Author's Note: Yes! You were right, of course. Now let's see what Hermione will do with our dearest Professor. But first, new character to introduce!

Enjoy, and reviews for the soul.

Chapter 5

I don't know what connection I had entitled myself to have with the man, but as I saw his still and diminished form, a twisted cry escaped my lip and I felt myself walk forward to his bed. Looking down at his sunken face, I remembered his eyes that night, his barely coherent mumbling as life left his body, his hand reaching for Harry's face...the tears, the vial.

"How could you!?" I cried, turning to Harry with my own tears streaming down my face, "How could you not tell us!?"

Ginny was quiet, for once, and her husband walked past her into the room. The man I had considered a friend looked at me and shrugged, "I didn't think anyone would care. Truly care."

I wanted to hit him. To scream at him. Make him realize what a fool he'd been, to demand an explanation, but I choked on my own words.

After a moment I whispered, "You never went to his grave...you never went cause you knew. You named your son after him, but didn't visit his grave."

"I didn't know, at first. I only found out four years ago…when I became Head of the office, when I visited the prison for the first time."

"No," Ginny said loudly, "Don't you say it, don't you dare tell me they kept him in that place, in Azkaban! Him!?"

Harry nodded slowly and moved to the other side of the bed where a bouquet of white lilies stood in a vase, "I was beyond myself when I found out...security, I was told. My word wasn't good enough, they said. Couldn't be sure, it was agreed. I had him moved with the others."

Four years ago, which meant that Snape had been kept in Azkaban for nearly a decade before Harry found him. As if his life hadn't been hard enough.

"How is he even alive?" I asked, noticing the angry red scars of Nagini's bite along his neck.

Harry shook his head, "Only he'd be able to tell us that. I read the reports, once I was allowed to. It seems he made it out of the shack after we left him. The Aurors who went looking for his body found a trail of blood. They hunted him down, there was so much chaos...they thought he was running away. And that was proof enough of his guilt for them."

"So he was awake when they found him?" Ginny asked.

"Seems so, he fought back. I don't think he was thinking straight, like a wounded animal, he lashed out at them. The three Aurors who caught him, they didn't go gently. They didn't know what Snape had done, at that time, they thought they were catching a dangerous Death Eater."

"They put him in this coma," I said, "They tried to kill him."

My friend nodded and sighed, his shoulders slumped and he suddenly seemed as old as Snape, older even. He looked down at the man who had, in a way, saved us all, "I have no idea what spell they used. I went to talk to them, ten years later, but it was too late to check their wands. And none of them could really recall how the fight had begun and ended, or who cast what."

There was a chair in the room, next to Snape's bed, and I sat down. On the nightstand I saw a few books stacked up together, science text and some potions magazines; someone was reading to him, perhaps even Harry.

Looking around the room, I noted that although the decor of the other rooms had been warm and neat, they had still had the sterile feel of a hospital. Not so with this one.

Thick dark green curtains had been hung in front of two large windows, where only slivers of sunlight filtered through. The single bed had silver covers and a black duvet, and instead of metal the frame was solid ebony wood. As was the chair I now sat in, a matching set along with the bedside table. The walls weren't white, but dark brown, and four candles flickered warmly on the wall on either side of the bed.

It felt, homey. As if someone cared, and cared a lot. Reading to Snape, I might imagine of Harry, but home decorating? I noticed an empty frame hanging next to the door, with perfect view of the room and its inhabitant. And it clicked.

"McGonagall knows, doesn't she?" I asked, thinking of Dilys.

"Yes, she was the first one I went to after finding out. She helped organized this whole Wing with her ties to one of the St-Mungo's directors on the board. Some cousin or so."

A lot of it made sense now, yet the secrecy of it all confused me, "But why keep it hidden, Harry? He's a national hero."

"No, Hermione, you think he's a hero. To the rest of the world, he's a Death Eater with a conscience at best, an elaborate liar who fell victim to his true master at worst. He killed people, good people, innocent women and husbands and children. There is no forgiveness for that, not ever."

The wind and anger and emotions had left Ginny, and she now approached her husband and slipped her hand in his, "Oh Harry, you could have at least told me."

He shrugged, "Maybe. But you were pregnant at the time, about to pop with little Albus. I didn't want to upset you, besides, you never would have allowed me to pick the name had you known Snape was alive."

"Professor Snape," I chided, my remark automatic, random. We stared at each other and chuckled for an awkward moment.

