No, it was the prickle of danger that had been growing stronger.   It hit him sometimes when he read or heard certain names, though he couldn't say what names, or why.  He sighed again, having found himself at an Apparition point.  He concentrated, and with a soft "pop" arrived at his home in Spinner's End.

He made himself some soup, and brewed some tea, pondering how his life had come to this.  Everyday it was the same.  He would go to the shop, sell some potions, and come home to an empty house.  There was nothing but the deafening silence to befriend him.  There was no one but the shattered mirror to speak to.  He had shattered it one night when the silence grew too accusatory and he couldn't stand to look at his own face.  Now he saw the mirror as a reminder.  You are broken.  Shattered.  You will never be whole again.

Severus pulled out the paper but found his senses tingling at each turn of the page.  Something big was coming, he could feel it.  He had no idea where the lines were being drawn, however, and what side of the line he would be left standing on.  He hated that, the feeling that every small boy dreads, while the teams are being picked, and he is getting to be the last...

Shaking his head, he stood and poured himself a brandy.  Just one, just to dull the pain. He took a sip, and then recalled his words to Greg Goyle, and dumped the alcohol down the sink.  He refused to be a hypocrite.  He would not run from this, whatever this was.  Instead, he brewed more tea, and sat in his chair again.  Mulling over his problems, he scowled.  Severus, you are a lonely old man, who has burned most of your bridges.  You are to blame for your desolation, and for your routine existence.  So it was, with dreary thoughts dogging him, that Severus drifted into an uneasy sleep before his dying fire.  His last thoughts before he reached oblivion echoed through the silence in his head.  "We'll do this all over again tomorrow."

Summary: A typical evening for Severus.