Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I'm too lazy to type a witty disclaimer...
A/N: The beginning is weak, but I started with paragraph four when I wrote this and went from there. Sorry for the mistranslation: the title is French for "Ripped Apart." Thanks to Dudly for the edit. I hate my French Dictionary (it's even worse than I am), but I decided to keep the title.
Chapter I:
Lily awoke confused. Where am I? The room was dark in decoration, but the bed she was lying on seemed reasonably comfortable… It took her a while to realize what was odd about the room, there were no windows. Like a tomb… It was illuminated by three slender candles, floating in the air, and she caught sight of her pale face in a mirror opposite the bed.
Then, everything came back… James! Harry! She suddenly caught sight of another person in the mirror… someone who, at first glance, seemed to be part of the shadows. Severus Snape. She turned, breathing quickly, feeling for her wand and remembering that she had lost it.
Snape seemed not to notice her panic. He was looking at her with something like concern in his dark eyes. He leaned a little closer to her, his eyes probing her, and she wasn't sure for what.
Mustering as much strength as she could, she drew back her hand and attempted to strike him as hard as possible. He seemed to have been expecting this; he easily caught her left hand by the wrist, but he wasn't quick enough to catch the right.
Lily's hand caught him hard in the face; she sprang up, but again, he was too swift for her. An arm encircled her waist and forced her back into a sitting position on the bed. Severus Snape had never been particularly strong, but he seemed to have an unnatural strength tonight. Perhaps it was simply that he was more than a match for the injured, slightly lightheaded young witch. Noticing that he still gripped her left arm, she wrenched it away, surprised when he didn't resist the motion.
His hand was on his wand, but he made no move to punish her, he just slowly raised a hand to the angry red mark across his face and watched her with a pensive silence that frightened her. She half wished that he would scream a curse at her or call her a filthy mudblood, anything to break the cold stillness that had settled over them like a shroud.
Even as a captive, she was defiant; he could see her struggling to mask the fear and misery she felt. Even as a prisoner, uncertain whether these were her last moments, she took his breath away. He wanted to fall at her feet, to tell her that she was free, that she need never see Lord Voldemort again, to tell her how terribly, terribly sorry he was…
He tensed as he heard a slight noise in the hall. "Muffliato," he whispered. If any Death Eater heard what he was about to say, he knew it would mean death for both him and Lily. Lily's eyes flicked from his impassive face to his wand suspiciously, almost fearfully. Instead of replacing the wand in his pocket, he laid it down on the bedside table, taking a full step away from it and offering her his now empty hand.
"You know I would never hurt you," he said very softly, so softly that he couldn't have said whether or not she had heard.
She ignored the outstretched hand, and her eyes darted toward the abandoned wand.
"You would be dead long before you reached the bottom floor," he said coolly, mater-of-factly, almost as though he was commenting on the weather. "And then, I wouldn't be able to live with myself…"
Rage suddenly flared up inside her, she wanted to strike out at him again, harder this time, but fury held her immobile. "Why would you care? Why should you give a damn if there's one less mudblood in the world?"
His face was slightly flushed, and she knew it had nothing to do with the slap-mark, but she was beyond caring. She let out a scream that was half derisive laughter, half agony. "I suppose it would ruin things for you, wouldn't it? But don't I get a say? What if I don't want to live, any more? WHAT IF I WOULD RATHER JOIN MY HUSBAND AND MY CHILD THAN BE YOUR WHORE?"
He reeled. The loathing in her eyes as she screamed those words hurt a thousand times worse than being tortured by Lord Voldemort, and Snape wished harder than ever that he had let himself be tortured rather than admit he had ever heard of a certain prophesy.
Lily collapsed on the bed, sobbing, and he took her in his arms, ignoring her struggles and the stinging pain as her finger nails raked his face.
"James Potter…" he murmured, unsure of how to continue.
"W-was… a b-better man than-than… you'll ever be!" she spat, still trying to wrench herself away.
"Lily, Lily," he whispered miserably, "I don't deny it, but I never wanted him dead. I never wanted anyone dead…"
The words caught her off guard, and she stopped to stare at him, her beautiful green eyes wide.
"I went to Dumbledore," he whispered, entreating her to listen. "I told him I would become his spy… I told him I would do anything if he would just keep you… all of you… safe!" He shook her slightly. He wanted her more than anything to understand, if she couldn't forgive him, he didn't want her to blame him. He surely deserved that much, at least!
"How… how do I know you're not lying?" She did not sound angry anymore, just cautious. He was suddenly aware how close she was; the fragrance of her hair had lingered, just barely, and it intoxicated him.
He swallowed and let go of her, realizing how tightly he had been holding her… "Who else would have known the Dark Lord's plans? One of Dumbledore's Order? Lupin? Black? Cowardly little Pettigrew? No, Dumbledore's side knows nothing, nothing! Which is, of course, why they needed a spy…"
She said nothing, but he knew, with a sudden tremulous happiness, that she believed him. She slumped, looking weary and vulnerable. "Harry… my baby… I tried to save him… I told… He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named… to kill me instead…"
He sat down by her, gently stroking her dark red hair, praying that she would never know who, exactly, had sent the Dark Lord after the child.
She seemed to take strength from him; she reached out and gripped his fingers tightly, continuing. "I told him I would never move… but he… he tortured me… the Cruciatus curse… and… and I wasn't fast enough…"
Severus's stomach contracted. The Dark Lord had tortured her? "No lasting damage…" He could easily imagine her screams, her slender figure convulsing… A cold disgust filled him, making him even more sure that he would never betray Albus Dumbledore.
"You should rest," he mumbled, pressing her gently onto the bed.
"And you?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.
"I need to think." He settled himself into the same chair he had been in when she woke. "Soon, you'll be free," he promised, making a motion as if to caress her cheek, but drawing back.
"I want you to live, Lily. You mustn't let go. I'm sure your… husband would have wanted you to live."
She nodded faintly and closed her eyes. Severus Snape watched her as her breathing became deep and even, but he knew that he would not sleep that night.
A/N: Please tell me what you thought. It's possible that I have put more work into this than any other fic, and I deeply appreciate reviews, even if you are going to tell me that you don't like it. No flames, though. I don't get anything out of flames, so I'll just go on posting like I'm posting without ever knowing what you disliked about my fic! And no, "ur fick sux nd is shitt!" is not a polite answer!