We left the room a few moments later, blinking into the brightly lit corridor and closing the door behind us.

"I guess there is no point in asking what's been done to try and heal him?" I asked.

"Everything. I'm not exaggerating, I've contacted and reached out to every single expert around the world which might have been able to help. From fully fledged professionals, to astrologists and faith healers."

Ginny scoffed, "How many did you have to obliviate?"

"As few as possible," Harry said, completely serious, which sent a shiver down my back, "We hid Snape's face for most, and only a few locals were brought over which would have had enough knowledge to piece the story together. We tried to keep anyone who'd recognized him away from here."

"So Hannah was really a mistake then?" I asked, remembering the conversation from a few days ago.

"Quite. But don't worry, I wouldn't have let them obliviate her."

"No," Ginny said, "Only a bunch of strangers and healers. Merlin's beard Harry, this is some serious news."

"It's not news Ginny, you can't publish this."

"People have a right to know."

Harry groaned, but held his tongue. The two working nurses passed us by and gave us a nod as we headed towards the exit.

We walked in silence until we reached the floo room. I felt exhausted and although I still had multiple burning questions, my mind needed time to absorb this whole story.

One thing was left to be said however, "Harry's right, Ginny, I'm not sure the public would be ready to deal with this. It would open a wound so old, so badly healed...people would lose trust in the ministry all over again."

"And the ministry would only have itself to blame," she hissed, lowering her voice and a family appeared from one of the fireplaces.

"Maybe, but do you really want to put the lives of those patients at risk? Send them back to Azkaban?" More people stepped into the room, a few of them spotted us and began to point fingers, recognizing Harry Potter, "Just... think about it, please."

She did not seem very happy with the prospect, but she nodded nonetheless. Turning to Harry, I asked if I would be allowed to visit Snape again. He saw nothing against it, though he warned me not to get my hopes up.

"I know you Hermione, don't get yourself into a dead end project. Don't make him your next NEWT crusade."

I lied and told him that I had no such plans.

I don't think he believed me, I guess he'd have been a terrible Auror if he'd bought it. But still we parted ways with smiles and mentions of Christmas which I decidedly avoided.

I stumbled home like a train wreck, fell into bed and passed out with a heavy weight in my heart.

My sleep was riddled with periods of full consciousness, nightmares and the feeling of my mental gears grinding into action. As soon as I awoke I already had the basis of a plan and my first stop had to be St-Mungo's again.

Too much of it felt like a dream, a crazy sleep deprived deluded dream. I had to see the West Wing again, alone and unhindered by the frantic emotions of the new discovery. I had to see Professor Snape.

My passing was not hindered by any guard this time, the Auror in disguise smiled at me as I approached the entrance and bid me a good morning. The change of attitude from threats to warm greetings was unnerving.

Inside, the hall looked much like it had the day before. Quiet, bright, tranquil once could say. Unlike most of St-Mungo's, each patient here had been giving a single room. As I stood looking into the first room, at the heavily scarred man, a man with a heavy scottish accent called me gently from behind, "Miss Granger?"

I turned to find a man with a graying ponytail, smiling down at me through a well kept beard. He wore dark purple nurse's robes, "My name is Donavan McGonagall, I was told to expect you," he continued, holding out his hand.

My brain needed a moment to process the information thrown at me, I couldn't quite decide which question to ask first, the nurse answered all of them before I could speak, "Mr. Potter left a note after your departure yesterday, something along the lines of if I know Hermione, she'll visit you at six a.m. sharp with a written down list of questions. And yes, I am related to the Headmistress of Hogwarts. I get that last one a lot."

I was still shaking his hand. It was stupid to focus on it, but I found him quite attractive. I was blushing furiously within a heartbeat and pulled myself away, clearing my throat, "Yes, I see. Thank you, I do actually have…" I dug into my pockets and took out a hastily scribbled list I had done over breakfast, "I have a few things to discuss."

"I am completely at your disposal, ma'am."

I peered up at him through my eyelashes and saw him smirk, a handsome man who knew he was handsome. Making a huge effort to keep my own smile in check, reminding myself where I was and why, I took a deep breath and began chipping away at the mountain in my thoughts.

"Let's start with the basis, why are they all kept separated?"

"Security, on the nye impossible chance one of them should ever wake up, the rooms are set up to seal themselves, like a prison. It would be disastrous if more than one should share a room, at best it would give them an ally, at worst a hostage."

