Chapter One
Sometimes, when I'm all alone, I wonder what life would be like if I were different. More content with life and being normal and mortal, instead of yearning to be something more then what I could be here. I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life perpetually dissatisfied with the world around me. I can never settle, I want the most, I want it all. I want the knowledge, all of the knowledge in the world. I can't stand this constant uncertainty in my life, the not knowing if I'll succeed or fail so miserably I'd wish death on myself, even more so then I do now. The worst part is, after all these years, I know that it doesn't go away, it never will. This doesn't stop, not for anyone; the nagging is always in the back of your mind. No one gets rid of it, in your head, just whispering, constantly, that this can't, won't last. It's sad and you don't deserve this, not one bit, and it's the most real thing in the world to me, hearing that. You're just waiting for it to come crashing down around you, waiting for luck to run out.
I think mine has already. I'm sitting here, thinking the charmed life is over now; you can just let it go. the memories don't mean anything anymore, just some empty promise of the past. Back when wishing didn't hurt, and we made so many. Well, love, they hurt like hell now. Every time I look back and think about when we whispered together at night, like children under the covers, about what we'd do, where we'd go when this was all said and done, and Voldemort was finally dead. And every time, I can hear your low, soft voice in my head, sighing, remembering with me. I've kept a part of you with me, and that's kept me sane, as I watch apocalypses everywhere. You, the heroic avenging angel, some sweet creature sacrificed on the battle field, but you weren't just some angel. You were imy/i angel. Mine, and I wanted to scream it up to the heavens until I was hoarse, dance on rooftops and fly without a broom, because I iloved/i you. I ifinally loved someone/i, who loved me back, and it didn't hurt, not nearly so much as I thought it would. You had said no, keep it quiet, and I had eventually relented, as I always did back then. Back then, last month. Just a month since it happened, since you bdied./b You're just igone/i, forever, some martyr for a lost cause. We might have won, if you had lived, again. The Boy Who Lived was also The Boy Who Secretly Loved The Greasy Git, with only your two closest friends in the know, and now you're gone; he finally killed you.
With you gone, there's no hope, just crumbling buildings and blood caked clothes that should be clean but aren't, and unmarked graves and unclaimed bodies. So many dead, just lying around, rotting where they fell. The entire world stinks of the dead now. One of those bodies is yours, and it shouldn't be. Of the two of us, it should have been me. So my luck ran out, and I lived through it, no matter how much I wish I had gone out there with you instead of nursing wounds I could have fought with, because this isn't worth fighting for, not without you.
So what should I do instead? I would ask you, Angel, but you aren't here. That's been the hardest part about this. You were my only shoulder to cry on. And you aren't there to cry on. I can't fathom what I'll do without you. Voldemort has won, and it's a simple matter of time until they capture me. Your Gryffindor courage must have rubbed off of me, because right after the war became public, I announced my affiliations. They'll kill me, after they torture me beyond the point of insanity. I think death would be simpler, but I don't want to die, not without atonement. I can spend my few remaining mortal years here, but dying, only to spend an eternity without you? I can't. My heart is broken, and I'm dead inside, except for this dull thud, where the feelings used to be, where you used to be. You're still there, but it hurts now. Everything hurts, every time I breathe, or see the sun, or try to fall asleep or choke down some food, I look around for you, and you aren't there. And it's so tangible to me, this empty spot in my bed. We got a king-size because you rolled around in your sleep; and now there's just me lying there, staring up at the ceiling all night, still as stone.
If only catatonia were so easy. I can only lie there for so long without moving before I start seeing you. Ghosts? No, just my imagination, wishing you were here, with me. Wishing that we had a way to bring back the dead. Wishing you hadn't died in the first place, that this stupid war hadn't started, that Voldemort hadn't killed your parents, and that he hadn't ever been born. But he was, and it happened. Nothing can change that.
Almost everyone is gone now, you know. I suppose you don't, but it does comfort me to think you're still here, somehow. Your beloved godfather was gone before the war started. Dumbledore.. Gods, Harry! Dumbledore. Why did they have to get him? He was never going to die, not Albus. But he is. You are. Almost the entire Weasley family. Just the 2 oldest and Ginny are left. Percy died in an attack on the ministry building. Fred, George and Ron, on the battle field. They saw you go down, Harry. They all did, but not me. They told me about it afterwards, and I looked into the pensieve. It was like being in the Coliseum again, with Romans paying to see the blood. Death-Eaters, jeering at us, taunting. And us, helpless! We couldn't do a damned thing to save you, or seek revenge. I couldn't even be there. Maybe if I was, instead of in that makeshift infirmary Pomfrey insisted on setting up. Maybe, maybe, life is just one big what-if now. Maybe you would still be alive. Maybe I would be dead. Maybe if we hadn't fallen in love, this wouldn't hurt so much.
