cigarettes and suicide
far into the forbidden forest, a large black dog sits, leaning against a tree.
i didn't do anything. i didn't kill them. i didn't kill them-
the dog repeats, and repeats it. a mantra he's had for years. nestled into the far corners of his mind. so ingrained that if he thinks for too long about it, about his innocence or his guilt, the very fabric of his sanity could unravel.
if it hasn't already.
i just have to get to albus and explain. i have to get to harry-
—
far into the depths of hogwarts, remus lupin sits in the office of the headmaster.
"i heard that severus has been... assisting with your meals?"
"yes. somewhat"
"how long has that been going on for?"
"you're not my therapist, albus" remus mutters not for the first time, to the man before him.
"as far as i'm aware you don't have one" dumbledore replies, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"and i'd like to keep it that way"
"now that you mention it, you should seek one, i think"
"whatever for?"
dumbledore raises an eyebrow, "sarcasm?"
"very funny. i think i already illustrated my stance on that, though"
dumbledore turns and stares out of his window.
"i'm sorry, for-"
"i'd honestly rather we didn't do the whole, false sympathy, thing"
"it's not false"
"right" he replies, brusquely, "definitely not"
albus sighs. "we're going round in circles"
"you don't say?"
"i'm not against you, remus"
"look," he starts, dryly, "i'm not stupid. i'll be fine."
"i'm curious as to what exactly you constitute as fine"
"well, i'm-"
"i believe severus has found you in, i think, three different bathrooms over the past week? considering how covert you are, i doubt those were the only instances"
fucking snitch.
"merlin, albus. this is quite literally none of your business. i am a grown adult" he hisses, trying to ignore his embarrassment, despite knowing full well his face resembles a discoloured tomato.
"how's defence against the dark arts going?"
"very subtle change in subject" he mutters
"if i recall defence against the dark arts was your favourite subject, not too long ago" dumbledore smiles.
"decades. decades ago. what's the point of this?"
"do you... want me to continue talking to you about your eating disorder?"
"i don't have!-"
"lupin"
"i have a lesson in half an hour, i'm going to go prepare" he snaps, rising from his seat.
—
"right, okay, that's it for today guys!" remus numbly stares at the group of students before him, waiting for them to move.
"but professor..." fred weasley starts.
he waves his arms towards the door, "no, come on, i have another class coming soon. all things must come to an end eventually!" he huffs.
the group before him seem to share a hidden message amongst themselves in concealed gazes. unfortunately, those gazes aren't very concealing, and remus can see the debate between them.
"professor..." george, this time, starts. having not moved an inch.
"oh for merlins sake just spit it out then"
"they think you're a werewolf" angelina snaps.
"no we don't-"
"okay, no. they think you've got some kind of disease and are too stupid to actually fucking look-"
"i'm not a werewolf"
she punches fred, or is it george? on the shoulder, "see?"
"i did not say he was a bloody werewolf, angie, it was cedric" fred mutters, "though i don't know if an actual werewolf would admit to being one"
"you were very into the idea"
"well i saw him-"
"i'm right here" remus butts in, exasperated, "just get to your next lessons" he clips.
they give way and hurriedly leave, and remus sits at his desk, a horrible sense of deja vu consuming him.
all things must end eventually.
they must, of course. it's just how they end, isn't it? how is the story of remus lupin going to end?
in fire and fury?
or, with a whimper, in the cold darkness?
he isn't sure. he just knows that it will.
it must.
—
he feels so dirty.
"and, well, granger was going on about the differences between muggle pens today. i don't know if she thinks i'm deaf or simply doesn't care, even potter looked like he was on the verge of snapping after that girl finally explained to the weasley child what a biro is. is it really necessary? we were in a potions class for merlin's sake. and sometimes things are best left unexplained!'
"hm"
"i couldn't have less of a clue why we use quills for everything either, it's just not productive! but if i have to sit through another hour of pretending i can't hear a constant, unending, one sided discussion over the efficiency of a fountain pen i think i'll murder her myself!"
remus stares coldly into his porridge, unresponsive. severus collects himself.
"you alright lupin?"
"of course"
(no. i've already eaten today. i've eaten enough to last a damned horse three days. fuck you. fuck you, you fucking prick)
"you are not" snape bluntly states.
