Broken Glass

Warning: Story has been mashed together and re-edited as I have plans for it. Also it flows better like this personally

This is somewhat compliant with the HP series, however if it does not I hope you understand.

Undergoing Renovation! Apologies Please Be Patient With Delays! Thanks You!

PLEASE REVIEW! All reviews are gratefully recieved

Summary: Snape receives a late night visit

During the First War against Voldemort

Severus did not appreciate being woken late at night. It unnerved him. As a child he had never slept easily, always fearing one of his parents had killed the other or that he would wake up somewhere unknown. His already unnatural sleep pattern was now under even more strain that the Dark Lord had taken him into his confidence; with every new plan he must be present in case the Order would have any information, with every new idea he must be consulted and worse, with every new prisoner, he must partake in the "fun". Any sleep he got was heaven sent, if there was such a place for him.

He slowly made his way to the door, making sure to tie up his dressing gown. He really should tidy it up at some point. It may sound trivial but a man's house is his castle and Snape's castle was currently derelict. Anyone who came over might think that Severus had had a Revel.

He opened the door.

Lily Evans lay slumped on his door step.

His throat filled with horror. He sweetheart, his angel, his Lily lay at his feet, the blood flowing freely down her arms and legs so that it formed little pools that trickled off her fingertips and toes to stain the hard unkind stone beneath her. Her sun kissed hair had lost its shine, becoming broken and unkempt. Instead of it smelling fresh and alive, various smells and odours he wished he did not know overpowered his nose so that when he tried to brush Lily's hair away from her face, he could but gag. Her clothes, if you could call the bare threads of fabric that barely covered her modesty clothes, looked as if a wild beast had blindly violated her, not caring whether her porcelain skin was broken besmirched, as long as whoever had broken his Lily had had his fun. His lower lip fell down, trying to take in his fallen angel.

He bent down slowly, gently placing her into his arms. She weighed nothing. He could feel her skeleton lift up as if about to take off to fly as hid raised her off his door step, lightly brushing her hair so she could see his face.

Her eyelids lifted.

Her lips parted.

A single breath.

A faint smile lifted his hopes for her life.

He brought her into his bedroom, setting her down on the bed as if he was a precious jewel from the Nile he had found deep beneath the mud. He considered leaving her on the sofa, not wanting to her go into a panic attack if she awoke finding herself to be in his house. Now was not the time to bring back old memories. However that idea was quickly discarded, not being able to bear the though of her rolling off and causing further damage to her already fragile state. All the while, Lily Evans did not wake, her face a mixture of pain and peace.

A pained expression washed over his face now. Albus had been told him, he had been promised since he had told him of the Prophecy that she would safe, that no harm would come to her, that no one except him would be able to find her. And now here she lay, half dead, half dying, himself wanting to die so that she would live, if just to hate him again.

He glided over to his writing desk. Grabing a leaf of parchment he scrawled down in the most illegible writing he had used in a long time:

Albus,

Emergency of the highest order

S.

before shoving into the coal coloured owls' letter pouch and sending it off with a whack up the rear in the hope it would go faster that it had ever done so in it's life.

Now all he could do was wait.

He hated waiting.

Waiting made him nervous.

Waiting meant that it was just you and all your thoughts, alone to fight out reason and maddness.

Waiting meant his imagination looking down at Lily Evans' fading life form and imagining what had happened to her, how she might of fought off her attackers, if she was even able too. How Lily Evans may even had had to face the Dark Lord. How she would have been forced to kneel before him as he and his Death Eaters would have leered and howled in laughter as Dumbledores precious Mudblood lay before them. Maybe she would have struggled. Maybe, in Snape's blind hope, the Dark Lord would have been merciful knowing how important Lily was to Dumbledore. Then again, perhaps not. He thought to how Lily wold have had to listen to his insults and lechery and inevitable torture before pawning her off to one or several Death Eaters to ...

He couldn't bare thinking anymore. He didn't want to think want would, what must, what had happened then. He didn't want to think of his Lily being used like a Death Eaters plaything, like a piece of meat to be pawed at before she turned into the state he now saw before him. Yet that didn't stop him hearing her screa. He knew that scream. A high, piercing scream that would split your soul in two before ripping it into shreds that could never be pieced again. He could her them now, tearing at him; pained, desperate, horrified, tortured screams. Screams that made him want to stab himself, tear his hair out, drown himself, if only to stop her screaming.

"Don't think like that."

Snape looked up from his newly acquired foetal position.

Albus.

"What happened?" His voice low, his eyes full of mistrust as Severus slowly stood up before walking towards Albus.