That made a lot of sense, and warranted the extra cost. I pulled out a quill from my robe and waved in the air along with the parchment, as we continued to speak my notes and remarks were noted down. Not quite automatically, like Skeeter's blasted tools, but whenever I focused on the quill. It had required quite a bit of practice, as the multitasking had at first been too much, but years spent in the Department of Ministries library had perfected the technique.

Donavan, as he insisted I call him, complimented me on the spell work in between two questions. I blushed again and told myself to get a grip. Now was really not the time to start flirting or paying attention to flirting.

I was at it for hours. We even had tea in between, in a small kitchen built specifically for the West Wing employees so that they wouldn't have to come in and out of security. Because there was heavy security, as I was told. The staff was checked and searched every morning, for weapons, spell influence and even potential recording devices. I thought of my smartphone, weighting against my thigh, and wondered if I should go apologize for taking it with me and hand it in. But it seemed I had gained special privileges to even be here, so I held my tongue.

It was early afternoon, we'd been talking for nearly four hours, when Donavan scratched at his beard and said, "Miss Granger, not to pry or pretend to know you very well. But you've been to every patient's room twice now, asked about the ailment, the cures attempted, some questions even more than once. I do believe you are avoiding that door," and he pointed to the only closed door in the West Wing.

Staring at Professor Snape's room, I sighed. My parchment, now five times as long as it was when I had brought it in, dipped in the air behind me. For a second I nearly asked the nurse if the Professor was awake, because the idea of barging into his chambers without permission...it seemed to wrong. Like the ultimate breach of privacy, done to the last man on earth to deserve more pain or humiliation.

"Come on, he won't mind you being there. I think it does him good, Minerva attends to him every day she is able. She hates the idea of him being alone in here."

I nodded and allowed him to lead me to the door, which he opened gently, "Afternoon Headmaster," Donavan said, which shocked me, "There is someone here to see you again, I believe you're well acquainted. She came by yesterday, but might be you did not notice."

The nurse's tone was friendly, meant to be comforting perhaps, but I couldn't help feeling as if he was mocking the patient. Or me. He'd spoken a few lines to one or two of the Death Eaters in the ward earlier, but I thought it...a slip of the tongue. But here he was, chatting away and explaining every little thing he did as he moved about.

He noticed me standing there at the entrance, watching him somewhat dumbfounded, "It's as good for me as it is for them, Miss Granger. Working with unconscious patients takes it toll, contact is important and reminds us they are humans, not just stuffed dolls. And as said earlier, we don't know what most of these patients are suffering from, some of them might very well be conscious, but unable to move."

A shiver ran down my spine, what a terrifying thought. To be awake, but frozen, for years. Like a body binding spell gone wrong, but no one to know, no one to break it. Behind me my quill scribbles quickly.

"I'm sorry," I said, "It's just, it's all...much."

"It is. I'll leave the two of you alone, you have much to catch up on I'm sure. I'll be doing some of my daily duties now, but will be there for any further questions you might have."

I nodded and thanked him as he left, closing the door ever so quietly behind him as he did. Once he was gone I let out a deep breath and reached for quill and paper, needing my hands occupied to temper my nervousness.

But there was no note to make here. I stared at the bed, my eyes roaming from the thick wooden frame, to the comfortable looking duvet, to his hands... thin, elongated fingers with bulging knuckles, lying on either side of him. Some dark hair over the back of his hand, a small wrist, disappearing into a black silky sleeve which rested over his arms, hiding much of their shape.

His shoulders, not so very broad as they had seemed under his robes, the collar was low and left open, so unlike the professor I had known. But the buttons had remained, though the first two were popped open, I saw a trail of tiny little black dots from his neck down to his chest where the blanket hid the rest. On his bare neck were the scars, still so red, angry, as if made yesterday. Tiny little red dots, like his black buttons, aligned perfectly to form the mouth of the monster that had killed...nearly killed him.

A long neck, and a small head, resting on a couple of large silver pillows, his hair combed and washed, hanging like a black halo around his head. His face was still much how it had been, if perhaps thinner, older. Someone seemed to have fixed his nose, the crook was no longer there, making it only marginally smaller. His thin lips were closed shut with a determined downward angle, but his frown was gone, giving his face a calm expression.

His eyes closed, obviously. Tiny bulges under black eyebrows, long eyelashes over his cheeks. I expected them to open, him to stare at me, yell, deduct 100 points from Gryffindor!

"Miss Granger!"

