He could feel the heat engulfing him in simultaneous rage and overwhelming sadness, eyes trailing the last few lines of their correspondence. He'd gritted his teeth, bearing it as best he could, but he felt his heart hammering within his chest; he could feel the pulse throbbing in his arm, along his wrist, pounding in his head...
In a whirl of all sorts of emotions, Severus threw the journal to the cold floor and trembling hands tore into his robe, searching for the familiar metal that had brought him so much comfort over the last few months. The tears blinded his vision as he lined the muggle razor against his left inner arm, slicing a few times and watching the blood seep out in a thin line, getting thicker with each cut. When he reached his forearm, he cried out in hopelessness and dug deeper, feeling the pain and a wave of nausea overcome him. The first few drops fell into his open journal before he fell over from his sitting position, the journal skidding from him and landing in a nearby corner. He groaned at the pain and watched, fascinatedly, as the tiny streams of blood grew in size, mingling with one another and gushing down his arm and onto the floor. His robes were starting to get wet with it and the heat of the streams surprised him when it started soaking into his clothing.
Bleary-eyed, he dropped his head, shutting his eyes and feeling his pulse slowing down a bit, each minute reducing the thudding and subsequently making him feel better... but so much worse. The haze was overcoming him to a point where all he saw was misty energies rising from the jarred plant and animal remains dotted around the classroom, as though they were still alive and mocking him as his own life threatened to leave him. He hadn't done enough damage to pass out just yet, but he felt himself getting sleepier; so tempted to answer the call.
Barely hearing the commotion in the hallway; doors being slammed and feet hitting the floor. When it got closer and the voice called out, his senses were so numb that all he could do was blink slowly, not moving his head from the awkward angle. He hardly felt the hands reaching for him and feeling for breath as the faint tears coated his vision till she was just another mist figure like the rest. Partly opened eyes of sable looked far off, glassy, and if she were to let him linger in that state any longer, he might finally be claimed by the great black figure that had been squeezing onto his heart since last year. Somehow, with what little control over his muscles that he had, he managed a wistful smile at the thought of peace.