"Madam Pomfrey, what's wrong?" Moorland said, rushing in the ward.
"I don't know, he was sleeping and then he just started convulsing, I can't-"
As quickly as the episode had begun, it stopped. Snape lay unconscious on the bed and trembled slightly.
"He's burning up," Pomfrey said. "He was fine just a minute ago."
The doctor began undoing the bandage around Snape's arm, revealing the Dark Mark.
The blisters were now filled with a blood-red fluid, some of which had ruptured, and a faint, foul-smelling odor emanated from what could only be described as a swollen, festering wound.
Pomfrey's throat clamped shut.
"No wonder his blood pressure was so high," Moorland said. "It looks like gas gangrene. Somehow, the allergic reaction led to a subcutaneous infection at the site of the trauma."
"Will we have to amputate?" Pomfrey said. Her voice faltered.
"Not yet, but I must removed the damaged tissue right away." Moorland quickly set up an I.V. bag and inserted a needle in Snape's forearm. "I'm giving him penicillin. Set my instruments out, I have to operate on him, now."
Even as he said those words, the dark swelling was spreading before their eyes.
"I've never seen anything like this. It's... progressing too fast, I..." He grabbed a seringe and injected more drugs into Snape's body. "I don't think I can save his arm if I'm to save his life."
"We can use my wand," Pomfrey said, tears blurring her vision.
Moorland nodded. The gangrene was making its way past Snape's elbow.
Pomfrey took a deep breath.
Forgive me, Severus.
She murmured a spell, and the wand glowed red. She steadied her shaking hands and cut through Snape's flesh and bones as if slicing through butter, cauterizing his arm at the same time.
The mediwitch and the doctor watched, stunned, as the amputated section slowly melted and turned into a browish ooze that began eating through the mattress itself. Moorland immediately gathered the Potions Master in his arms and carried him to another bed, but after a few more seconds, the smoke that was rising from the hole where part of Snape's arm had disappeared became a thin, ghostly wisp. Then there was nothing more.
"What in heaven's name..." Moorland swallowed. "Thank God we weren't too late."
Pomfrey went to the Potions Master's side. "I'm so sorry, Severus." She could no longer hold back her tears, and touched the side of his face. "I'm so sorry..."
Moorland checked Snape's vital signs. "He's stable, though his system was severely shocked. He'll need a lot of analgesics. I'll have to stop by at my clinic for more."
"Thank you, doctor," Pomfrey said. She wiped her cheeks with a handkerchief and busied herself tucking Snape in.
"I'll go get the Headmaster," Moorland said quietly, leaving Pomfrey and Snape alone.
[_]
"My poor boy," Dumbledore said. The old wizard caressed Snape's head and sighed. "My dear Severus. How I've failed you."
Snape was pale, but his features were so peaceful, it was difficult to recognize him. Doctor Moorland had given him a massive dose of pain killers, and after coating Snape's stump with ointment, had carefully wrapped it with bandages. The Potions Master had not uttered a sound or stirred at all while this was taking place. He slept, looking as though he was having a pleasant dream.
"At least He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named won't be able to hurt him anymore," Pomfrey said. "I hope that monster rots in hell forever."
"If only I'd guessed in time," Moorland said, "perhaps we wouldn't have had to..."
"Don't blame yourself, doctor," Dumbledore said. "I don't think any of us could have imagined such horror." He continued to stroke Snape's hair tenderly. "And we will take good care of you from now on, Severus. I wish this wouldn't have happened, that there had been some other way... Perhaps it was for the best."
"It's going to be hard on him," Pomfrey said.
"I know. But we'll help him," Dumbledore said.
[_]
For the next few days, Snape was so heavily medicated that he regained consciousness only for brief periods of time and was too groggy to speak much other than nonsense. Doctor Moorland had wanted to make certain no trace of infection remained, and that his patient rested as fully as possible. Then, a day after the doctor reduced Snape's medication, the Potions Master opened his eyes and frowned.
"W- where..."
"Severus?"
The mediwitch came into view and Snape instantly felt calmer. He moistened his lips and tried to form more words. His mind was a jumble. His frown deepened.
"Head... feels like... stuffed with cotton."
"You were very ill. Try not to think too much."
He rubbed his face with his right hand, then Pomfrey saw his stump move; he froze. She opened her mouth but found there was nothing she could say. Sooner or later, he would discover what had happened.
The Potions Master looked down at what remained of his left arm, and kept staring. At last he said, "The Dark Lord... took his mark back."
"I'm sorry, Severus. We tried to, we did everything we could, but... yes, he took it back. We barely managed to save you." Pomfrey's eyes watered.
"It's all right, Poppy," Snape said. "I know you only did what you had to. I understand."
"I wish we had been able to do more."
"I was prepared to sacrifice my life. This is..." His voice shook. "A small loss. A small price to pay, really."
"Does anything hurt?"
He closed his eyes. "Ribs are sore. It's not too bad."
"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
"You should eat. Is there something you'd like?"
"Whatever. You choose."
A sad smile drew itself on her lips. "When you're better, I'll make you breakfast again. In the meantime, you'll have to settle for a House Elf."
"Alas."
A few moments later, she placed a tray on the bedside table and picked up a bowl filled with hot cereal.
"Look, your favorite plain oatmeal, Severus."
He gazed at her, and attempted to smile. "I suppose it'll have to do for now."
"Picky, are we?"
"It's your fault, you know."
She began feeding him, then suddenly his eyes overflowed with tears and he started to cry.
"Oh, Severus," Pomfrey said, putting the bowl down. She sat on the edge of the bed and took him in her arms. "I know."
He wept against her shoulder. "Ridiculous-"
"No, it isn't."
Shaking his head, he clung to her with his good arm. "Damned bastard..."
"I know... I know."
At last, she felt him relax against her, and cradling his head, she lowered him onto the pillow.
"Forgive me," he said, looking away. His face was blotchy and damp. "I didn't mean to... subject you to such melodramatics. I must be getting old."