I can't believe that. I know that us falling in love was inevitable. I am grateful, truly, but it's not fair. Living isn't fair, nothing is. Not even death. Your death. Why not mine, Harry? Why couldn't it have been me, the selfish one, who can't live without his lover, instead of you, who had done great things? Would have continued to do great things. Harry, you could have saved the whole damned world. But you died. And for what? Me? I'll never understand, and as much as I'll always love you, I want to hate you right now. For dying without me. Leaving me here to my own devices, to mourn you. You brought me out of that little shell I lived in. Made the serpent shed his skin. The skin was still new, I was just getting used to it. Did you want for this to happen? Were you the one who was being selfish, Harry?
With all these questions, it's a miracle that I'm not distracted enough for death-eaters to capture me. I wish they would. I wish this could be over and done with, and I could finally be rid of this. But I'm not. Harry, I lived for you, only to have you die for me, for the world.
Harry... Jesus Christ, I don't know how I can do this. Do you know where I'm staying?
With Lupin, Remus fucking Lupin, werewolf extraordinaire. I brew his potion and he let's me stay with him. I think he knows about us. He has pictures of you and Black everywhere. In my room, the bathroom, the kitchen. Everywhere I look; it's your face, animated and alive. All the pictures are his though; I don't have a single picture of you to my name.
Remember when you told me that he and Black were lovers and I had laughed at you? You were right, naturally. It scares me to think that I have something in common with him, that we've both lost a loved one, a soul mate, in battle, in this stupid war. I have that in common with so many people now.
But Lupin isn't as bad as I thought, he just watches me, sleeps, and helps me brew his potion. I've been designing some new potions, mainly poisons. I'm so weary of battle. Oh, don't worry; I won't use it on myself or your precious Lupin. Well, I suppose writing you letters isn't going to change the fact that you're gone, but I need to talk to you, to feel like my angel is still listening.
Never Forget,
Severus Snape
Sometimes, when I'm all alone, I wonder what life would be like if I were different. More content with life and being normal and mortal, instead of yearning to be something more then what I could be here. I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life perpetually dissatisfied with the world around me. I can never settle, I want the most, I want it all. I want the knowledge, all of the knowledge in the world. I can't stand this constant uncertainty in my life, the not knowing if I'll succeed or fail so miserably I'd wish death on myself, even more so then I do now. The worst part is, after all these years, I know that it doesn't go away, it never will. This doesn't stop, not for anyone; the nagging is always in the back of your mind. No one gets rid of it, in your head, just whispering, constantly, that this can't, won't last. It's sad and you don't deserve this, not one bit, and it's the most real thing in the world to me, hearing that. You're just waiting for it to come crashing down around you, waiting for luck to run out.
I think mine has already. I'm sitting here, thinking the charmed life is over now; you can just let it go. the memories don't mean anything anymore, just some empty promise of the past. Back when wishing didn't hurt, and we made so many. Well, love, they hurt like hell now. Every time I look back and think about when we whispered together at night, like children under the covers, about what we'd do, where we'd go when this was all said and done, and Voldemort was finally dead. And every time, I can hear your low, soft voice in my head, sighing, remembering with me. I've kept a part of you with me, and that's kept me sane, as I watch apocalypses everywhere. You, the heroic avenging angel, some sweet creature sacrificed on the battle field, but you weren't just some angel. You were imy/i angel. Mine, and I wanted to scream it up to the heavens until I was hoarse, dance on rooftops and fly without a broom, because I iloved/i you. I ifinally loved someone/i, who loved me back, and it didn't hurt, not nearly so much as I thought it would. You had said no, keep it quiet, and I had eventually relented, as I always did back then. Back then, last month. Just a month since it happened, since you bdied./b You're just igone/i, forever, some martyr for a lost cause. We might have won, if you had lived, again. The Boy Who Lived was also The Boy Who Secretly Loved The Greasy Git, with only your two closest friends in the know, and now you're gone; he finally killed you.
