Once he was sure Yoh and Minatsuki had left the room, Snape pulled himself over to his wand. It was hard to do, with a broken wrist and a bruised body, but he did it. Little by little he pulled himself over, coughing and wheezing all the way, breathing through his mouth. Blood and spit dribbled over his lips and smeared on the floor and over his already blood-soaked robes.

When he finally reached his wand, he gripped it in his left hand, curled over on the floor, and tried to think of every healing spell he knew. The list was pitifully short. So he lay on the ground, in pain and full of hatred and what might have been regret.