain was blinding now, piercing and unrelenting. It had started a week ago as a slight tickle. Like that feeling you get when some insect with more legs than normal crawls over your bare skin. You brush your hand over your arm or neck without really registering why you felt the need to do so. In fact, he had done that very thing. After a day or two, it turned into an itch. It was then that he realized the sensation was localized and that his situation, already incredibly perilous, was going to get worse. He had frantically searched for a solution as the itch turned to a burning pain; eventually exhausting all possibilities but one. Gritting his teeth, hoping he could still speak enough to cast the spell, he pointed his wand at his left forearm, just below his elbow.
Taking a deep breath, thoughts of everything that had happened in the last two weeks that had led him to this last desperate possibility swirled through his mind. Voldemort had attacked the school with his Death Eaters and every dark creature know to the wizarding world on his side. With Dumbledore dead for over a year, their hope rested on a 17 yr. old wizard and the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn't enough. Potter was dead. As were most of the Order and the older students who had taken part in the battle that raged for three days. Those who weren't dead were more than likely wishing they were. Captured and tortured. And now the Dark Lord was most displeased with him. The traitor. He was playing with him; using the hideous tattoo on his arm to let him know he hadn't forgotten about him. But he was through playing now and with the current level of pain it wouldn't be long before he used the Dark Mark to kill him. Not today he thought with his trademark smirk.
With a sharp downward slash, as if with a sword, he forced as much magical power through his wand as he could and cried out through the pain, "SECTUMSEMPRA!"
He screamed as one type of agony was supplanted by another. He didn't hear the muffled thud of his severed arm hitting the floor. He dropped to his knees beside it, clutching the stump of his left arm as blood spurted, covering his chest. Barely holding onto consciousness, he scrambled for the wand he'd dropped and began to mutter the first part of the counter curse. The gushing blood stopped but the searing bright pain remained. Black spots were starting to dance in front of his eyes and he fought back the urge to surrender to the darkness. He began chanting a string of Latin that had musical undertones, watching as the skin stretched and grew together over the end of his arm. As nerve endings knitted together, the pain dulled enough for him to swallow several potions; various pain relievers and strengtheners, a blood replenisher, and a sleeping draught.
There was one more thing he wanted to do before unconsciousness claimed him. Touching the Dark Mark with his wand, he answered the summons he'd been under for the last two weeks, and watched his arm disappear. A smug smile crossed his face as he imagined the Dark Lord's reaction when the dead flesh appeared before him. The smile lingered as he started to drift off into a deep, healing sleep and with a sense of wonder, thought I'm free.
Author's Note 2: I know you're reading, even if you're not reviewing. So, take a sec and let me know what you think.