In the Hospital Wing, a faint light glowed at the tip of Dumbledore's Wand, his deeply lined face grave. Unconscious, Will lay with his brow furrowed and sweat covering his head.
Madam Pomfrey stood nearby, Wand in hand, awaiting Dumbledore's instructions. Beside her, Snape held two bottles of potions, with another few set out next to him, ready to pour them down Will's throat at Dumbledore's command.
Unlike the relaxed ease of the previous two treatments, this time the atmosphere was tense, as though they were facing a formidable enemy.
Even Dumbledore, the strongest wizard of the age, looked utterly solemn.
Seconds and minutes ticked by. Will's tightly knitted brow gradually relaxed, and Dumbledore's expression eased considerably. Only then did Snape and Madam Pomfrey breathe sighs of relief.
In his hazy unconsciousness, Will felt a dull ache throughout his body.
After an unknown stretch of time, Will groggily awoke. His head swam, and every movement felt as though he were wrapped in a thin veil. Even his thoughts struggled like a beast trapped in mud. It was excruciatingly uncomfortable.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe himself. Was this really treatment? Why did I feel worse the more I was treated? Only now did he understand what it meant for pain to reach the soul.
Before long, Madam Pomfrey brought him a cup of potion. After he drank it, the sluggishness in his head eased considerably.
From Madam Pomfrey, he learned that he had been unconscious for three whole days. Yet despite sleeping all that time, he was still utterly exhausted in both body and mind.
Dumbledore arrived shortly afterward, and only then did Will learn the reason.
Handing Will a peeled apple, Dumbledore explained, "The first two times, I was examining this mark. Only with this treatment did