Anything written in italics is from Lily's perspective. Normal text is from Severus'. Originally this was written as a two-parter but I feel it works better if the perspective changes throughout.

Forget Me Not

The more you hold of a person's heart, the harder you can break it. If you do it properly, you can watch it happening in their eyes, even as their fractured smile breaks the surface of their pain, assuring you that they're fine. If you do it just right, you can feel every shard of it come loose between your fingers. And if you do it really right, you'll keep the smallest piece, the piece that ought to slot right in the centre of their heart, for yourself; you'll curl your fingers tightly around it like a shield, the tiniest and most tender part of them, to remind yourself of what you have done, and exactly what you have taken from them every time it cuts into your fingers.

I have had to do this twice in my life. I suppose I ought to be thankful for that - that I only had to do it twice, instead of repeatedly – but I'm not. I'm not thankful because I had to do it to the same person both times. I'd rather it was none. I'd rather it was twenty people instead of the one person it was. The shard I had to take was more roughly cut than any other might have been, because the heart it came from broke far harder than any other might have. The heart it came from had already been hastily repaired once before, so that when it shattered for the second time the seams were noticeable. I hated him for making me do it again, for being the person I had to do it to. It would have been easier if he'd been a stranger.

I shouldn't have done it. I know that. I knew it then. I knew it as the idea of it formed in my mind. I knew it as I walked hesitatingly towards her, holding my breath in expectation that she would simply get up and stalk proudly away upon seeing me. I knew it as I settled myself carefully beside her, making sure that no part of me so much as lightly brushed her skin, though I ached to. I knew it as we sat, side by side, beneath that old willow tree by the lake that she loved. I knew it even as I collected the breath that would form the fatal sentence, and I knew it as soon as I watched her face change.

He shouldn't have done it. I knew he was going to; don't ask me how. Maybe it was the way the air suddenly felt charged. Maybe it was the way he was looking at me, fiddling with the hem of his robes as he always did when he was nervous. Maybe it was simply the fact that I know him, even though we haven't spoken properly in over a year.

She was beautiful, even as she pitied me. And she did pity me. She denies it now – she denied it then. But she forgets that I know her far better than she believes. I saw her eyes change, so subtly as to be almost unnoticeable to someone who knows her less well than I, but they seemed to soften, even as her face grew stony.

Her lips were light and softer than a dream. Her skin was pale, so pale, and the red-gold of her hair tumbled down her back, the length of it rippling and the ends curled slightly, the way I knew she hated. When she kissed me back I felt the muscles along the length of her jaw contracting; as I held a shaking hand to her throat I could feel her pulse fluttering there. But, as always, it was her eyes that were my undoing. I had become utterly lost in them, years before, and now each morning, when I hovered between sleep and waking, my world was flecked with green and gold. When I heard the word 'beauty' I saw the deep emerald of her irises, the tiny splinters of gold around the pupil that I felt sure no one else saw; a secret from her eyes for mine alone.

When he kissed me, for the second time in our lives, I knew he shouldn't have done it. Ordinarily I'd have pushed him off, even if James hadn't been a factor. I'd wondered idly, of course I had, when I was younger and my head became filled girlish fancies, what it would be like to kiss him. And why not? He was the closest thing I'd ever had to a boyfriend, even if only by the qualifiers that he was male and a friend. But after each of these fleeting daydreams I had always decided against it, realising what a bad idea it would be. So, ordinarily, I would have pulled away instantly. But there was something in his eyes the split second before he did it that seemed to catch in my memory; they were softer than usual, his defences lowered, and yet I could see something else there, a kind of wariness, so that he wasn't entirely vulnerable. But he was still the most exposed I had ever seen him, even since our childhood, and so I let him win, just for once.

I don't know why I did it. That's a lie. I should at least be honest with myself, even if I never speak another word of truth aloud. I knew it then, and I know it now. It was because I couldn't not do it. I hadn't done it for so long that it ought to have been second nature, but that day, I couldn't. I had to. That's the only explanation I have. I needed to kiss her. I needed to know how it felt.

And the strangest thing was that even though I knew it was unfair on James to do this, I knew it was even worse to be doing it to Severus. It meant that, for the second time, I would have to tell him I wasn't interested; for the second time, I would have to break his heart.

I had never been foolish enough to delude myself that she would return my feeling. I wasn't the first time I told her of my feelings, and I wasn't this time. Even in the dreams I saw in the deepest recesses of the night I refused to allow myself to imagine the other, fantastic, possibility. But even my careful preparations, my mental defences, were insufficient when it came to the reality.

She pulled away in silence and my words came out in a rush. I knew what she was going to say and so I told her everything; how she had always been the only person who could cheer me up; how she was the only person I had ever truly cared for; how the second I walked into a room, hers was the first and only face I sought, and when I found it, I could relax. I spoke quickly, fearful that if I stopped I would lose my nerve, and throughout my confession Lily did not say a word. I told her every secret thought that I held in my heart, and then I watched in silence as she tore it in two.

It's funny how all the great songs and films talk of the pain of heartbreak; of the loneliness of rejection, of the yearning for their lost love. None of them ever mention what it's like on the other side. None of them ever tell you how it feels to watch someone's face change as you crush their heart between your fingers. Not one of them describes what it's like to hear the quiver in their voice as they assure you they're okay, to watch their mouth move around the shape of a smile, trying to remember the way it feels to laugh, when their eyes have lost their sparkle. And I've never heard a song explain the way it feels when your own heart tears a little with the hurt of seeing someone you care about in pain because of you, of how impossible it is to need comfort from the person you've just crushed and all because you've crushed them. It had been hard enough the first time around. And now it looked as though I'd have to do it all over again.

