Somewhere in the foggy chasms of his mind, Severus Snape realized that he was not dead. The thought swirled and clanked around in his head until the fog was cleared, and his mind was able to grasp this ridiculous concept. Alive? How is that possible? 

Sure enough, he could feel a warm cot under his back, freshly starched sheets covering him, and a fairly painful throbbing in his neck. Despite his attempts to fully return to the land of consciousness, he felt bogged down. Everything he heard sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel, or like he was underwater. 

Well, it goes without saying that this was unacceptable! A good spy needed to be aware of his surroundings at all times. Severus Tobias Snape did not go through all that trouble of staying alive only to be possibly murdered unawares in his bed! As Mad-Eye Moody would have said, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!! 

As his thoughts cleared further, the pain in his neck went from throbbing to a bloody well terrible pounding. His sharp intake of breath only increased the pain twofold.  

“He’s coming to!” Pain had a strange way of clearing the senses. His eyes snapped open, and he saw blinding white. It was everywhere. Despite the agony, Snape couldn’t help but wonder if he actually was dead. People always said there was a white light. That’s only for Heaven, Snape, and we all know you’re not going there! 

He reeked of Wound-Cleaning and Blood-Replenishing potions as well of Essence of Dittany. Even though he was in clean clothes and his wounds constantly attended to, he could still taste the vile tang of blood in his mouth, smell it in his hair, his very skin.Without his consent, his body stiffened and his mind reeled, causing a new blossom of crimson to appear through his bandages. 

“Professor! Just relax! You’re in St. Mungo’s. You’re safe now.” He could hear the hasty footsteps of the Medi-Witches, the soft clink of potion bottles, the soft incantations of a spell. He could feel a warm sensation creeping from his stomach as he was given a Calming Drought. It seeped through his abdominal cavity, through his arms, up his neck, seeping into his muscles and relaxing them. 

As his panic subdued, he couldn’t help but feel that something was very wrong. He blinked his eyes. Yes, he could still see, and The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Give-Him-An-Eternal-Migraine was still hovering anxiously. He took an even breath, proving that despite the pain, he was still able to do so. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Again, no problems arose. He wiggled his toes.... 

..... 

“Potter....” His voice was reduced to a faint, scratchy whisper, but the youth had none the less heard him. Snape made a slight gesture towards his lower extremities. “Why... can’t....” The boy’s face fell, unsure how to begin.

"I'm sorry, sir. We all tried the best we could..." Harry stopped as a Medi-Witch came to inspect the Professor.

“I....see....” Before anything further could be said, the tired-looking woman shooed Potter from his bedside and cast a Dreamless Sleep Potion into his stomach, whisking Snape to a merciful abyss.