I screamed, jumped, quill and parchment went flying and my struggles to get my wand out resulted it in limpy falling to the ground. My heart beating at a hundred miles an hour, I turned around to find Headmistress Dilys in her portrait.

"Oh, I am terribly sorry dear, did I shock you?"

I couldn't speak, my breathing ragged, but I did manage to give the old healer a very determined glare. The Hufflepuff wasn't deterred however, and her smile returned quickly as I began to pick up my things, "I did very much hope you'd make your way here my dear, terribly sorry about the lie. I'm afraid the elves are rubbish at construction."

It took me a long moment to figure out what she was babbling on about, but then I vaguely remembered her comments at Hogwarts and waved a hand, "No harm done."

"I shall think not, it was about time someone with a right head on their shoulders come over. Not that the healers at St-Mungo's aren't esteemed and unrivaled, but poor Severus doesn't interest them much. He's a chore, really. Even little Donavan, I'd thought that as a fellow Slytherin, he'd pick up the pace a tad, but alas…"

"Professor McGonagall is related to a Slytherin?" I asked, my childish prejudice still quite alive an well, for which I blamed none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Yes, I'm sure you've noticed. He's not quite the bashing your head against the wall until it cracks type, that's more your area."

I rolled my eyes, but decided not to pursue this line of conversation. Instead I took the same seat I had the night before, it gave me perfect view of both Dilys and the professor.

"You were asked to watch over him, by the Headmistress?" it was a rhetorical question, really.

"Yes, after she found out. Had my picture moved here from the lobby where I usually hung. Lonely I have to say, I used to see all their faces...happy, and sometimes sad. New babies, dying elders, I was able to greet them all. Now it's just him."

That did sound like quite the punishment, I had to admit. A portrait's existence was a dreary one.

"Sounds like you also see him as a chore," I said after some time, making the old woman blush and huff and put both hands on her hips until she deflated somewhat.

"You might be right, my dear, you might have a point."

I interviewed Dilys on a variety of topics related to Snape in particular. From who had come to visit, to which healers Harry had brought in, to how he was treated by the staff and his current medical routine. Unfortunately most of the answers simply depressed me. Every single expert seemed to have been contacted, every known cure had been administered, but Professor Snape had never shown any sign of improvement.

"Nor of deterioration, that's as important! He lives, and is doing better than anyone could have predicted," Dilys said, as if urgently needing to give me positive input. Maybe she was afraid I'd give up when faced with the bleak prospect of this challenge.

It's a person, I chided myself, not a Sudoku puzzle.

One question, though absolutely unrelated to the case, interested me, "Dilys, why is there a portrait of the Professor in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts? I read that only deceased Headmasters are displayed."

"Ah, yes, well the truth is that no one knows for sure. The portrait which Snape had done came up on the night of Voldemort's defeat, but it fell when Minerva learnt of his survival."

"Wait, so the castle took its knowledge from the Headmistress?"

"From its inhabitants, most likely, portraits and otherwise. It might feel sentient, but it's still an unmoveable pile of rocks, it gets its awareness from the people within."

"But the portrait is still there, I saw it."

"Brute force, pure and simple, à la Grynffindor. Minerva threatened to hex the castle's bollocks off often enough for it to allow her to replace the painting. She told me it had so many male Headmasters in its past, that the threat actually served quite well. Honestly I wish I would have thought of that…"

I smiled at the thought.

Silence fell over the room, and my attention went from the portrait to Professor Snape's still form. I couldn't say how much time went by, but when I turned again to the portrait, Dilys had gone. Finally alone, I allowed myself to say what I realized at that moment I had wanted to say since seeing him…

My fingers reached for his hand, hesitant, as afraid of him waking up as I was to find them cold and dead. Neither happened, I took first his little finger, gently lifting it up with my left hand, and then covered it entirely with both and squeezed gently. Tears were already rolling down my face as I hung my head and tried to croak out the words.

"I am so...so sorry. We shouldn't have left you, we should have stayed. I didn't know," I looked up at his face, tears blurring my vision, "I should have known, but it was...you...you were dead. The blood, there had been too much blood. I swear to you, if I would have known…"

It sounded like excuses, so many of them. What was it that Harry had said? There was no forgiveness for these people, not ever.

He was right, some things were beyond forgiveness.

I sniffed loudly, disgustingly, wiped my face on my shoulder and took in a deep breath. Squeezing his hand again, I found my voice, "I am going to fix this. I promise."