With you gone, there's no hope, just crumbling buildings and blood caked clothes that should be clean but aren't, and unmarked graves and unclaimed bodies. So many dead, just lying around, rotting where they fell. The entire world stinks of the dead now. One of those bodies is yours, and it shouldn't be. Of the two of us, it should have been me. So my luck ran out, and I lived through it, no matter how much I wish I had gone out there with you instead of nursing wounds I could have fought with, because this isn't worth fighting for, not without you.
So what should I do instead? I would ask you, Angel, but you aren't here. That's been the hardest part about this. You were my only shoulder to cry on. And you aren't there to cry on. I can't fathom what I'll do without you. Voldemort has won, and it's a simple matter of time until they capture me. Your Gryffindor courage must have rubbed off of me, because right after the war became public, I announced my affiliations. They'll kill me, after they torture me beyond the point of insanity. I think death would be simpler, but I don't want to die, not without atonement. I can spend my few remaining mortal years here, but dying, only to spend an eternity without you? I can't. My heart is broken, and I'm dead inside, except for this dull thud, where the feelings used to be, where you used to be. You're still there, but it hurts now. Everything hurts, every time I breathe, or see the sun, or try to fall asleep or choke down some food, I look around for you, and you aren't there. And it's so tangible to me, this empty spot in my bed. We got a king-size because you rolled around in your sleep; and now there's just me lying there, staring up at the ceiling all night, still as stone.
If only catatonia were so easy. I can only lie there for so long without moving before I start seeing you. Ghosts? No, just my imagination, wishing you were here, with me. Wishing that we had a way to bring back the dead. Wishing you hadn't died in the first place, that this stupid war hadn't started, that Voldemort hadn't killed your parents, and that he hadn't ever been born. But he was, and it happened. Nothing can change that.
Almost everyone is gone now, you know. I suppose you don't, but it does comfort me to think you're still here, somehow. Your beloved godfather was gone before the war started. Dumbledore.. Gods, Harry! Dumbledore. Why did they have to get him? He was never going to die, not Albus. But he is. You are. Almost the entire Weasley family. Just the 2 oldest and Ginny are left. Percy died in an attack on the ministry building. Fred, George and Ron, on the battle field. They saw you go down, Harry. They all did, but not me. They told me about it afterwards, and I looked into the pensieve. It was like being in the Coliseum again, with Romans paying to see the blood. Death-Eaters, jeering at us, taunting. And us, helpless! We couldn't do a damned thing to save you, or seek revenge. I couldn't even be there. Maybe if I was, instead of in that makeshift infirmary Pomfrey insisted on setting up. Maybe, maybe, life is just one big what-if now. Maybe you would still be alive. Maybe I would be dead. Maybe if we hadn't fallen in love, this wouldn't hurt so much.
I can't believe that. I know that us falling in love was inevitable. I am grateful, truly, but it's not fair. Living isn't fair, nothing is. Not even death. Your death. Why not mine, Harry? Why couldn't it have been me, the selfish one, who can't live without his lover, instead of you, who had done great things? Would have continued to do great things. Harry, you could have saved the whole damned world. But you died. And for what? Me? I'll never understand, and as much as I'll always love you, I want to hate you right now. For dying without me. Leaving me here to my own devices, to mourn you. You brought me out of that little shell I lived in. Made the serpent shed his skin. The skin was still new, I was just getting used to it. Did you want for this to happen? Were you the one who was being selfish, Harry?
With all these questions, it's a miracle that I'm not distracted enough for death-eaters to capture me. I wish they would. I wish this could be over and done with, and I could finally be rid of this. But I'm not. Harry, I lived for you, only to have you die for me, for the world.
Harry... Jesus Christ, I don't know how I can do this. Do you know where I'm staying?
With Lupin, Remus fucking Lupin, werewolf extraordinaire. I brew his potion and he let's me stay with him. I think he knows about us. He has pictures of you and Black everywhere. In my room, the bathroom, the kitchen. Everywhere I look; it's your face, animated and alive. All the pictures are his though; I don't have a single picture of you to my name.
Remember when you told me that he and Black were lovers and I had laughed at you? You were right, naturally. It scares me to think that I have something in common with him, that we've both lost a loved one, a soul mate, in battle, in this stupid war. I have that in common with so many people now.
But Lupin isn't as bad as I thought, he just watches me, sleeps, and helps me brew his potion. I've been designing some new potions, mainly poisons. I'm so weary of battle. Oh, don't worry; I won't use it on myself or your precious Lupin. Well, I suppose writing you letters isn't going to change the fact that you're gone, but I need to talk to you, to feel like my angel is still listening.
Never Forget,
Severus Snape