A.N.: Gods, I haven't written in ages....in fact, it's been nearly exactly a year (one year five days, to be exact). Pathetic. Anyway, this is just a one-shot post-OotP fic inspired by the brilliant Don McLean song Vincent. *sighs* The song just completely made me think of Remus, one of my favourite characters, as well as Severus (guess what? another favourite character).

Warnings: Spoiler on who dies at the end of OoTP (though I'd expect you've all finished OoTP at least three time by now) and hints at possible rl/ss slash, but nothing at all happens, and you can choose to interpret it as a platonic relationship if you want....very open. There is also self-harm & suicide (may be a trigger, you have been warned...)

Disclaimer: The day I own Harry Potter & related stuffs will be the day Voldemort is made Queen of England. (J.K., don't you dare crown Voldie Queen just to get my money....believe me, the shame of doing so is not worth my pithy savings.....)

***~***

Starry, starry night, paint your palette blue and gray,
look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul...
Shadows on the hill,
sketch the trees and the Daffodils,
catch the breeze and the winter chills
in colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
and how you suffered for your sanity,
how you tried to set them free,
they would not listen, they did not know how,
perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry starry night, flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
swirling clouds in violet haze, reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue...
colors changing hue, morning fields of amber grain,
weathered faces lined in pain, are soothed beneath the artist's loving hands.

Now I understand, what you tried to say to me,
how you suffered for your sanity,
how you tried to set them free,
they would not listen they did not know how,
perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
but still your love was true,
and when no hope was left in sight,
on that starry, starry night,
you took your life as lovers often do.
But I could have told you Vincent,
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Starry starry night, portraits hung in empty halls,
frameless heads on nameless walls, with eyes that watch the world and can't forget...
like the strangers that you've met, the ragged men in ragged clothes,
the silver thorn of bloody rose,
lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know, what you tried to say to me,
and how you suffered for your sanity,
and how you tried to set them free, they would not listen...
they're not listening still,
perhaps they never will.

Severus sighed as he crumpled another piece of parchment and threw it into the paper wastebasket. He felt an uncomfortable sensation spreading slowly through his head, and his pale scarred fingers began to massage his throbbing temples. It wasn't any use. Dumbledore could order him, nag him, ignore him...hell, Dumbledore could do whatever he damned well pleased, but it wasn't going to convince Severus. There was simply no way he could do this.

What other options did he have, though? There was no way to postpone the letter any longer -- he had already done so seven times within the last month. Playing sick wasn't going to fool mommy Albus either; only a few years ago he had been having a migraine, hand tremors, and bouts of nausea, but was too bloody proud to let Albus take over his classes for the day. No one on the staff was feeling at all obliged to do a favour for sour, cynical Severus Snape, so that blew the idea of asking one of them right out of the water.

Of course, there was always the simple solution: explain the situation, tell Albus that there was no way in bloody hell he was going to be able to do this, and let Albus take care of it. He knew Albus well enough, and could already predict the situation:

*^*

"Albus, I can't."

Albus' piercing gaze, then, "What do you mean, exactly, by that, Severus."

Severus sighs, not knowing whether he's really sighing or just sighing because that's part of the script for this situation. "I just can't. I'm not ready...I mean, emotionally. Psychologically."

Albus' turn to sigh. "Severus, you need to deal with it some time. Eventually, you're going to have to come to terms with yourself. I wouldn't do this to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

Severus laughs bitterly, wondering whether he does know. "Yes....of course I know...it's only..." His pleading onyx eyes meet with Albus' fabled blue ones.

"Only you can decide...I cannot force it on you. I'll take care of it but....Severus..." Here his eyes become more intent on the dark figure, which seems to be receding and staying still, all at the same time. "...do take care of yourself."

As Severus walks away, he smirks, but bitterly. Albus, no matter what impression he makes on the students, is a pushover.

