The evening sun was most unrelenting behind the sheer white curtains of Snape's room. The large windows, not quite concealed by them, watched on either side of his unconscious body like guardians. Hermione sat in the chair by his bed, her right arm and head laid upon the mattress near his knees. She had tried unsuccessfully to nap as the hospital staff made a point of noisily coming and going at all hours. Unable to understand her devotion, trying to push her from that space. Hoping she would just go away and allow the poor man to die. But Hermione had fought hard for this privileged place and would not relinquish it for anyone.

She had gone to Snape in the shrieking shack to say her goodbyes and bring his body back. Hermione had the utmost respect for the brilliant man. Especially after seeing the story in the pensive that Harry had shown her. Folding his hands gently on his chest, she saw Snape's eyes flutter. Hermione jumped into action giving him blood replenishers and pouring on dittany. She wrapped his wounds tightly, suddenly glad for the book on healing she had memorized over the long months on the run. Hermione and the house elf had brought him barely breathing to Hogwarts. She had hope, but knew time was their enemy.

Madam Pomfrey saw at first glance he had to go to St. Mungos immediately. Her skills and resources were not adequate for this terrible task. The years of taking care of first the boy, and then the man who was Severus Snape, showed in her eyes. Eyes, that did not have hope, were saying their own goodbye.

When they arrived at St. Mungos there was at first a reluctance to help him. It was felt by most of the staff that he was a death eater and partly to blame for the hospital wards being filled to overflowing with the injured and dying. Hermione let them all know, in no uncertain terms, that he was a hero and demanded they fulfil their oaths to help anyone who came to them. As a member of the golden trio, they reluctantly agreed to her demands and did their best to keep him alive as she watched. Hermione had gotten him this far by a shear act of will and she'd be damned if she'd let him just drift away without a fight. He had to survive. He was owed a life of his own after all he'd done for others. Yet fear filled her heart with each setback and sad face that came and went from the room.

They gave him more blood replenishers, pain potions, restorative positions and everything else they could to try to get his system to heal itself. The results were inconclusive at best. The antivenom that Snape had created for Mr. Weasley was administered quickly and had saved his life for what it was worth. The damage done by Nagini was catastrophic. Not just the physical damage from her fangs. The poisonous venom also broke down tissue. Injected so close to the brain it had ravaged a part of his nervous system. They all agreed the injuries were too extensive and he was not expected to survive. In the end he was stable but comatose. A mere shadow of life still clinging to him.

When they first took him into a room, she pleaded with him. "Please try sir. You must try to come back to us Professor. We still need you." But there has been no change in his condition for many weeks now. She knew any stimulation at this point might be helpful for him. So, she often read The Prophet or a book to him to pass the time. Humming a simple tune from her childhood as she paced about the room to relieve the monotony. The music reminded her of her parents soothing her when she was sick or afraid.

Sometimes she would speak to him about her hopes for the future and life after the war. She told him of her nightmares and unfounded fears that made her jump at certain sounds and kept her constantly on edge. What she had done to her parents and her need to restore them. Why Ron had broken any romantic connections with her after she had refused his marriage proposal. When the war was over and he'd needed to help George at W3, he wanted to start a family right away. But being a war bride was never what Hermione wanted out of life. They had remained friends of a sort, but it would never be the same between them.

It was very cathartic for her to be able to talk about her experiences in the war. To think of all the times Snape saved her, and her friends' lives. The powerful professor became a reassuring presence, and Hermione practically lived in his room. She felt more at ease there than any other place in the world. She had made it her duty to watch over him, but there were others that would come and take a turn at his bedside. Harry, Minerva, Poppy.

Even Draco had taken a turn on occasion. Snape will be so very proud of his godson when he wakes. No longer standing in the shadow of his father's ridiculous ideas. Draco had grown up overnight and into his role as head of the family. He was of great comfort to Narcissa, now that Lucius is in Azkaban for two years. Even with all his great wealth and influence he could not escape a prison sentence like Draco had. She and Harry had testified on Draco's behalf. With that and his age, he had been acquitted.

The press had come. Oh yes, they had come so they could be the first to report on 'the tragic but most deserved demise of a death eater spy. They had constantly harassed Hermione in St Mungos entryway for news of him, and what would happen to 'the body' when he died. She would chase them from the building with stinging hexes and colorful references to their parentage.

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The nurses came in for his minimum daily 'therapy'. Hermione stepped away from him to allow them space to work and to jot down in her notebook exactly who and what they were doing. Her sharp eyes always on guard. Nutrient and healing potions were poured into him. The bandages on his throat were replaced, (At least the wound was nearly healed and almost invisible). They rotated him on his sides every few hours. Every other day they would change his sheets and he would receive a full body massage and sponge bath.

She blushed but would not look away for fear they would do something unthinkable to him again. He wore no hospital gown, only a sheet and blanket to keep him warm. Hermione knew he would be mortified beyond measure to have strangers taking such liberties with his person. She could easily imagine his fury at being so exposed as they replaced the bedding. Yet she felt he was a bit more human now. The black, buttoned, woolen armor that was so much of his persona had been removed. He lay exposed and revealed as just a man. Flesh and blood like all the rest.

Her brief glimpses of the wizard's body, she did not linger or stare, showed he'd remained remarkably fit. The well-defined muscle betrayed his strength from lifting cauldrons and walking the castle's stairways every night. Snape's signature raven hair now clean and shiny thanks to Hermione. The silky strands fell to his shoulders, a dramatic contrast to his pale skin and many scars. The angular lines of cheeks and chin looked as if they were carved in marble if not for the long dark lashes that defined his eyes. Snape's arms were laid palms down outside of the sheet when the bed was redressed. The sparse hair on them, his chest, legs and shoulders were ebony strands with a gentle curl. The workers were so clinical and detached from what they were doing. Didn't they understand who he was? Couldn't they see from his scared body what he'd accomplished? He deserved so much more than their cursory actions and professional aloofness.

Hermione took a deep breath and stretched out the stiffness from sitting so long. It seemed no amount of cushioning charms could make this any easier. Harry had configured a comfortable cot for her in the room, but she preferred the chair at his bedside in case he moved.

When they left the room without even acknowledging her, she looked at the man in front of her. His face was still pale and silent. Would he ever recover enough to understand that the sacrifices he had made, the torture he'd endured, the loneliness he'd suffered, had not been in vain. His actions had helped save them all from death and enslavement. The wizarding world at large had finally seen beyond the snarky, evil-tempered man to the loyal spy beneath it all. Hermione smirked, remembering how she had made them see.