A New Drug

I want a new drug

One that won’t make me sick

One that won’t make me crash my car

Or make me feel three feet thick

Severus knew he should have been happy. It was finally over. No more looking over his shoulder, no more double life, no more spying, and most of all, no more bowing and groveling to that self-righteous, snake-faced bastard who thought he was Grindlewald’s gift to the Wizarding world. Finally, his life was his own. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it yet, but it was his. So, why wasn’t he?

No one knew the difference, so what others said didn’t really matter. No one even bothered to ask him any way. Oh, they steered clear of him. Leading the life of the mean, nasty Potions Master for so long was a hard habit to break. He smiled to himself and gave a snort of laughter as he thought back to the speech Harry Potter had given at the ceremony the Ministry had held to honor those who had given their lives in the war against Voldemort, and medals to those who had taken an active role in it and survived.

Potter, it seemed, had been outraged on his behalf when he heard that the Ministry hadn’t planned to recognize his effort in the war against Voldemort as a spy. The boy had nearly started a new war right then and there; Harry Potter verses the Ministry of Magic. They had finally given in of course, and he was awarded an Order of Merlin third class. Severus was surprised to note that Potter had also mentioned everything he had learned that Severus had done to help their cause during the war, and that he had his full confidence and held him in the highest esteem.

So, here he was. He had his life back; he could walk freely throughout the Wizarding world for even though not all the Death Eaters had been captured, those who were the most dangerous were either dead or in Azkaban now. His time was his own, and he could do as he pleased. He could brew potions all day if he wanted. So, why wasn’t he happy?