Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc or any of the song lyrics used in this story.

Somebody's aching, keeping it all in.
Somebody won't let go of his heart but the truth is,
it's painless, letting your love show.

Skye Edwards – Love Show

Chapter One – I Wish I Could Dream

And just like ships we float through each other's lives
Through the waters of beauty and grace
We will one day dark at the same pace
And give rest to our weary limbs
There is a light placed up in the sky
Like the stained glass time slows down
I wish I could sleep
I wish I could dream…

Umbrellas – Ships

The bustle and hustle of St. Mungo's whirred about Severus Snape's tired brain. The hospital started its business for the day very early in the morning, and unfortunately for Snape, he was a light sleeper. Snape was awakened, groggily and angrily, each morning by the noise coming from the hallway.

He reached up to grope around for the light cord. What a damn hastle, he said to himself, like he did every morning as he woke in the dark. The mediwitches had confiscated all the wands of those in the dangerous ward, and had installed Muggle devices so the patients could get along without wands. The electric lights, complete with cords to pull to turn them on, were one example.

After a few more seconds feeling foolish as he waved his hand around in the area above his head, Snape found the light cord and pulled down sharply. A bright light illuminated the dark room, and Severus' roommate mumbled a bit before turning over to sleep on his stomach. The man could sleep through anything.

Severus' dreams were too haunted by nightmares to make him wishful for sleep, anyway. At least that's what he told himself.

A mediwitch poked her head in the doorway. "Oh, Mr Snape, you're up," she said, as she did every morning.

"Yes. I am. What a surprise," Snape replied dryly.

"I expect you'd like your tea and morning paper?"

"Glad to see you're understanding the routine," he said, rolling his eyes. She didn't appear to understand what he meant, however. He sighed. "Yes, I'd like the tea and paper."

"All right. I'll bring it in just a few moments with your morning dose." She shot him a bright smile before ducking her head away. Listening hard, he heard, over the hospital noise, her heels clicking down the hallway.

She was back in less than a minute, looking as eager as ever to serve him. "Here's the potion, and your tea, and your paper," she said, still smiling. She handed each to him in turn.

"Thank you," he murmured before downing the potion in one gulp. He resisted the urge to make a face at the taste.

The mediwitch got out a piece of parchment and a dictation quill. "Now, tell me, Mister Snape, how do your legs feel today?"

Snape sighed internally. He hated this part of the day. Hell, he hated most parts of every day after what had happened, but thinking about his legs made him relive the terrifying moment when he'd discovered he could no longer move. He could still vividly see the flash of light and feel the heart-wrenching pain that had seemed to last forever; what he remembered more was the moment when the absence of any feeling whatsoever had begun. The mediwitches said it was a temporary paralysis of the lower half of his body; Snape knew, in his heart, he would never recover.

He was supposed to be dead, anyway. Everyone wanted him dead.

"They don't feel," he snarled.

The mediwitch frowned and pursed her lips. "Patient displays anger, as usual," she told her quill, who scribbled her words down on the parchment. "However, he has regained no movement as yet. Will examine again tomorrow."

She stared at him for a long moment and he stared back at her. When he'd finally decided she wasn't going to speak, he reached for the Prophet, but she interrupted him.

"Mister Snape, why are you so angry about your legs?" she asked slowly, carefully placing her bright smile on her lips, as if to reassure him. "Your anger could be impairing the healing process, you know. I mean, you of all people should know that making a potion work involves doing a little more than throwing the ingredients together properly."

When Snape didn't deign to respond, she huffed, "Fine. I'll be back later with your next dose. See if I care if you heal, Snape."

When Snape's hospital roommate, Octavius Yaxley, awoke a few minutes later, he saw Snape sipping from a mug of hot tea as he held the morning Prophet in one hand.

"You're up, Snape," he commented.

"I'm always up, Yaxley," Snape returned, his eyes never leaving the front page of the paper.

"True. And I see you're doing your usual activity: reading."

"I can't live my own life anymore, Yaxley; I might as well see what other people are doing with theirs," said Snape, bored with the conversation already. They had the same one every morning. In fact, Snape did the exact same things every morning, noon, and night—and nobody but him seemed to realize that was going on.

