Chapter One- Two Worlds

January 1, 1995

The concept of dreaming has long been up for debate. It has been said that dreams do have meaning. Some find that their dreams can be quite useful for learning more about the dreamer's actual feelings, thoughts, behavior, motives and possibly desires. While that is a more practical explanation for dreams, others believe that they can also offer a glimpse into our past so that we may learn from it, while also supplying a peek into our futures so that we may prepare for it.

For two very diverse people in two very different worlds, Severus Snape and Clara Lanning, shared one common bond. Their nights were spent haunted by dreams of their past, while their days were pledged with dreams of an unreachable future. It was those very dreams that would bring these two worlds crashing together in the most unlikely of fashions. Those very dreams would led them into a future that neither of them ever expected.

In a dark, damp office somewhere in the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat a brooding man staring into the dying flames of the oversized fireplace. A large glass of Firewhisky sat beside him untouched on the side table. There would be time for that later.

Glancing outside at the fierce January snowstorm, he let out an irritated sigh. In less than an hour, he would once again have to take up his post patrolling in the corridors, while Headmaster Dumbledore went out for a little break. "Silly old man," he said aloud while shaking his long curtain of inky black hair out of his face. It was true that he had nothing else pressing to occupy his time, but it irritated him to no end that others could actually think of things to do for leisure while he, himself, could not.

Severus Snape was not a happy man. At age thirty-four, he felt that he had little to show for his life. He had a job as a teacher, which most days he hated. It was not that he didn't love his subject matter, Potions. The problem was the insufferable dunderheads that were his students. No one seemed to have any passion or drive once they stepped across the threshold of his classroom.

He had a sensible office and comfortable living quarters, which suited his needs just fine.

He had even written several articles for various potion magazines, which he was certain no one ever read.

Other than that, all he had was time. Time to brood and reflect on painful memories and horrid nightmares. It had been well over a decade since he had made the worst mistake of his life and not a day went by that he did not relive his real life nightmare over and over again. Due to his brainless decision to join a bullying group of bigots known as Deatheaters, his beautiful love Lily was dead. It was his fault. Each night he reminded himself of that. Each day, when he watched over her and that egotistical, brainless, jock's son, Harry Potter, he was reminded again of his responsibilities.

At exactly 11:00, a playful tap on the door echoed throughout the dungeon. Without waiting for Severus to answer, an old man's face appeared around the door frame, grinning from ear to ear.

''Aah, Severus, my boy. I see that you are up and ready for your patrolling."

Severus grunted his response and before any words of protest could be uttered, Albus Dumbledore gracefully sat down in the opposite arm chair and smiled at his young colleague.

Dumbledore had a gentle yet commanding spirit about him. He may have been aged and powerful but he still had the tender heart of a child beating in his chest. His typical flowing wizard robe had been traded in for a sleek Muggle, olive colored tweed suit with a caramel colored blazer. A small brown cap replaced his customary ornate wizarding hat. To anyone passing by, Albus would look no different than a cheery old university professor at a prestigious London school.

"Well, Headmaster, I see that you are planning to visit Muggle London again," droned Severus.

"Yes, indeed. I plan on having a quick coffee and a slice of lemon pie at my favorite retreat," mused Dumbledore. "Gilbey Coffee House has been my favorite for years. I find that with all the stress that the Tri-Wizard tournament has brought, it is healthy for me to steal a few moments of rest in my own little paradise.''

"Dumbledore would consider indulging is sweets to be paradise. I hate sweets and coffee," Severus thought to himself.

"Are you sure you won't join me, Severus? I can always ask Minerva to take an extra patrol so you can take a break. I can't remember the last time you left the castle for a respite."

"That's because I don't, Albus. Go on and I will start my rounds."

The old man slowly made his way to the door with a weary look on his face. He cared for the young man like a son and always worried that he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He suggested countless times for Severus to take a rest or indulge in something outside of the world of academics but was always quickly cut off.

"Life is too short and too precious to just let it slip by, son." And with that, Albus ambled out of the office and disappeared into the shadows of the quiet dungeon.

Clara's father always told her, "God will never give you more than you can handle." Now, as she thought on that statement, she almost laughed at the bitter irony of his words. It was easy for him to say that. He was not the one left with only disappointment and heartache. Life had become more than she could handle and that was precisely why she was escaping it.

