A/N: I was really bored last night after finishing Deathly Hallows for the eighth time, and I wanted to try something different, so, alas! Here is different! Snape is a very misunderstood character, I think, and although I'm not particularly fond of him, he is still a (fictional) person and has feelings. This is a look into what I think Snape's seventh year would have been like. I hope you enjoy it! R&R?

Shattered

It seemed to Severus Snape that his heart had to have been broken in sixteenths by now. Or maybe it had just dissolved, and the hole in his chest where his heart had previously been was now just a big, empty void. But how could that be true if every time he saw her with him he felt a cruel stab in his aching chest? Right now, for instance, he felt that familiar piercing as if someone had ran him through with a sharpened sword as he looked—not spied—on upon Lily Evans sitting with James Potter under the Beech tree on the bank of the Black Lake.

Of course, he had known that she had mistakingly fallen for his foolhardy ways, and pompous attitude for a few days now, but he had point-blank refused to believe these horrid, twisted rumors. But now, seeing them there, curled up with each other under that stupid tree, watching Potter play with her dark-red hair, twisting it around his fingers…it all hit him.

He was the one who was supposed to be lying there with Lily, those were supposed to be his hands playing in her flowing red hair. Just that thought alone was enough to rip his mangled heart into shreds and leave his chest gaping open.

If that wasn't enough, he had to sit there and watch his love gaze up at his nemesis with eyes full of something akin to adoration and ardor. And yet he couldn't look away as Potter bent his head down to kiss her lips tenderly.

He found himself fantasizing, imagining himself in Potter's place, and wondering if Lily's soft, pink lips could possibly be as silky as they looked. His expression glazed over as he pictured himself reaching up to undo the clip at the back of her head, releasing her brilliant red hair, and letting it spill over his hand, leaning in…

But that glorious hair wasn't his to feel, and it never would be.

A surge of anger coursed through him, pulling him from his little daydream. His fingers flitted toward his wand without his conscious command, itching to cause some sort of damage to the obnoxious, pig-headed boy ogling at Lily like she was some prize bull at the county fair.

He fingered his wand: Just one teeny, tiny curse wouldn't hurt too much. Just a quick nonverbal, and he would leave with no one the wiser. No one would even have to know it was him.

Just as he began to raise his wand, a fierce pain shot through his forearm. Snape dropped his wand, gasping in pain, and yanked the sleeve of his robes back. His arm was swollen, and scarred. The faint pink outline of the newly branded Dark Mark was just barely discernible on his puffy skin.

Snape swore under his breath, and pulled his robes down to cover it again. He picked up his wand, and glanced over to where Lily and Potter were sitting. Lily's best friend, Alice Prewett, Mary Macdonald, and Marlene McKinnon were sitting with them now. Black, that filthy lycanthrope, and Pettigrew had also joined them. Lily was laughing and interacting with them like they had been friends all their lives.

Looking absolutely revolted, Snape stuck his wand back in the pocket of his school robes, and began plucking at the yellowing grass. Occasionally he would look up to see what Lily was doing with her friends, but the scene never changed. Every time he would lift his head, he saw her laughing merrily or gazing at Potter with that sickening love struck expression. Now, for instance, Black was trying—and failing—to braid McKinnon's long blonde hair while Lily was giggling madly at the results, and Potter was hurling teasing insults at his best mate.

It was the picture of happiness and friendship.

So where were Snape's friends?

He scanned the grounds carefully. Finally he spotted Bellatrix Black and her soon-to-be-fiancée, Rodolphus Lestrange—although they were hardly his friends—surrounded by a group of other Slytherins at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. From the way she was holding her left arm with her sleeves pulled back, she was, no doubt, showing off her and Rodolphus's new matching Marks. Others in the group—Macnair, Yaxley, Avery, and Mulciber—were following her lead, wearing proud smirks on their faces.

Snape felt vague disapproval: they shouldn't be flaunting their Marks to just anyone, Slytherin or not. Letting his eyes wander aimlessly, he could see that they were attracting strange looks from other students near them.

He stood up, scattering the pile of shredded grass he had picked, and brushed the grass and bracken off of his black robes before striding determinedly toward the group. As he walked, he could feel a pair of eyes following his every movement. His head snapped up, and for a brief moment, his glare met James Potter's. In just those few seconds, Snape could see revulsion, pure hatred, and warning in his cold hazel eyes, and he was sure that his gaze bared those same things.

Although he didn't particularly care what the arrogant bastard thought of him, Snape had to wonder if Potter had noticed the group of Slytherins, and if that had something to do with the look he had given him.

Shaking it off, he approached Bellatrix with an air of indifference, nodding at the others he knew.

"Bellatrix," he greeted coldly.

"Snape," she replied, a malicious smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"I merely wanted to inform you of the attention you are attracting here, Bellatrix," Snape said in a dull, bored voice.

Bella gave a maniacal laugh, throwing her head back. "That's all quite well, Severus, but they should know just whom they will be begging for mercy in due time. Don't you think so?"

Snape gave a noncommittal shrug. "Either way, you will do well to remember our master's orders. You must be careful of who you place your trust in, Bella," he warned before walking away. He knew she would be watching him retreat, so he pulled out his wand and cursed the nearest Gryffindor or first year that he could find. He could almost feel her satisfied smirk.

Snape didn't go back to resume watching Lily. Instead, he turned in the direction of the castle in hopes of catching up on some pleasure reading, but he immediately slowed as he realized where his path would take him: past the Beech tree, past Lily and Potter.

Although he knew that Potter wouldn't dare pull anything with Lily watching, he gripped his wand tightly beneath his cloak, and ducked his head as he walked by. As soon as he came into view, the laughter ceased abruptly, and he heard Potter mutter to someone, "don't even think about it, Padfoot." Seven pairs of eyes bore into the side of his head as he passed; Lily kept her gaze pointedly averted. He tried very hard to see two hands—one small and dainty, and the other large and calloused—intertwined and resting on the grass.

When he was out of sight, the group continued its friendly banter as if there had been no interruption, and laughs ensued.

No, Lily Evans was not his, and would never be, but he would do his damnedest to make sure no harm ever came to her, because she wouldn't be Lily Evans at all if she was dead.

A/N: So…what do you think? Kinda short, I know, but do you like this new, different style, or do you want me to forget about this and go back to the fluffy L/J goodness? Or combine both? You can tell me by clicking that little gray/green button down there, and type a few words! Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!

~Livelier~