Title: Breaking Apart

Author: Nemesis

Feedback: Please!

Pairing: HP/SS

Rating: R

Summary: Harry's just left Severus. Severus is left to deal with his demons… and there isn't a lot of time left.

Part I

And my words will be here when I'm gone
As I'm fading away against the wind
And the words you left me linger on
As I'm failing again now, never to change this

And I'm sympathetic,
never letting on I feel the way I do
As I'm falling apart again at the seam

-- "Sympathetic," Seether

Severus sighed as memories crashed over him, burning through his mind, body, and soul. His five-year, often volatile, relationship with Harry had just ended, leaving him with nothing but empty memories and a bursting heart.

He finished writing his thoughts down, carefully rolling up the parchment again and tying it, tossing it into the box with all of his other poetry. Few people knew that he loved to write poetry. No one knew that he was any good. He sat down at his desk and wrote two letters: one to Harry and one to Albus. Both to be delivered the day he died.

He knew the day would have to be soon. Severus' health was failing, the poisons Voldemort had fed him so long ago finally starting to kill him. He was still trying to find a cure, although he had all but given up. Every day of experimentation was empty and hollow, trying to defeat something that was undefeatable.

"My dearest Albus," he began, starting with the easier letter. Albus was his closest friend, a father figure, and a mentor. Their relationship was often fraught with Severus' frustration, but in the end, it was always Albus who had pulled Severus through. Always Albus who went after Severus and rocked him to sleep after the most difficult rounds with the Death Eaters, singing softly, horrendously off-key. Always Albus who had understood him like no other did. It was Albus who gave him a chance to live again.

"My dearest Albus,

If you are reading this, then I am dead, having finally succumbed to Voldemort's poisons. He has killed me after his death, something he always wanted to do if he could not achieve my death during his life. I sincerely hope you will be able to find another to fill my position in Hogwarts, although I seriously doubt I will be missed by many. The student's cabinet that holds ingredients commonly (and foolishly) regarded as safe is unlocked and in the left corner in the back. The rest of them are locked. The keys are under my bed whenever they are not with me. I will have placed them there prior to my expiration. Do try to hire someone who is somewhat competent.

I am sorry for every mistake I have ever made in my life…"

Severus stopped for a moment. It was impossible to continue. Writing the letter made his impeding death all the more real. It made every mistake he had made in his life too real. It made his life too real. He took a deep, steadying breath and pressed on. The disease was killing him, slowly but surely, and if he did not write the letter today, then he would have to write it tomorrow. There was no point in putting it off till later. He was nearly dead, anyway. Maybe he could come back as a ghost and teach Potions to those dunderheads. He chuckled almost hysterically, an edge of desperation creeping into his laugh. Sighing resignedly, he reluctantly picked up his quill and continued writing.

"I am sorry for every mistake I have ever made in my life. I know my apology is not enough, it can never be enough. I never told you everything I did under Voldemort. The people I tortured. The people I raped. The people I killed. The people whose lives I've destroyed forever. I remember every face that I saw before I raised my wand and said those fatal words. I remember every person I ever killed, every scream of pain from the Cruciatus, every salty tear from those I've raped. And only you know how much I cried when I came back, when I admitted I had been wrong. Those tears I shed could do nothing to save everyone's lives. The lives that I had already destroyed.

I want to thank you for every chance you gave me to rebuild my life. If it were not for you, I do not know where I would be right now. Probably six feet under or in Azkaban, like most of Voldemort's supporters. I don't know what I did to deserve all of the second chances you gave me, but I remain grateful.

Harry – Potter – and I have finally ended our relationship after a string of arguments and fights. I want you to know that I have always loved him like no other, wanted him to be mine forever, and somehow, I could not make it work. Under my bed there are three boxes. One is for you, I will get to it later. The other is for him. It's green and gold, and is full of items I have always wanted to give to him and never had the nerve to myself. Please give it to him. Don't open it – it's warded to only accept Harry's magical signature.

Also under my bed is a box for nobody and for everybody. It is full of my poetry. I would like you to organize them by date (I have already dated them), put them together in anthology, and have them published. I do not want to have it published while I live, but after my death, I want people to know. Also in there are two journals, both carefully edited. The first is about being a Death Eater, the second is about being a spy. I would like you to publish these as well, to finally let people know exactly what went on in there.

Under my bed is also a box for you. In there is everything I have never been able to say and never been able to give. You will easily recognize this box – it has the picture of a lemon drop on it, the treat I despised the most and that you love the most. I want you to know that I cannot express my gratitude for everything you have ever done for me. I want to thank you for being my father when my own father could not put down the bottle long enough to notice he had a son. He drank himself into an early death, but not before he killed my mother and killed my soul. I want to thank you for giving life to my soul, and I want to apologize from running from your protection into a world I could not handle and could not be a part of. As infuriating as you could be, you were the only one who ever understood me fully, every wish, every desire, everything, and I will never be able to thank you properly. My words, although they will be here when I am gone, are never enough to say everything I could never say for thirty-three years, ever since I set foot in Hogwarts, nothing more than a terrified little boy.

Severus Snape"

Severus finished the letter with a flourish, tears streaming down his face. The quill clattered out of his hand, falling onto the floor forgotten. He angrily wiped the tears away.

He hauled himself up, heading to his sitting room, coughing all of the way. His heart tightened. He knew he had little time left. He would miss everything, as surprising as that might have seemed.

He would write Harry's letter later. Writing Albus' letter had been difficult for him, and he could not handle trying to write another letter like that. He couldn't handle thinking about Harry.

Fate, as usual, did not seem to care.

The words crashed over Severus, Harry's last words, Harry's words from every fight they ever had.

"Fine! Don't give a shit about the fact that I have needs! Go to hell for all I care!"

"You're arrogant, stuck-up, and unforgiving. Why would anyone stay with you?"

"I loved you once. But not anymore. How can I love someone like you?"

Severus cried, harder and harder. That last remark had hurt the most. The thought that Harry had loved him once was worse than the thought that Harry had never loved him.

"I hate you. You destroyed everything I once was in an attempt to build another you. I'm leaving, forever. I don't ever want to see you again. You destroyed me, and for that, I can never forgive you."

That had been right before Harry left, storming out angrily.

Harry's leaving had broken his will. It was that moment that Severus stopped fighting the poison, stopped trying to find a cure.

His life was full of disappointments and hatred, and then Harry had come along and loved him, and then Harry had left and broken his heart again.