"I found her on my doorstep," Albus ignoring him as he walking over to round the bed, observing Lily' injuries, drawing back as he looked further down her body, "I haven't yet seen to her injuries. I didn't want to wake her ... "

"You mean you didn't want to give her to anyone else," knowing the knife he would now be wedging deep into Snapes heart, his voice full of contempt.

"I swear I had nothing to do with this,"

"I hope not," not even bothering to look at him, his disgust plain enough in his voice, "Give her a Dreamless Sleeping Draft, so she can have some peace. I will call for Poppy," abandoning Snape to his Lily.

He had lost all respect he had gained in the last months. Everything he had to to prove to Dumbledore that he was no longer the man he had been before, gone. All the hard work he had put into the Order, vanished. Every plan he had personally relayed to Dumbledore to make sure that the Order and Lily would be safe and prepared, wasted time. For fear of hurting his flower he had lost the one man who could of saved him. The icy blasts of loneliness dug deeper into his skin. Not only was he about to lose the one thing that had made his life worth living about to leave him forever, but the man who could of protected him for Azkaban would be gone too.

He quickly skuttled across to his sotrecupboards and injected Lily with the draft, his hands shaking for fear of making her bleed anymore, taking care to avoid the bruises that tattooed her arm.

He started inspecting the wounds on her arms. The cuts were deep and dirty, probably made by knives or glass or animals. The bruises surrounding them almost resembled flowers, if only they hadn't been made in the madness of lust and greed. Looking up to her face, the cuts weren't too deep, although the sporadic nature of them made him nervous as too the new "games" the Death Eaters had come up with. They could be repaired quickly, as long as the infections that could be seen oozing deep inside the wounds did not rise up too quickly to prevent him from saving her once angelic face. She had lost a lot of blood, her body becoming a pale deathlike white, the only colour being the black and blue bruises that dotted her arms and face. Her neck he noticed bore the signs of rope burn, her skin coming up in welts that would take several months before they came down. Nervously he lifted up the scraps of cloth that covered her modesty and moved his eyes down to her stomach. Black and blue bruises covered every inch of her now purple, yellowy skin. Various scars could be seen across her abdomen that, in the heat of a frenzied attack, had opened up to reveal blood clotting. The insides of her thighs were enclosed in thick, crusty dried blood that held together so tightly that Snape had to pry them apart in order to see any further damage. Wiping away the falling dust of dried blood his heart plugged itself into his throat as he looked upon the various gashes, Death Eater initials and sayings and Unforgivable curses that had been engraved onto the insides of her thighs, before the blood being licked up, as it were water.

His stomach twisted and rolled up.

He couldn't bear to be in the same room. He rushed out to the bathroom in time to hurl the contents of his stomach into the toliet.

How could they do that? He knew they were all somewhat deranged and mad. He knew their Pureblood obsessions and fantasies of a pure world. But what did turning Lily Evans' body into a canvas of torture and pain to try out their new sick, perverse fixation have to do with any of it. He hurled again, his tears mixing with the insides of his stomach as he struggled to breathe, the grief of his dying love overtaking all rational control he had of himself.

"That bad?" echoed Albus' voice.

"You don't know. She's ..."

Albus stooped down by him, holding Severuses hair back as another wave of grief came over him.

"She will live Severus. I promise you."

"Didn't you promise me that before?"

The old man didn't look back at him. He couldn't answer. Although the agreement with James and Lily had been to only communicate if they were being attacked, he himself could not understand how Lily could have disappeared without his knowledge. James had said nothing, as had Sirius and Lupin. He wondered if he had made a mistake in the conditions he had made to the Potters. He dared not think how James would react when seeing the state of his wife.

Snape did not watch Poppy's inspection of Lily. He had seen enough and imagined enough without wanting to know anymore. Instead he paced his living room, the faded green carpet wearing out at a faster than normal pace as Snape listened to the sounds of Poppy gasping as she uncovered each new spate of injuries. He knew something like this might happen but he hadn't been prepared to see the full extent of what his fellow Death Eaters could do. Yet he wanted to stay. He had to be there for Lily. He had let her down enough times without fucking this one up. He couldn't let her down now. Now that it was both their lives on the line. Now that he needed her love, even though he knew the bloody Potter would come back for her and she would be leave him behind to cry for however many days before striking out.

The door opened. Snape spun round to a grave Albus, holding his breathe and praying that there was no more damage.

"She will recover."

Snape breathed in deeply again, a smile appearing on his face for the first time that whole evening, "Thank God."

"The Death Eaters did significant damage to her physically but I fear it will be mentally that they will scar her most," to which Snape looked perturbed, "I take it you saw earlier the scars to her legs and abdomen. Whatever happens she will always remember this time," before standing directly in front of Snape and whisphering in a low voice, "She's pregnant."

Silence.

The clock ticked.

