When he came to, Potter and Voldemort were locked in some epic battle that no one wanted to interrupt. A blood red shield pulsed around them, little black veins pulsing every time one of them scored a hit. Both were starting to show signs of wear, Potter especially looked drawn and weak. There were precious few left. Most seemed to be trying to make sense of all the dead and wounded. God, he never expected there to be so many gone.

He pushed himself up to his knees, turning to see the face of the late Lucius Malfoy. He died the same way he lived, eyes open, but not quite seeing. There was Nott, insufferable bastard. He recognized members of the Order scattered amongst the dead. His eyes rested on the small bundle still in the centre of the floor. God please let her be alive. Please don't let him have failed again. He was supposed to protect her, let her still breathe. He crawled across the stone, ignoring the calls of the wounded around him.

A pair of boots appeared in his vision, shiny and black. "You disgust me. To think I used to look up to you." The slow deliberate drawl of Draco Malfoy fell on his ears.

Snape pushed himself to his feet, "There were better role models Draco. Perhaps you would have done well under someone else's tutelage."

"But her?" the young man's voice rose and cracked. "That's the first thing you think of? She's filth, nothing! Help us turn the tides!"

"I made a promise," he stared down his long nose at the boy in front of him. He used to have such hopes for this boy, the dreams that he could turn out differently. The mussed blonde hair and black smeared face reminded him that he had failed at yet another endeavour. Draco Malfoy was exactly like his father.

"So what? For Merlin's sake, come back for her later, she'll still be here," Draco choked off, pointing his wand at the body of Hermione Granger.

"I'm so sorry I failed you child." Snape drew his own wand, "God I failed you all." He'd failed all his Slytherins. He'd raised them, formed them, shaped them into the backstabbing murders they'd become. He had created this new generation of Death Eaters himself. There were moments when he was proud of them, eager to show off what he had done. One trait reminiscent of his school days-the insufferable know it all, eager to brag about his latest triumph. Now, all he felt was guilt, endless waves of guilt for not warning them of the ending to their young lives.

"You failed us?" the younger man's tone was incredulous, "How on earth could you have failed us now? You are everything…"

Snape watched the horrified realization cross Draco's face. He was surprised the young man never figured it out before. He could have been so much more that a casualty on the battlefield. "I am so sorry Draco," he raised his wand, "Avada Kedavra."

Draco dropped like a stone, eyes still wide with disbelief. He could not have killed him, it was entirely true. A good stunning charm would have knocked young Malfoy out for the rest of the battle. But he wasn't going to subject anyone to a life in Azkaban, even Lucius Malfoy's son. There were some things worse than death. It was his redemption, if he could save one confused soul from a Dementor's kiss.

He made his way over to her body, he hope that it wasn't a body yet. But Ron Weasley beat him to her.

"'Mione?" his voice was hoarse and grating. "Hermione?" He cradled her limp form, "Please wake up."

The next bang knocked him back on his ass, the head cracking against the stone. He stared at the old wooden ceiling, willing the stars to clear from his vision so he could do something, anything to help. He couldn't fail yet. He turned his head slightly, looking over to where Potter and the Dark Lord had been fighting. Potter stood tall amongst the wreckage, Merlin he looked like his father. The smoke curled around him as he stared, amazed at the remains around him. It was over, good emerged triumphant.

The muscles in his face burned and he reached up to touch them in surprise. Only then discovering that he was smiling for the first time in years. It was over, finally finished. Entirely over. No more lying, no more pain, no more waking up every day with a sudden lurch. Finally, peace. He rolled over onto his stomach, meeting Weasley's eyes.

"We have to get her to St. Mungo's," Ron stood up slowly.

"Then go," he pushed himself to his feet, "I'm not stopping you."

"You never could," Ron Disparated with a small pop.

Harry walked over to his old professor, "Well Snape, looks like we're the last men standing."

"So it would seem Mr. Potter."

"How was she?" the young man asked quietly.

"She was perfect, as always. Gave a remarkably good attempt at strangling Him before Lucius pulled her away."

"That's our Hermione," Harry's voice sounded hollow. "Is she going to be all right?"

"I don't know." He didn't like to mince words, "They weren't exactly showering her with roses and poetry."

"She'll be all right," Harry's voice was determined, "She has to be."

At the Aurors' insistence, he had allowed himself to be carted off to St. Mungo's for a check up. He knew nothing was wrong, other than the odd bump and bruise, but he was more interested in finding Miss Granger. He Apparated in front of the gates and walked through the crowded hallways to the Intensive Unit.

Potter and the Weasley clan were already sitting in the waiting area, all of them looking worse for the wear. The youngest male Weasley glared at him accusingly, "You were supposed to protect her."

"She's still alive, isn't she?" he pointed out.

"Barely," Ron snarled. His older brothers held his arm so he couldn't get up, "Probably no thanks to you."

"I'm fairly certain that the Order didn't add any stipulations about how she was to be returned, Mr. Weasley," he sneered.

The uproar that followed was more than he expected. Both twins were hanging onto their younger brother, holding him in his chair. Ginny hung onto Harry, digging her heels into the carpet. Her voice cut above the rest of the din, "Get out! You don't belong here."

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," a harried looking Medi-Witch came around the corner, "If you could just come this way. We're trying our best, really, but she simply won't…if you could just…"

"We're coming." With a final glare at their old potions professor, the two friends stalked out of the waiting area.

"Master Snape?" the Medi-Witch offered tentatively.

"Yes," his voice sounded surly, even to his own ears.

"Master Dumbledore said that you should come back for a quick check up. You can come along now, if you'd like."

"That would be most agreeable. The less time spent here, the better," he sneered at the rest of the company before sweeping after the Medi-Witch.

He was just finishing fixing his buttons when he heard screaming in the corridor.

"…dead! You're dead!" Hermione was crouched in the corner of the corridor, hands over her ears. "Get out of my head!"

"Hermione we aren't dead," Ron pleaded with her, trying to pull her hands off her ears.

She ignored them, continuing to crouch in the corner, rocking back and forth. "Get out, get out."

In a few quick steps, he was down the hall and back where he belonged. "Get out of the way," Snape roughly shouldered them aside and knelt in front of her. "Miss Granger, pull yourself together!" he snapped. There was still blood batting her hair to her forehead and the bruise on her cheek was starting to turn a violent purple.

She froze, eyes slowly moving up to meet his. "Sir? You aren't dead…" her forehead furrowed in confusion.

"Precisely Miss Granger. And I can assume that you came to that conclusion logically?"

"Yes sir," she smiled slightly, "If you died, you wouldn't get to deduct any more points from Gryffindor."

His lips quirked up at her reply, "Quite true. And you know that I never lie to my students?"

"Of course sir, you never lie." Her fathomless cinnamon eyes looked at him trustingly. He swallowed hard, Merlin why did she have to look at him like that. No one ever looked at him like that. Disdain, disgust, those were the looks he was used to seeing. But no one ever looked at him like that.

"Then you must believe me when I tell you that Misters Potter and Weasley aren't dead at all, that was merely Voldemort's idea of fun. Everything is over now, Mister Potter remains standing," he tucked a stray curl behind her hair, his hand lingering a moment too long.

"D'you promise sir?"

"I promise Miss Granger. Now let them patch you up."

She pushed herself to her feet, still gazing up at him. "Thank you sir."

With one last curt nod, he swept down the hall. Away from those innocent, too trusting eyes.