The Truth.

Chapter 4... The Truth

Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. Thank you for the reviews.

Many thanks to Writermerrin for beta reading industriously.

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Hermione felt lightheaded. "It can't be. It's not possible. I saw it with my own eyes. So did Ron and Harry. He's been dead for nineteen years!"

"No, he hasn't. He wasn't dead when you saw him."

"What do you mean?" She moved toward the bed to have a better look. It definitely is Snape.

"How can that be? We saw the memories that he let Harry take just before his death. He died looking at Harry's eyes because they reminded him of Lily's eyes."

"Yes, I know that story; you don't know the rest of it. The truth is, Snape didn't die--even though everyone thought he did. Probably, he himself thought he was dying too; that's why he let Harry see his memories. None of you bothered to check his pulse, did you?" He checked his watch before injecting some potions from the table full of vials into the I.V. bag magically hanging by the bed. "Did Harry even try to save him? You left him to die lying in here." His tone was ice-cold.

The unspoken questions hung in the air. Was he not worth saving? Was he not a human being? And what are you then? How could you leave a man to die and not do anything to help and still call yourself human?

Hermione had the grace to look ashamed. She did not try to provide any of the excuses running through her mind: we had a battle to fight, Horocruxes, the Dark Lord and all that. The truth was, they believed what they had seen, and afterward they had forgotten about him, never worried about him, thought automatically that he had been buried with the others.

Neville continued as he massaged Snape's arms and feet, "No one came looking for him, even though without him there would not have been any victory. He was left to decompose in a broken shack. No one asked why there wasn't a portrait of him. Did you think he wasn't a true Headmaster even if the office had accepted him? Remember how it had denied Umbridge? I'll tell you why there's not a portrait of him--because he's not dead."

"But... Nagini?"

"It bit Arthur too, remember? I was collecting bodies with Seamus and the others; we were taking whomever we could find to the Great Hall. I found him here, lying on the floor like a broken twig--my very own childhood boggart--dreadful, formidable, fearsome Professor Snape!"

"So wrong was the picture, I had to get close. I knelt by him and touched his face to see if it was real. I'd never thought of him as... mortal, you know."

Pausing his narration, Neville let out a hollow laugh. "He was as terrifying as death himself to me once. I closed his blank eyes. As I moved to get up, I sensed a very faint pulse beat, and I jumped up in fear, as if he would take points from me for abusing his person or some such nonsense. You don't know how many times in all these years I have wished he would wake up to do just that..."

Sensing he was speaking to himself more than to her, Hermione decided to hear him out first. There would be time for questions later.

"I checked, and my wand let me know that it was poison. Ironic, isn't it, Potions master of fifteen years dying by poison? I bet he could brew up loads of them blindfolded. Then it clicked in my head, and I searched him for an antidote of any kind he might have had. He was a spy in the enemy camp for so many years, dancing on Voldemort's whim, for Merlin's sake! He must have had something somewhere in those bat wings! And he did. He had a bezoar. I remembered our first lesson--where he had practically crucified Harry--as I shoved it in his mouth and waited for his sneer.

"It didn't happen all that dramatically: he opened his eyes, looked at me, said 'Longbottom!' then fell into a coma." Neville became silent.

"That was nineteen years ago! You have been caring for him all this time? Why haven't you told us? We would have helped, you know. We would have. Harry regretted how he had misjudged Snape; surely naming his son after him would give you a clue."

Neville started pacing. "You must understand, Hermione. I didn't think you would--with your perfect, happy life. So I didn't. I didn't want him to become anyone's burden. He was the closest thing to a parent I ever had whom I could care for, and nobody else would have wanted to. St. Mungo's wouldn't let me care for my parents; they won't release them to me. I have seen how their treatment works; I won't let them treat him that way."

Neville stopped pacing and suddenly became very interested in the wellbeing of his robe by smoothing it over and dusting it out from the assaults of imaginary dust particles. "By the way, I did tell Harry."

"Harry never told me he knew Snape was alive!" She found it hard to believe.

"He didn't say because I Obliviated him," he mumbled.

"WHAT!"

"I had to! You see, he wanted to take him there."

But Neville's rationalization didn't work on Hermione. She shrieked, "That's insane, Neville! Shouldn't you want what's best for him? They've got Healers, facilities--you obviously care about him..."

"I did all the Obliviating, didn't I?"

"What do you mean by 'all the'?"

"What would you call twenty years of it? Only the Healers though. I don't make a practice of randomly altering peoples' memories."

"Neville!" Hermione sat down on the solo chair that Neville had conjured earlier and placed beside Snape's bed; she had to. Neville's crazy. She wondered if the war had made him that way.

"Well, I'm not a Healer. He needs professional care. He's high profile; who knows who will do what to him. Bringing the Healers here had not been much of a trouble as long as they couldn't remember anything about him afterwards. Besides, Hogwarts was his home; it still is, for all of us lost boys. You wouldn't know, you had a happy childhood. Harry might."

"Then why did you Obliviate him? You're not going to do the same to me are you? I am not going to let you mess up my memory. I won't lose a bit of Ron for you." Hermione had her wand out.

"I thought you wanted to help. All I need for you to do is check up on his health."

Hermione thought she should first check up Neville's head. Then again, she understood why the poor thing was so crazy about taking care of Snape. Harry might have wanted to do the same if it was Sirius. Like Snape, Neville had no one else; his grandmum had died shortly after the war, and he never truly had his parents. The only thing he had ever wanted to do for his parents was to take care of them. Somehow in his mind, Neville had substituted this vulnerable Snape in place of his helpless parents. Even if the only attention he had ever gotten from Snape was negative, he was the only adult from Neville's childhood, with exception of Professor Sprout and his grandmum, who did not ignore him or show indifference to his less than brilliant capabilities in some fields of magic.

In a way, he had adopted Snape. Hermione felt proud to be his friend, however misguided she thought his loyalty was. As she checked up on Snape, she couldn't find any fault in the facilities that were provided to him, nor could she find any reason for him to not wake up. He seemed well cared for.

Asking the necessary questions about his treatment, she told Neville that she would help, but it had to be in the hospital wing; Minerva and Harry would have to know. She promised to have their words of honor that it wouldn't involve St. Mungo's.

Hermione was saying, "When you talk to Snape next, tell him I am sorry for how he had been treated." She wanted to tell these things to Snape personally, but her sense of guilt somewhat overwhelmed her, so she said them to her friend instead. "I will do anything to rectify my mistakes, and also how proud I am of you to have done what no one else thought of doing for him."

Neville had stopped her with a raised hand. "What do you mean, 'talk to Snape'? I never talk to Snape. Why would I talk to Snape? He can hardly say any thing back."

"But you need to talk to the coma patients, read to them aloud, it helps."

"Hermione, in case you're forgetting, this is Professor Snape."

"Don't be ridiculous, Neville! You practically raised him for almost twenty years; you can't possibly still be afraid of him!"

"Trust me when I say I am." They left for Minerva's office laughing like in the old days.