He cried, during those middle sessions.  I started to worry that I had inadvertently damaged something when removing the upper lateral cartilages of the nose.  Exposing the lacrimal canal for a looksee without permanently blinding the patient is beyond my skill, however, and I wanted to *open* his eyes.  Not close them for good.  Blood loss was indeed a worry, but not quite so much as nutrition. Severus suffered from loss of appetite.  I suspected that he was becoming depressed.  I did not have to speculate for long as to why.  All of his illusions . . . all of the lies he had come to believe and depend on, where being stripped away from him.  He *wanted* that, of course, but it frightened him.  As it would any of us, in his position.  Still, the depression concerned me. Depression and despair can drive us to terrible depths. I was worried that he might become suicidal, and that his refusals to eat were a sign of that . . . All of my fears were confirmed when he began to beg me to kill him . . . Don't look at me like that. I would *never* kill Severus.  I love him.  I've said that.  Where are you going?  Come back . . . You haven't heard the whole -- What are you doing?  He's not in *there.*  That's the supply room.  I told you.  Now, come back and let me finish.  This will all become quite clear . . . And I promise that I'll take you to Severus when I'm finished. . . .Of course he's all right.  Haven't I told you enough times that he's fine?  Please, sit down.
          Now, Severus tried to convince me to kill him, yes.  He even tried to provoke me!  As though I would kill someone out of anger!  I was his doctor, his soon-to-be lover, and he really should have known better.  Well, deep down he *did* know better, I'm sure.  After all, none of his bites were strong enough to break the skin.  All of his struggles seemed half-hearted at best.  Still, I was worried that the depression might obscure even his feelings for me, his understanding of what I was trying to do for him, just enough to allow him to hurt others as well as himself. So I was obliged to remove his teeth.
          There were two steps which I took in order to go about this . . . the first would be to pull the complete set, and hope that the entire tooth, including nerve, was removed to prevent the need of digging. . . There is the chance that a tooth -- even a permanent adult tooth -- can re-grow, however.  So I decided to not only pull the teeth, but *also* to saw a layer off of the aveolar bearing process of the mandible and maxilla, respectively. This meant scraping away the gum tissue in order to get *at* the mandible and maxilla bones, and it was very messy work. Severus was unconscious for most of it... what? Are you mad?  Why would I let him be awake for such a tedious operation? ...Again, you misunderstand. I waited for him to regain consciousness before I finished his hands because they were a demonstration. A *loving* demonstration. Removing his teeth was simply a precaution. He didn't have to bear witness to that. Of course he survived it. There are no major -- *now* where are you going?  Are you really so impatient?  Such atrocious manners!  I'm in the middle of --. . . Fine.  Fine, if you insist.  But I am warning you, he is in a very stable and content state of mind right now, and dredging up these less-than-pleasant memories will do him no good.  I can't be responsible for the damage that will result from our discussing all this in his presence. But *if* you insist, then . . . follow me.  He's right in here. Go ahead.  Severus?  My dear?  You have company . . . are you awake? I told you that it was late.  He's there -- see? Sleeping on the bed, there.  Go on and wake him -- but be gentle. Be very --