*^*

And it would be so easy, Severus thought, now rubbing his temples slightly harder than before. So goddamn easy.

But then, like an annoying Albus Dumbledore, the voice of his superego entered in. 'Are you going to get down on your knees like that, let them see you that, give them that pleasure.' It was ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous. "They" consisted solely of Albus, and even Severus, at least rationally, knew Albus didn't derive any pleasure from seeing Severus pleading. Damn his pride.

Having fought with himself -- with no one winning -- one more time, Severus took out yet another piece of parchment and started one more letter.

'Dear Harry,' he began

"Dear Harry?" Was he mad? Was Harry dear to him? Severus shook his head and laughed, a small, acerbic laugh, chiding himself. He was over-analysing. Over-analysing, just like he always did, and the analysis was getting him nowhere, just as it never did. Dear or no dear, it didn't matter, right? Dear was just a formality. It was a formality when he said "Dear God" and it was a formality when he used it in letters to parents of the brats whom he taught; well, it was a formality in "Dear Harry" too.

Feeling as though he was plowing through a marsh of peanut butter and melted marshmallow, Severus continued in spite of himself, trying to think of an appropriate first line. "I don't know how to start, but..." No. He'd tried that one already. True enough, but too vulnerable. "I hope your summer has been going well..." But he didn't hope anything of the sort. Quite frankly he could care less about how Harry's summer was. Finally he decided to just start at the beginning, none of these pointless phrases.

'Professor Dumbledore has made it my duty to inform you of an unfortunate event which will no doubt be a huge blow to you. However, before I tell you exactly what has occurred there are a few things which you should understand.' Severus put his quill down once more and sighed, glancing over the few sentences he had written. They had taken a monumental effort, and he felt rather proud. Nothing in them that would betray any emotion. Simple, clear, and clean-cutting. It was his impersonal writing at its best.

After a moment more in which he rubbed his throbbing temples yet again, he resumed writing.

'You are no doubt aware of the'...

Again Severus broke off. How the hell was he going to say this? He grinned, another bitter grin. Understatement. That's what he would use Such a nice way of creating emphasis.

...'unpleasant mutual feelings between your father's group and me.

What you may or may not be as aware of is the fact that what went on between myself and Remus was slightly different than what went on between myself and Peter, James, and Sirius.'

Perhaps slightly wasn't the right word, but he had used understatement before, hadn't he? Severus grinned wryly at his own rationalisation.

'I don't know how you think of Remus, Harry' Severus paused yet again. There was something wrong with that last phrase. At long last he crossed out the word Harry. No need for that word, he reminded himself. After all, the letter was addressed to Harry already; what further indication was needed? He certainly didn't want to be reminded of the fact that he was writing this bloody to James Potter's son.

'I don't know how you think of Remus. Probably as a quiet, kind teacher. A lycanthrope who accepted his condition well and who was betrayed by Severus Snape in your third year. Your father's most sensible, bookish, quiet friend, a man who kept his composure and senses about him in spite of his condition.

'Some of this is true, some of it isn't. But there was far more to Remus than simply that.'

It was time, Severus noted dryly, for his usual between paragraph break. But he had scarcely laid down his quill when he was seized by an almost manic, panicked sort of desire to just write it all out, get the bloody task over with, and he reapplied the quill to the parchment with such force that he almost broke the nib of the fine eagle feather quill.

'James and Sirius teased me, hexed me, and made my life miserably from literally the beginning of my time at Hogwarts, and the only reason why Peter didn't was that he was a cowardly bastard, and too full of shit for brains to even be able to hex slimy Severus Snape properly.' Ordinarily Severus would have paused and crumpled the paper here -- far too many personal emotions were seeping into the letter already, and he was only a few sentences into it -- but something Severus didn't realize he had in him had taken hold of him. '
But Remus...well, I can never quite forgive him for not stopping them, but he was of a different mind than they were. Even the first day, when they were first years on the train -- mind, this was before they had even learned a bit of magic -- James was trying a few petty hexes he had learned out of a book, and as I left the compartment, I heard a hesitant voice, like it couldn't quite forget the expression they had left on my face, the glint in my eyes, and the voice was asking them why couldn't they just stop.