"i don't want to do this anymore"
"why?"
he raises an eyebrow.
"i don't need to"
"are you stupid?" severus snaps.
remus feels it all finally spill over in a fraction of a second, grabbing his bowl and throwing it into the wall behind them. "no! i'm not! i don't fucking need to do this"
"that was my favourite bowl" snape responds, dryly.
"oh fuck you. no it wasn't. it's your fault for making me eat out of it anyway"
"i didn't throw the bloody thing did i?"
"don't be so condescending"
he can feel the pressure building, and building.
he's eaten, what, two meals, today? this was supposed to be his third. that's so normal! was it all for nothing? the decades of pain? if he can do that so fucking easily?
"seven hundred and eighty"
"i thought we agreed on a thousand now?"
"no way am i doing that"
"what? because you're afraid it'll reawaken your body and you'll get hunger cues again? that you'll end up eating two, three thousand?"
remus says nothing in response, knowing they've had this conversation before.
"you do that anyway remus! i am sick of finding you in the student’s blood bathrooms. you look like a sheet of skin wrapped on a shoddy impression of a human skeleton! i thought you would attempt this"
"i was. i am!"
"780 is not nearly enough"
"yes it bloody well is severus. we were doing 600 last week, what changed?"
"that's how it works! you are not stupid i'm not going to shock your body into absolute disaster. you do that enough on your own!" he rubs a hand over his face, gritting his teeth, "you're an adult man and you're supposed to be gaining weight," he clicks his fingers as remus starts shaking his head, "no, no. no, that is going to have to happen pretty soon or you're going to die and all we're really doing is slightly improving your metabolism in which i am not sure is the most brilliant idea on the fucking planet!"
"maybe we should all just accept this shit, okay? everything's fucked-" remus starts, almost choking on the words.
"oh the world is fucked. of course. i'll go get my miniature violin, give me two seconds" snape hisses in return.
remus stands abruptly. walking towards the doors of snape's chambers, making a beeline for the prefect bathrooms. snape will have some idea of what he's about to do, but probably not where, so, success?
however you define success. this might also be failure, he considers. or it's just nothing at all.
it simply is.
"don't" severus mutters from behind him.
"oh come on"
"do you seriously not understand you're going to die?"
"i think i would rather that"
"i've never met anyone this unwell in their mind" he whispers, almost sadly, perhaps to himself.
merlin.
"i'm sorry i've crushed your dreams of saving me"
"you're rotting even as you stand. i don't know if you don't care because you really don't, or if it's simply because your brain is too malnourished to feel anything properly. i feel as though it's the latter"
"maybe. but it's still me at the end of the day, severus"
"not really. some would say it's unethical to let you make these decisions, that it's illness, not you"
"and you get to decide where it ends and i start? seems unfair to me"
"go vomit your guts out, lupin. why should i even care?"
remus feels his stomach turn, but he doesn't say a word, and turns from the man before him, to do just that.
—
what is this person i've become?
remus sits in the dark of his chambers, for the hundredth time, and adds up the numbers, the dreaded fucking numbers in his log book. and he cries. and he cries and he cries and after an hour or three his tears are burning into his face and he doesn't know what to do. who is he? is there a point, anymore, in trying to work that out? in trying to change what he so obviously has been reduced to? a sickness? what is the point?
all he ever has been is this. whatever that is. a bag of fractured pieces.
it doesn't seem to stop, ever. does it?
he crawls off his bed and makes his way to the bathroom, desperate for a shower. it's cold and dark in there, grey consumes the room. but that's just his life isn't it? that's just it. cold and dark.
he doesn't turn the light on.
he slowly runs his fingers over the bones in his arms, as the water washing over him does the same.
it won't ever go away.
he feels the thought leak into his stomach, a dead weight of realisation. it won't ever go away, of course it won't. but why does that always seem to mean he can't try? he could be more than this, if he tried. surely he could be more than this?
why cant i be more than this?
more than a collection of little pieces, more than someone so consumed with the idea of disappearing, more than the aches in his heart for james and lily and god, god, the ache in his heart for sirius. the unending pain in his dna, bled into him through greyback. can't he be more? can't he be whole?