The wind blew underneath the door.

Poppy could be hear to be packing away her equipment.

"What?"

"Four months. If the baby is early she will only have four to five months left. Having been in captivity for such a long period of time it's surprising ..."

"Does she know?" Snape whispered, deep with distaste and loathing.

"I would presume so. She is unlikely to be able to move for some time though. We haven't been able to make contact with James yet and it's unlikely that we will if he's as good at hiding as he has been," Snapes anger boiling up at thi comment, "I presume she will be able to stay here with you in the meanwhile?" His voice raising at the end in suspicion as to the eagerness of Snape to hold onto his flower.

Snape didn't let him down, nodding enthusiastically and bout to enter into a long speech of gratitude and pledges not to let him down ...

"In which case I will add the necessary wards and any other protection you will need and bid you goodnight."

Snape stood there a while, thinking as Albus made his way to the front door.

"Albus," the wizard turned, "Do you who the father is?"

"I do not know, and I don't intend to find out just yet. Some things are best left unopened. I think we have both seen enough pain for one night." Before turning back to the door and leaving, "You understand my boy, don't you?"

He didn't. His rational mind did but he, Severus Snape, the long time lover and admirer of Lily Evans, did not want to understand. He just wanted Lily.

A murmur from his bedroom alerted him back to the said Lily.

He rushed in. She was already tucked into his bed, her face having gained some colour as he sighed over her. Her hair had been washed and dried and was now plaited behind her as it had been in their childhood. She now had on an ivory nightgown, covering up most of the bruises on her body but leaving her face, neck and hands visible. Her face was covered with various stitches and sterostrips but her neck and hands would only heal with time. She looked in all, not quite the woman he had once known.

"Is it over?" she asked. Her voice was small; it had lost its sharpness its brightness and a hint of fear laced her words, her body tense as she noted who stood oposite her.

He nodded, moving across to her so he could hold her hand before she pulled back from him. She simply shook her head, fearing him. His heart sank, weeping atthe rejection he should of had and yet would never gain.

He stepped back, smiling weakly. Give her time, he thought. She will love you one day. Just not now.

God, would she ever love him?

"Would you like any toast?"

"Toast would nice," she said smiling back at him. She knew he wasn't party to what had happened to her but she felt he was. She felt he must have been partly responsible for her being captured or at least had known about it. He must do if was still a Death Eater and yet he had not helped or even seen her in all her long confinement. She couldn't help but feel regret that Severus could not see her without still wishing her some ill will.

He left her to herself, understandably to get the toast. But after all that time she had become her own worst enemy. All she had had to talk too for four long dark months was herself and when someone did come it was only to hear her scream. She didn't care if it was Snape and he still hated her, she just wanted someone to be with her. To make he forget the pain, the agony, the desperate desire every single day to just crawl up and die as one by one they would come in twos or threes before ...

She shook her head violently. She couldn't remember. She mustn't. All it would do would cause her more pain. She had enough pain to last her til ... well til this one came out.

She looked down at her stomach, imagining this tiny creature that must be growing inside her. She almost wished she had never agrued so passionately against abortion all those years ago. Now she understood about the right to control your own body. Of course she couldn't wish it ill will, the events around this childs conception were nothing to do with it, and yet she felt it was somewhat responsible, that she wuld never be able to escpae this never ending cycle of despair that now filled her mind. She still hadn't seen Harry yet, her pride and joy. He'd be six months old now. She wondered how he would be now, how James would have missed her, why James wasn't here yet Severus was but worse, what James would say about this.

Snape returned quickly to her with a wide assortment of tea, toast and various spreads and jams for her. She had forgotten Snape's famous pantry and the never ending feasts she had been to long ago.

"Thank you," She smiled for him. A genuine smile. A smile that said she appreciated him for everything he was trying to do.

She let him watch her at the end of the bed as she nibbled at her toast. She didn't dare have the tea for fear of burning on herself. He watched her intently. He had seen her up close before never seen her in so much detail; the way her hair fell outside her plait and lay just next to her soft, sweet face, her sharp teeth working methodically through her toast, her fingernails bitten and raw clutching onto the toast as if it was about to be snatched away, her neck pale but glistening with sweat, either from nerves or new instinct. She watched him back, smiling at his antics. She knew he loved her, he had always loved her, but never had he stared at her with such ferocity as now that it had unnerved her.

"You can stop staring now," she whispered as she put down the last crust, Snape whipping up the tray from her before heading back towards the kitchen.

"How far along am I?" she shouted out, shocking Snape. How did she know? Of course she'd know, why was he being so stupid.

"Four months," a waver in his voice.

"Only four?" the sun returning to her voice. He chuckled at her.

She would return. And she would love him. She would. She had too.