"Still, you could do something else once in a while. Variety is the spice of life."

"I can't walk, Yaxley. My life is spiceless, and I've had plenty of spice already, anyhow."

"Sure ya have." Snape didn't even have to look at Yaxley to know the other man was winking suggestively. Disgusting, Snape thought, returning all focus and interest to the newspaper.

The mediwitch came back at midmorning, late afternoon, early evening, and just before midnight. Each time she gave Snape and Yaxley doses of potion and asked them about their symptoms. Each time Snape growled, "My legs don't feel," and the mediwitch gave him a sad look which made Snape even angrier.

The magic-proof chain linking his ankle to the bedrail was another constant source of Snape's anger. It was such an unnecessary irritant. He scowled at it all day long, having nothing better to do once his paper was read.

Such is the life of a criminal, he mused quietly. Better than Azkaban, anyway.

One morning, as Snape opened his eyes and his awareness of the world returned—he noticed something odd—

He was waking up on his own. He hadn't been awakened—no, his mind was, all by itself, shaking off the effects of a good night's sleep and becoming alert.

A good night's sleep. Snape was completely puzzled. He sat up in bed, stunned, and looked around him.

Yaxley was up, moving about the room quietly. The mediwitch was there too, seeming to help him pack his few belongings.

"Excuse me," Snape began, then cleared his throat. Both Yaxley and the mediwitch looked up.

"You're awake! Did you sleep well, Mister Snape?" asked the mediwitch.

"I did actually," he replied, able, for once, to keep any hint of sarcasm from his voice.

"Thought you might. The Wizengamot reversed its position on not giving Death Eaters dreamless sleep—you know how they wanted you all to suffer. But yesterday for some reason, they gave us a list of people who were allowed to take the potion, and your name was on that list."

"And you didn't tell me you were slipping me a potion?"

"No. You're usually so out of it by the midnight dose, anyway, I didn't think you'd listen if I tried to tell you. Though it'd be easier in the morning, after you'd had a good rest."

"I suppose you were right," Snape consented.

"Well, I'll go and get you the morning dose. Be back in a jiffy!" she said brightly, hurrying out of the room.

"Want to read the Prophet?" asked Yaxley from the corner of the tiny room. "I finished already. Been up for a few hours, just getting ready." He walked over towards Snape's bed and tossed the newspaper gently down on the other man's lap.

"Thanks," Snape said softly, picking up the paper. He scowled at it.

The front page presented a most startling headline: "WAR HERO GRANGER ATTEMPTS SUICIDE."

Snape's mouth dropped open and he couldn't help gasping quietly in shock. "Miss Granger, commit suicide? Never." He shook his head, frowning.

"Thought you might find that a bit interesting," commented his roommate. "You knew her, didn't you?"

"I did know her," Snape replied. "I thought I knew her very well, thought I had her pegged, and this is something I would never have expected."

"Ohho, knew her very well, did ya, Snape?" joked Yaxley.

"No, I don't mean like that," Severus snapped. The conversation stopped momentarily, then a thought suddenly occurred to Snape. "Your trial's today, isn't it? That's why you're packing?"

"Yeah," said Yaxley, shaking his head sadly. "And I'm not ready for it either. Wish I had gotten hit with something more terrible, like you, so I could stay in the hospital forever."

"I won't be here forever. Eventually they'll decide that my legs will never heal. I don't know why they've kept me here this long."

"Well, good luck to ya, then."

"Same to you," Snape said, the civility almost killing him. Octavius Yaxley was hardly worthy of the title Death Eater and so had always annoyed him. But these few hours were the man's last amongst real people, and Snape didn't want to make him suffer—too much.

"They're going to get me on that slaying of the Muggle couple. You know the one?"

Snape didn't recall—how could he possibly remember ever Muggle killing Voldemort had ordered?—but nodded anyway. "And how will they get you? Too many witnesses to your cruelty? Too many bumbling clues left to give away your identity?" Snape prodded. Yaxley was notorious for completely lacking any Death Eater subtlety. The Ministry would probably be easily able to convict him of every single crime he had ever committed.