"i don't know what to do" he whispers into the dark, "god i- i don't know what to do"
it's all so hopeless. and he thinks, with water pelting around his not-far-removed-carcass-
i could- give in to it. give in to it all. be a monstrosity running on bitterness and hurt and nothing else until i can't run anymore. until all i can do is lay down, and-
"and die" he completes, quietly.
because that's where this seems to be going isn't it? all things come to an end eventually.
numbly, he stands from the floor. gripping the sides of his shower as faintness overcomes him. with a silence that seems to coat the air, he dries himself, and dresses in some of his best attire. brown corduroy trousers, a shirt, and his beloved trench coat.
the silence still seems to stick to him as he walks out of his chambers and through the corridors of hogwarts in a haze. his feet tap the floor in a rhythm that could only be described as certain. the rhythm of a person who has definitively made up their mind.
he reaches the stairs of the astronomy tower and doesn't stop to catch his breath. one by one, he climbs.
everyone knew this was bound to happen, surely? surely they knew? surely they knew?
but knowing doesn't matter, does it? of course it doesn't. that's not what it is.
—
severus numbly puts out his second consecutive cigarette as he rests over the edge of the astronomy tower and stares out into the grounds. it's cold, so cold his fingers can barely scrape the edge of his lighter as he tries to ignite another.
"fucks sake" he mutters, shoving the thing into his pocket and picking up his wand instead. "ignito" he whispers, with a flick of his wrist.
"what am i even doing?" he hisses into the chill, expecting no reply. "merlin, what am i doing?"
"i was about to ask you the same thing" a dry, croaky voice mumbles behind him.
"ah. remus" severus closes his eyes. he can feel the exhaustion emanating from himself.
"taken up smoking, i see"
"sometimes you must weigh up how exactly you want to waste your time destroying yourself, lupin. i suppose it'll happen either way. why are you here?"
"why are you here?"
severus ignores the deflection and takes a closer look at the form of the man before him. dressed smartly. with an energy thrumming out of him severus has never seen before.
an unsettling one.
and so he makes an unsettling decision.
"i'm here because i need to feel cold" he finally replies, "i'm here because i think the chill of the air and the burn in my throat might do me better, tonight, than the chill of a knife and the burning of a wound"
remus says nothing, but the words are seemingly not lost on him. he waits as severus takes another puff, and then continues.
"sometimes remus. the mind can be such a funny, ineffective organ,"
(and this is where he imagines remus would interrupt of course, you're telling me, severus? me? but he doesn't. he thrums with that energy and makes no sound)
severus glances at the smoke curling around his fingers, lost in the waves. and continues, gaze kept on the curls
"it's priority is to keep us alive. so why is it that we spend so much of our energy bringing ourselves closer and closer to death, to pain? why is it, remus, that you stand before me so sickly, on the verge of death. is it really a misaligned relationship with eating? with your body? why is that?"
(i didn't come here to have my mind dissected, severus. you aren't a therapist. he again imagines lupin hissing, as he has done so many times before, sees him turning back around- storming away. but the man is still, and the energy seems to be slowly zapping out of him)
severus could think of a thousand answers to his own questions, but none of them were quite right. remus might hate his body as a lycanthrope, but to become so uncontrolled? so obsessive, with his body and his weight and food? snape also wouldn't entertain the idea of it being control for a moment. it was anything but. it was disorder, plain and simple.
uncontrolled and chaotic- no matter how deluded remus was, this delusion of control did not transfer over to severus. not after the night he had remus lupin collapsed in his arms, with nothing but bile and desperation as their audience. this man is both revelling in his own destruction and hysterically weeping at the pain of it all.
(lupin is a forest fire, desperate to finally burn out- he no longer wants to feel the pain and hear the screaming of all the forest in his wake. unfortunately, to burn out, he must run out of things to burn)
"we all want to avoid pain, feel pleasure" severus finally laments in the silence. "people like us just don't quite understand what those things actually look like. now, i take the carving knife to myself more than i would like to admit" he finally shifts his gaze and pulls up a sleeve, making sure not to look himself, nor at lupin. "it is painful, of course. it brings me no pleasure. and yet" he brings the sleeve down, "i do this because i fear perhaps, an ultimately greater pain if i did not"
he flicks the end of his cigarette off the side of the tower.