'I would later learn to recognize that voice, which could never forgot one of the poor people he saw or the downtrodden or even cynical Severus Snape, as Remus Lupin's.

'But then all I knew was that he hadn't tried to save me then. That was something that always bothered me, the fact that he seemed to care, to love -- no one who looked into his eyes could deny that -- but that he never did anything. What was he in Gryffindor for if not to do something, anything?

'As the year went on, I can't deny it. I became more and more fascinated by the man. There was something odd about him...something wrong about the seemingly flawless image he projected. He was always sickly, always melancholy, but besides...he seemed almost unearthly. Different. Strange is really the only way to put it. And one night as I wandered on the castle grounds, seeking something I couldn't even find -- I have always been a ruthless insomniac, then and now --'

Severus gulped but continued, his writing becoming faster and faster. It was becoming impossible for him to stop now.

'I had made this walk many times and nothing really ever changed, except perhaps where the ripples were in the lake, or which clouds were purple at sunset and which were pink. But that night I saw another figure out, sitting by the lake, rocking himself back and forth, clearly crying. I was afraid to go closer, afraid of the emotions that I might have to deal with, afraid that it might be someone who hated me -- essentially most of the school.

'I can't say I wasn't shocked when I managed to focus in on the figure. It was Remus, and the sobs weren't just upset ones, they were angry. Angry as hell. They rivaled some of the anger I had felt, and being a teenager, at the time I thought I had felt everything there was to feel, and then some. And I had felt a lot of anger, bitterness, cynicism at the world by that age too. But there remus was, sobbing, kicking and punching the elm tree, and just staring up into the colourful, starry sky. I could swear that I could hear him screaming at it silently.

'That night I ran away from the scene, but I became addicted to watching Remus like a narcotic. I told myself it was personal interest. A good Slytherin knows what's going on, and besides, it never hurts to be a little nosy. But there was something else to it, a violent compulsion. Every night -- even those rare happy nights that I felt as though I could sleep -- I would creep up to the north tower and look down, chancing a sight of Remus, alone by the lake, often sobbing the same way I had seen him that first night. And I can't deny that I became curious.

'Somehow I went for two and a half years without knowing, but in the middle of the third year, opportunity knocked, and I came running to answer the door. Opportunity, ironically enough, came in the guise of Sirius Black, who told me that if I wanted to know where Remus went...well, you know the story. And how could I resist? I was, as I said, addicted. Addicted to watching Remus. He was an enigma, a grand puzzle of emotions -- enough to occupy me for months. And he did.

'You know as well as I do what happened that night. Funny enough, though, I didn't blame Remus for what happened that night. Sirius, James, Peter, yes. But not Remus. I couldn't. I couldn't connect the boy who I'd seen so many countless nights by the lake with that vicious thing. I couldn't connect the two sides of him, even if I tried. But at least I could understand. He didn't accept all this crap fate had landed him with any more than I accepted my lot. He simply hid it better, leaving the anger, bitterness and crying for when he was all alone. I could imagine the crying, but not the anger and bitterness. Acting angry and bitter were my only outlets.

'Suddenly the enigma was solved, and I wasn't addicted to the boy any longer. But I began to feel pity, for what felt like the first time in my life. There was no way out of the Remus issue, I realized. Once one thing ended another began. And still I was obsessed, still watching angrily from the north tower for the boy's agony every night, still hiding everything.

'It wasn't until fourth year, I think, that Remus and I spoke for the first of two times in our time at Hogwarts together. It was after another routine time of torturing Severus for James & company. I can hardly remember what it was that time -- something that involved pulling a good deal of muscles, I seem to remember, but I can't be sure anymore. When it was all over James and Sirius walked leisurely off as always, showing off how good they were. What better way to prove your dominance, your coolness, even your sainthood, than by torturing ugly, greasy Severus? Remus and I both ran though. I don't know just why Remus ran, but I remember that we had been going in opposite directions.

