Severus Snape awoke with a jolt. He had intense chills running through his body, the type he hadn't felt since Harry Potter vanquished the Dark Lord.


Deciding he'd rather not go back to sleep and revisit that horrid dream, Snape rose and set about making tea. Methodically, he scooped 2 teaspoons of tea leaves into his cup, added a dash of milk, and a squeeze of lemon, and sat down in his favorite recliner.

"What an odd dream," he mused, stirring his cup rhythmically.

Left stir, left stir, left stir, right stir. Left stir, left stir, left stir, right stir.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd had a dream so frightful. Fred Weasley had come into his shop, asking for assistance with some new product to "Release Your Inner Eye" or some such nonsense. When Snape had dismissed him, Fred exacted revenge... By organizing a "Hug Snape!" Campaign. Everywhere he went, he was attacked by girls from all ages and backgrounds, pouncing on him, hugging him, and running away. Just before he'd woken up, Sybill Trelawney had joined in.

"Thank Merlin it was just a dream," he muttered, sipping his tea, and shuddering slightly.

And yet, now that he pondered it a bit more, there was more off-balance these days than his subconscious. He could sense a storm brewing, and he needed to know soon what was going on, so that he could prepare. He was never one to be caught unawares if he could help it.

After all, life was different for Severus Snape than it was for most people.

Most people wanted to have friends, wanted to know that they were loved, and that they had people behind them in tough situations.

Severus Snape wanted none of that; he would let no one get a good shot at his back. If people were behind you, it was all too easy for them to stick a knife between your ribs, and twist it. Severus Snape was nobody's knife sheath.

He had played the game of the gods and walked away. He had fooled mortal men and immortal ones, and now he was ready to settle down. Didn't he deserve quiet? Didn't he deserve peace?

Apparently the gods thought not, for once again, dark was rising. He could feel the evil entering the world, for it echoed in his very bones, and he was to be caught in the middle of the ensuing turmoil, he was sure. How not for a man whose allegiance is to only himself? Well and so, for there was nothing worth being fully allied with... Not anymore.

How many wars could one man live through? How many times could he walk away unscathed?

Ah, but he wasn't unscathed, not at all. He was scarred more fully and deeply that Harry Potter himself. It is a fine line between good and evil, and full of peril.

Yet he was well known for walking that line... And that was why he was yet again caught in the middle.

Why could life not just leave him to his potions?

Potions were predictable, calming. They did what they were supposed to, if you did what you were supposed to. There was a subtlety, and a beauty in potions... And the thrill of seeing a potion he had prepared do its work... There was nothing like it. Add to that the pride of having discovered the potion, having created it... Ah, heaven was only a vial away.

But the world would not stand still and leave him in peace. If he wanted peace for himself he would once again have to work for it. Shed blood for it, most likely. Perhaps this time he would not have to walk that line of good and evil. Perhaps this time it would be all good...

Who was he kidding? He swatted an errant fly away, knocking over the vial of amber liquid he kept on the table beside his recliner. It flowed onto the table before his eyes and seeped into the wood, filling the room with a pungent smell...

Vanilla and Honeydew melon.

It was as if the scent made him realize what had to happen. If needed, he would walk that line, again and again for eternity. For after all, he had made his choice to not be good a long time ago. If he hadn't chosen to walk with that first evil... Ah, who can say what might have been. Not him, for he was no Trelawney to see the future.

He would start regaining his old acquaintances in the morning... Surely someone would know something. And it wouldn't take much for him to find new contacts either. Former students... Perhaps he would hire one or more young people to help man the shop, that he could listen from the back and hear what others were not saying. Indeed, that would be most ideal.

He sighed heavily, a slouch overcoming his normally straight shoulders. By Merlin's beard, he was tired. What would it take for him to have some rest?



Summary: Severus wakes up from a nightmare and ponders the future