"I'm sorry," she had said, and her eyes were unnaturally bright. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let that happen…" her voice trailed off, and she stared into her hands, looking so miserable that I dug my nails into the flesh of my palm to prevent myself from embracing her, knowing this would only worsen the situation. "I'm really sorry…I'm with James. He asked me out again yesterday and…"

I pulled away, feeling awful. And then he made it worse. I didn't want to hear his feelings; I didn't want to know about what I meant to him, because I knew that I could never mean as much as he wanted me to. The first time it had been easier just to say the words, right after he'd kissed me. I could close my eyes and let the treacherous words slide from my tongue. It had been simpler then, just to tell him that I didn't see him in that way. But I had lied a little then, too. I had been afraid of ruining our friendship, of leaving him with nothing should it fall apart. And three years later he had tried again. Clearly honesty was the best policy, and although I knew he wouldn't like it, I decided to tell the truth.

I felt my face burn with humiliation and rage. Him. Always him. "And what?" I said evenly, but my voice was icy, deadly calm. She didn't answer at first, and I gripped her arm and hissed, louder, "And what, Lily?"

I was prepared for him to be upset. He and James have never been friendly, never been civil. I knew his opinion of James Potter – "He's an arrogant, posing, useless, attention-seeking, stuck-up arsehole" – and if I was perfectly honest, I had agreed with him for nearly six years. But James had changed. Admittedly he was still immature (at times I wanted to throttle him for it) but he had somehow, through sheer perseverance, shown me that he could be caring, he could be sweet. I knew Severus would never forgive him, especially not now, and I opened my mouth hurriedly, feverish explanations and apologies sitting loosely on my tongue.

But as I felt Severus' cold fingers grip my arm and his lip curled in utter contempt, my apologies died in my throat and, suddenly, I was fuming. How dare he judge me for my choice of boyfriend, particularly when his own behaviour hadn't exactly been savoury? I felt my face burning as colour rose in my cheeks and suddenly I felt sick, sick with anger that he dared to preach to me after the disgusting thing he had called me just last year, that he dared to look down on me when we hadn't even spoken in months.

Throwing me off forcefully, Lily faced me full on now, and the fury in her eyes was aimed at me. "And I said yes. You don't have claims on me, Sev, you knew I didn't see you that way. I told you three years ago – "

"Three years ago you also told me you'd never consider so much as talking to James Potter!" I hissed, my nostrils flaring with anger.

"Sev, you've got no right to be angry, we don't even talk anymore – you knew I didn't want anything to do with you after last year, after all the disgusting things you said - "

When he asked me, his voice desperate and hurt, "How many times do you want me to apologise for that?" I had had my answer ready and waiting. I had been expecting his next comment, just waiting for him to tell me once more than it had been a slip of the tongue, a mistake, his greatest regret. I was ready to fire back at him, tell him I didn't care, it was too late. I was completely prepared for an argument, but when he asked me that there was something in his voice that caught suddenly, and I forgot my anger.

"How many times do you want me to apologise for that?" I said, my voice a thin and angry whisper.

Lily didn't answer this time. She got up brushing grass from her robes, and the fury in my voice was nothing to the anger in her eyes, which blazed so brightly now that they seemed almost to dim the lustre of the fire-wrapped strands of her hair. Inwardly I retreated, quailing beneath her ferocity and wishing I had never said anything at all, wishing I had remained with my lips pressed against hers so that she could not squeeze these inevitable words out, wishing I could erase the mistakes of the past and knowing I had done things which could never be undone.

"How many times will it take for you to realise that apologising isn't enough?" I said, all the fire gone from my voice though I tried to hide the pain that flavoured it, not wanting him to see that the memory of that day still hurt, like a nearly-healed wound suddenly caught and opened once more so that fresh pain flows through. This time, I knew it was true. I couldn't forgive him for what he had said, and I was moving on now. Severus Snape was a part of my past.

This time was unlike all the other times before; unlike the fits of anger when I would threaten him, ordering him to leave me be; unlike the times when I had cried against my will, begging him to stop apologising and move on. This time, it really was too little, too late.

"How many times," she said quietly, and though her voice shook with suppressed anger I could hear the faint note of pain threaded through it. "How many times will it take for you to realise that apologising isn't enough?"

Shamed, I said nothing.

"Just leave me alone, Sev," I asked, and he looked into his lap, not meeting my eye. "You're too late."

I turned from him and walked back to the castle where I knew James would be waiting for me. I didn't know if Severus would be following; I kept my gaze held firmly ahead of me. If I did that, I wouldn't have to see how much I'd hurt him. If I did that, I wouldn't have to see his tears.

And he wouldn't have to see mine.

OoOoOoOo

I wrote this oneshot because I believe that Snape really did love Lily, and that he wouldn't have just kept it bottled forever. He does appear reserved at times but there are several points in the canon when he lets his emotions loose, and I believe Lily would be a big enough trigger for that. This is set in around their sixth year. It's also been slightly inspired by a line from a Friend's episode, which goes something like, "Do you have any idea how painful it is to tell someone you love them and not have them say it back?", and which I personally think is extremely true.