'Opposite directions which both led to the Hogwarts library, however, and it was when we both attempted to slump down into the same chair that we were forced to finally speak to one another.

'Remus muttered some sort of apology, and I gave him a characteristic glare. "Why are you apologizing about that? Why not apologize about what your dear mates were doing to me a few minutes ago. Or, for that matter, last year when they nearly killed me?" Feeling the need to be more savage, I said something I didn't even mean. "When *you* nearly killed me?"

'The look on Remus' face when I said that hurt me terribly, though not just at that moment. He had taken that last sentence to heart, and I knew it. I had watched him enough nights to know it. I wish they wouldn't do that. I've told them not to sometimes, but they ignore me. Severus, you have to listen....I can tell that there's something making you bitter, and I know that they're just hurting you worse, and I wish they'd stop.

I sat opposite him and looked into those eyes and asked him why he didn't make them stop then, and he told me the oddest thing. I don't know if I even understand it now, though clarity is creeping from behind. He said he was afraid. Afraid they'd leave him and he'd be alone. That he was lucky to have anyone, and he didn't have the nerve to risk loosing James, Sirius, and Peter. Because he was lucky enough that they accepted him, knowing what he was. Sometimes they disgusted him, sometimes he felt like he couldn't stand them, but he always ended up just hoping they wouldn't abandon him.

I don't think I grasped those logically until a long time after he said them, but they intuitively made sense. I stayed angry though. I'm very good at staying angry, holding grudges.'

A voice in Severus' head asked him what in the hell he thought he was doing, but the words were coming to quickly for him to be able to stop.

I told him I didn't bloody care about him keeping or loosing friends, that I cared about his possibly killing me thanks to his lovely friend Sirius, and that was when he broke down and -- I still can't believe this -- he reached across with olivebrown-coloured hands and held mine, lightly. He told me how damned sorry he was, how he couldn't control himself like that, it was a different side of him he wanted to deny and kill, but couldn't, and how much he cared about me, he really cared about me, but he didn't know anymore what he could do at all, and that was when he started to cry.

I'd seen him cry before, so many nights, but this was somehow different, and I couldn't take it. I glared at him, but it was a weak glare, and I wasn't even able to give it any conviction. Show me you care, Remus, and fucking do something, I hissed at him, this time fully meaning it, and I swept away from the library silently.

Maybe you understand Remus better now, but there's still something more I should tell you. About what happened after I pulled you out of my memory in Dumbledore's pensieve.'

Severus almost stopped here, wondering what the hell he was thinking. Hadn't he pulled Harry out and nearly strangled the boy precisely because he didn't want Harry to know? Ah well, those were different circumstances, he rationalised, knowing full well it was sheer rationalisation. The fact was that he didn't think he could stop for all the world, even if he wanted to.

You saw what happened at first. After I pulled you out, James and Sirius took the pleasure of taking my drawers off upon themselves. Remus, I could see, was uneasy, but he was doing nothing. As usual. His words from the previous year echoed in my minds and I glared at him angrily. Bloody hell, he was sixteen years old and still doing nothing.

But what they unveiled wasn't what they expected. They expected a few good laughs at my private parts and ugly anatomy, nothing more, but what they found were two bloody etch-a-sketches, one on each of my thighs, where I'd been cutting myself for years. And you know what was the most fucking disgusting part of the whole thing? Sirius and James just rolled their eyes, they couldn't care less. Probably thought it was a funny bit of stereotypical teenage angst.'

That will suffice, the voice in Severus' head told him, and Severus was thankful to stop writing about it. He continued in the painful anecdote.