"No, just one witness to the whole shebang—Hermione Granger. I made her watch me kill her parents, that time the Dark Lord had her in captivity."

"Oh." Now Severus remembered. "Gods, no wonder she tried to kill herself."

The other man laughed loudly, showing his teeth. "You know, they say she went absolutely crazy after her friend Weasley got executed and Potter died slaying the Dark Lord. She was all alone in the world. Wouldn't stop screaming for three days straight. They tried to sedate her, but she just woke up. She was a brilliant, beautiful mess."

And now, thought Severus, just two weeks after the Final Battle, she's trying to kill herself. Must be crazy—or just feeling lonely. And how exactly had he missed this news, all those days reading the papers?

"How did you find out about all this?"

"It's all everyone is talking about, of course. They couldn't put it in the Prophet because they don't want to offend her, you know. She's the only hero they've got left."

"That's interesting," Snape said shortly when he realized Yaxley was waiting for a response.

"Sure is. Saddest thing is that it will take only the witness of a crazy-assed war hero to convict or pardon you. Whatever she says goes."

"Her testimony would pardon someone?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, "and convict 'em. Sure wish she'd been able to kill herself, personally. I might have had a chance to get off then."

Snape snorted rather loudly. Yaxley looked indignant. "Oh please, man, you were so sloppy they'll convict you of crimes you didn't even commit. Granger will only seal the envelope more permanently."

"Well it's not like you have a snowball's chance in hell of getting off either," said Yaxley agitatedly. "You killed Dumbledore. Everyone hates you."

"I know," said Snape, frowning. He no longer wanted to talk to Yaxley. Flipping up his newspaper to act as a wall, he began reading the article about Granger.

"WAR HERO GRANGER ATTEMPTS SUICIDE

Hermione Granger, clever Gryffindor behind the plan to bring down Lord Voldemort and sole survivor among the people who helped to execute her plan, attempted to kill herself last night. At around ten o'clock in the evening she entered her flat, intending never to exit again. She turned on the gas of her stove without lighting it, but before any real damage could be done, an unidentified neighbor stopped by to give her a package. Upon realizing that Miss Granger was home but not answering the door, the neighbor called the proper authorities who were able to break into Granger's flat and save her life.

'Miss Granger was devastated in the aftermath of the Final Battle. Her parents were brutally murdered in front of her eyes and all her friends perished. She is understandably lonely and probably experiencing an immense amount of survivor's guilt,' says a prominent healer at St. Mungo's, Frederick Masterson . 'Her mind is out of control.'

The public sees one side of Miss Granger: war hero. She is world-renowned as brilliant and brave and she has received an outpouring of love from the wizarding community. This love is seemingly not enough. 'Her close companions are gone from this earth forever. Caring from strangers won't fix much,' says Masterson."

Snape paused reading to snort in disgust. "What an utter idiot this man is," he said in Yaxley's generation direction. The other man ignored him. Snape was about to put the paper aside, when a line at the end of the article caught his eye.

"She will spend the next few weeks in St. Mungo's Hospital, recovering. Healer Masterson recommends a round of Shock Spells, but as yet there is no information on Miss Granger's treatment. We do know she will be allowed out several times a week to testify at the ongoing Death Eater Trials."

"She's staying here?" he mused, voice quiet. "Impossible."

"Mr Snape, I have your morning dose," came the voice of the mediwitch, interrupting his thoughts.

Severus reached for the potion. As he did so he asked, "Hermione Granger is staying at St. Mungo's?"

"Yes, she is," acknowledged the mediwitch. "She's on this floor, actually. Too bad you can't walk or you might be able to go see her."

Severus sloshed the potion around in its cup before drinking it quickly. As usual, he worked to push down a shudder of revulsion at the taste. "Ah, I doubt she'd want to see me," he replied. "I just wanted to know if she was really here."

"Well, it's true. Once in a while the Prophet's got to get it right, I s'pose."

Snape didn't respond; he was thinking. The woman sighed and took his cup from his hand, then left him alone, heading over to the other side of the small room to see how Yaxley was doing.

Would she want to see me? he pondered. She might, he answered himself. And her testimony could get me off—could I somehow convince her I'm innocent? Her mind is fragile…