There’d been a great rush to the Shrieking Shack, where they’d left him so very many hours earlier. She’d had only a brief glimpse before Flitwick had Apparated him to St. Mungo’s, but the image of his lifeless form lying prostrate on the floor would be burned in her mind for eternity. There had been vivid red fang-marks on his neck, covered in drying blood that had seemed to also cover the floor and his hands where he had earlier tried to stop the bleeding. The dark crimson had provided the only color to be found on his ghostly white body.