That was the sole time Remus got involved. Something he saw in my pathetic little situation put an angry glint in his eyes and he ran in to intercede. He tried to help, too. Tried to get me to go to my head of house, or Dumbledore, or a psychiatrist he knew in Hogsmeade, or just about anyone, but there was nothing to be done to convince me. And I found myself growing angry that he was trying to help. I found myself asking him why he thought it was any business of his, and suddenly asking him if he thought I needed help so badly, why didn't he go get some. He was the one crying by the lake nearly every night. He was the one who needed help.

Somehow Remus held his tongue and kept himself from asking how the hell I knew, and just said, That's different. Look at me, I'm stuck like this. No cure. Nothing anyone can do to help.

He couldn't have chosen better words, though I don't think it was a conscious choice. Well, there's nothing anyone can do to help me either. No cure.

But Severus --

It still gave me a jolt when I heard someone using my first name, not calling me Snivellus or Snape or some similarly derogatory name, but I recovered. Lowly, under my breath, I growled. No Remus, and ran off. Bloody brilliant, bemoaning the fact that I never got anyone to care about me or help me and then running off angrily the moment someone did. How bloody pathetic could you get?

That was the last time we spoke together at school. You might wonder why, many years later, it was I who betrayed Remus when he was teaching several years ago. I can only say that I did it on a rather stupid impulse, or on instinct, if you prefer.'

Severus bit his lip anxiously. He hated that word, that thing, that idea. Impulse. That's what had prompted him to join the Death Eaters so many years ago. No matter. The nearly-finished letter was consuming him.

So. You understand now, at least a little better, at least to the degree that I could make you understand. Remus was a strange soul, one who spent his life staring into the starry skies, at the nameless Hogwarts portraits. And he was an estranged soul. Sirius, James -- they were friends, but he still always felt as though he had to keep up appearances. Always, he was estranged.

When Remus lost Sirius, it was the last straw for him. I can't pretend that I cared much for Sirius, but Remus did. It was another piece of pain to add to all the pain which he still felt overpowering him every night.

One night, shortly after you went on vacation, I was staring out the north tower, unable to go to sleep. Long after we Remus left Hogwarts, this was still my solace, this vista from which I had long ago watched the lonely lycanthrope sob. And from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of an older man, rocking himself in the same motion I had seen in an eleven year old years before. Staring at the vast, uncomprehending sky, his silvery figure pressed against the snow. And I saw him down a liquid. I didn't know what it was at the time, Harry, though now I know it was a poison, and.

That delicate downing of the liquid, I suppose, was to delicately kill the melancholy, fragile human self with whom he could no longer live, and when he brutally ran the knife down his arm, up from his wrist to his elbow joint, I could see him trying to slay the beast within.

I tried to save him. That was the most I ever did for Remus, and I even failed at that.

Remus Lupin is gone. He was too beautiful, too intense, to survive in this world, and he was finally crushed on the snow after trying to survive for so many years.

Sincerely,
Prof. Snape.'

Feeling thoroughly exhausted and wondering what the hell he had been thinking, what the hell had been possessing him, throughout that whole ordeal, Severus lay down the quill and put his head in his hand. His temples were throbbing worse than ever by now, and he noticed that his hands were beginning to tremble the way they so often did. As he reread the letter, he laughed sardonically to himself. What the bloody hell had he been thinking, or had he even been? There was no way he could send this to Harry. It was private, emotional, and generally pathetic.

Severus sighed. Well, he had tried. Again. the roll of parchment joined its fellows in his wastebasket, and Severus took another roll out, deciding to make an attempt one more time.

Harry,

Remus killed himself.

Severus.'

Severus grinned wryly in spite of himself. Just like one of those bloody muggle telegrams. It would have to do, he thought thickly, because he couldn't take this any more, and he reached up into a cupboard full of vials, taking two. One for his headache, and one to bring a dreamless sleep.

He didn't even have the energy to check for any lethal interactions between the two potions. All he could hope was that there were some.