November 23rd, 1994 had been the biggest living nightmare of her life. She was supposed to be hosting her small family's Thanksgiving dinner at her little condo in Atlanta, Georgia. She was so proud of her newly decorated kitchen with brand new black appliances. She had painted the kitchen walls red and the cabinets white. She and her father were graduates of the University of Georgia so she just knew he would appreciate her ode to "Bulldog" colors. It was a simple yet elegant condo with two beds, a bathroom, a small living room, kitchen, laundry room and tiny little dinning area.

Her walls where lined with pictures of she and her boyfriend of two years, Ben Carter. Clara had met Ben a few years ago after he had done her first ever taxes. Ben was extremely outgoing and very charismatic. He was the quintessential man's man and worshiped NFL football more than life itself. Clara adored Ben and had occasionally brought up the idea of marriage but Ben usually changed the subject quickly. She tried to be content with where their relationship was currently but she could not stop the feeling that Ben was trying to put off any serious commitment for some reason.

Scattered around the condo are also trinkets from her family's travels from all over the world. Growing up in a military family made for a life full of adventure as well as an all too common familiarity with moving boxes. That was why she was so excited to finally have her own place, a stable job teaching voice and dance lessons at a local performing arts center, as well as a long term relationship with Ben.

By 5:45, her sister Michelle and her husband Bill had arrived bringing with them a semi- burned pumpkin pie (Michelle never was much of a cook). By that point, Clara was running around her kitchen mashing potatoes, stressing over her first ever turkey, and rambling about whether the gravy was going to turn out or not. By 6:00, Ben had arrived bringing a large jug of sweet tea, his only contribution to the meal. Like Michelle, Ben was not much of a cook so all the pressure was now placed on Clara's shoulders. Clara had spent the last month reading book after book by Julia Child to find the perfect recipes. The table was set on her newly purchased oak dinning table with mismatched plates and silverware (She was still saving up enough money to purchase 'real' ones).

Her father, Mike Lanning, was now officially late! Mike was a military man through and through. He was always on time and Clara knew that a dinner with his daughter would always be put at top priority. So why in the world would he choose this day of all days to be tardy?

Clara was shaken back from her memories as a large suitcase ran over her foot. "Sorry," a rather large lady mumbled as she ran by her to catch her own flight. Clara had been sitting at Gate 9B in the Atlanta airport for three hours. She had been so ready to leave that she showed up to the airport five hours early. It had taken her nearly an hour to get through check-in and security which allowed plenty of time to replay the moment she received the phone call informing her of her father's fatal car accident.

Bill, Michelle, and Ben were in the living room laughing at the newscasters narrating the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in a freezing snowstorm while Clara was now pacing the kitchen floor. Her stomach was clenched in a knot. "Why in the world are you an hour late, Daddy?" she thought out loud. Her kitchen phone rang and she answered, "Hello, this is Clara". That was the last thing she remembered. From the living room all that could be heard was a scream and then a crash. Ben ran in to find Clara slumped down on the floor hyperventilating with the phone tossed next to her. The news had been too much for her to handle. Mike was her life and she was his. Since he had raised his two girls as a single Dad, he spent every available moment with his daughters. Now he was gone. Taken by a careless drunk driver not three miles from her house.

"Now boarding First Class rows only," announced the lady at the gate desk. Clara pulled out her boarding pass from her messenger bag. She had a window seat on row twenty-seven in the economy class section so she knew she had a few more minutes before she would board. She twirled a brown curl that hung down to her shoulders. It was a nervous habit that she had but her hair was a sense of comfort to Clara so she never worked on breaking it.

She had never really considered herself a great beauty. She would never look like those models in the fashion magazines her sister always bought. Clara was an average height of about 5'4 with pale skin that would just never seem to tan even after spending hours by the pool during the hot Atlanta summers. Since she had spent the last ten years of her life in the South, she had indulged in good ol' Georgia "soul food" a bit too much so she was not skinny by any means nor was she too over weight. She just had that full look that most non-athletic southern girls had, which suited her just fine. She liked to eat and wasn't afraid to admit it. At twenty-six years old, she had a healthy metabolism to keep most of the weight off while dancing helped her maintain her health. Clara never noticed that heads frequently turned when we walked in a room because she was, in fact, quite pretty. She just didn't see it herself.

The two features that did stand out on Clara were both passed on to her by her father. They both had striking midnight blue eyes. They were like looking into two pools of deep ocean water.

When she was a little girl and would cry after arguing with her sister, her father would hold her close and tell her to calm the storm. He would look her in the eyes and tell her that when she cried, he could see a whole hurricane brewing inside those little eyes.

Her other feature that was inherited from her father was her head full of thick chocolate curls. They were unable to be tamed so she usually let them go free. She had never actually seen her father's hair curly since he kept it cut so short for work but she had seen pictures of him from when he was a little boy. She knew that she had gotten them from him. At the moment, her hair was cut short just above her shoulders but she had recently decided to see how long she could grow it out since she really didn't feel like paying for her hair to be cut anymore.

Loosing her father was only the first blow that would bring her closer to making the life changing decision to move to London.

On Christmas Day, Clara finally pulled herself from her bed. She had hardly left her house since the funeral. There was no Christmas tree, no cookies baking in the oven, no gifts wrapped and waiting to be opened nor carols being sung by the fire. Bill and Michelle were back in Denver celebrating with Bill's large family. They tried hard to convince Clara to go back with them to spend the holiday season after the funeral but the thought of being around smiling, happy people made her want to barf.

She was perfectly content to brood alone in her condo wearing sweat pants and her father's oversized Bull Dog sweater. She finally decided to sift through some mail that her sister had organized for her on the coffee table before they had left the week before. On the top, was a letter she had been expecting. It was her formal "letting go" letter from the Buckhead Performing Arts Center.

It had been her dream job. She finally had a chance to use her double major of Dance and Music as well as get a chance to work with small children. Clara had a natural ability to make those around her do their best. As much as she loved to perform herself, she knew she would never have the perfect dancers body to make it big or the drive to spend hours in a practice room to further a singing career. This job let her schedule private piano and occasionally guitar students in the afternoons. At night, she instructed ballet classes for six through twelve year olds. She was one of five recently hired performing arts instructors that were being let go after the New Year. The Center's rent was going up so they could not afford to have so many teachers anymore. This news had come to her at the beginning of that month. Just a week after her father's funeral and the day after Ben and broken up with her. "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger…right?" she said to herself.

Ben had apparently been planning to break up with her for weeks in order to start dating his new little secretary that started working for him at his company in Kennesaw. After dating for two years, he just didn't know how to do the deed so out of the "kindness'' of his heart, he did it over email the week after her fathers funeral. "Bastard," she thought as she tossed aside one of his sports magazines he had sent to her place. By the time he left her, she really had no more tears left and was practically numb to all feelings and emotions.

She had made it down to the bottom of the stack when a scrap of paper caught her eye. It was her Uncle Steven's phone number. He owned a twenty-four hour coffee shop in the Camden neighborhood of London. She had only met him a handful of times and hardly had a chance to speak to him during the funeral. Since Steven Lanning had limited help to run the coffee house his stay in Atlanta had been very brief while attending the funeral.

While at the service, Steven had given her an offer to come over and help him out with the family business. He thought it might do her good to get out of the States and have a change of environment. At that point, Clara still had Ben and her job to keep her busy. Things were different now. She knew exactly what she desired. Clara wanted to be anywhere but there.

The next few days flew by as she packed up the small amount of valuables she owned, sold furniture and rented out her condo. Clara had built up a healthy amount in her savings account so she quickly purchased her last minute plane ticket. She would be finished with this dark chapter of her life and would finally escape to something new.

So there she was, sitting in seat twenty-seven A. Her passport was gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles had long since turned white. She quietly gazed out the window counting down the seconds until the plane would lift her off of this world and deliver her into a new one. A country she had never seen before. A lifetime left behind. He new world full of hopes and dreams ahead.

A/N: After the final HP movie came out I just couldn't live with the fact that Severus died never knowing love. An idea to show what his story would have been like had he found love came to me in a dream. I hope you enjoy and fall in love with this story as much as I have. Don't forget to leave a review!

-Phoenix