'I had been planning this for a while. By 'this' I mean what I would do if - for better or worse - I somehow had to go into hiding after the battle of Hogwarts, whether the students under my protection either failed or were victorious. The likelihood of 'this' happening was incredibly high; just as I may or may not have sabotaged Remus Lupin by exposing him as a werewolf, parents would be skeptical of having a former Death Eater teaching their children, even if I was a mere double-agent, and not a true follower of Lord Voldemort. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself - one thing the insufferable, ingenious Miss Granger was very painstakingly right about. There was also the fact that the Ministry may come looking for me, along with the Dementors... not that they would have much positivity to sap from me; I'm not known for being the happiest person around. But, on the beneficial side of my mood, at least my poor temperament meant that I would not expect too much from others and displease myself.

Nonetheless, 'this' seemed to be my only option: I would retreat into the muggle world, and live out the rest of my days as I would have preferred to, were I muggle-born and not a half-blood. I have knowledge of how to conduct myself in this sort of environment, and pride myself on knowing how to do so better than a pureblood. Still, I know a man of my interests and hobbies would stick out like a sore thumb, so instead of attempting - and possibly failing - to blend in with the majority, I made a bee-line for the subcultures, instead. Those who live what the muggles call a more 'alternative' lifestyle. This was much easier to achieve, and meant that I didn't really have to change an awful lot about the way I normally look to fit in.

After the battle of Hogwarts, I just about managed to drag myself to safety after being bitten by Nagini, keeping pressure on the wound and conserving my energy just long enough to find myself at the better end of the Herbology department, where I was quickly able to find a coagulant to prevent myself from bleeding out (after taking notes on several occasions that Nagini was a non-venomous snake, and was more closely identified as a reticulated python, judging by her size, colour and the shape of her head, I judged that were she ever to be turned against me, I would require a coagulant as opposed to an antivenom). Prior to bandaging and dressing my throat I had rifled through Sprout's miraculously intact emergency first aid kit.

Then, I made my escape.

I do not remember much of how it happened, as the adrenaline caused me to nearly lose my head, but I am under the impression that I found the vanishing cabinet and transported myself to Borgin and Burkes, only to flee via Diagon Alley, where I would be able to disapparate again.'

Severus Snape was, of that moment, sat in an Irish pub, half of his brain listening to those participating in the Open Mic night, and half of his brain focusing on writing down just what had happened to him. This pub was where he had been when he first fled back to the muggle-world with very little but his muggle wallet, wand, and £500 in cash. He had changed, since then, especially in his appearance.

He supposed that his new lifestyle meant a 'new me'.

If someone had asked one of his former students to identify him in a crowd of Goths, he could think of only four people who would have been able to do so: Hermione Granger - who would catch on after a few minutes of analysis, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy - both of whom would have squinted around the room until they, by some stroke of pure luck, spotted him, and the complete mystery that was Miss Luna Lovegood, who he had no doubt would identify him immediately, without question, by sod's law.

Indeed, a few years had passed since he had left the wizarding world, and he was making a living out of taxidermy and tattooing. Odd subjects for one who was primarily scientific, but Severus had thought that if he had gone into medicine, it would have been entirely too predictable and all the easier for him to attract unwanted attention. Thus, he had slid to the opposite end of the scale and specialised in the creative department.

It may have also brought these four individuals joy - were they to suddenly somehow locate him - to see that he had since ditched the stress-induced greasy hair, and although his teeth were clean, they were still slightly yellowed due to his smoking habit and (denied) addiction to coffee. Instead, his hair was rather silky, and much longer, now, reaching his chest. He had a fair amount of tattoos, and only a few piercings, two of which were beneath the shirt. The look rather suited him, and he wasn't at all too old for it, still in his mid thirties. He could easily get away with looking slightly younger, and he blended in almost seamlessly with Goths, bikers and metal-heads alike. He looked rather like a vampire, these days, even more so than he did when working at Hogwarts, only now he was more pleasing to look at, and more comfortable in himself. Now, he was less 'Count Orlok', and more 'Richard Roxburgh's Dracula'.

Severus, by coming back to engage himself in 'normal' life, had overcome many personal problems; he had even risked talking to a therapist, which, to his massive surprise, had proved to help him a great deal, once he had let go of his pride enough to actually open up and talk about the things that were bothering him. He had made this decision after a revelation one late night in his apartment - 'The first step in solving a problem is realising that there is one.'

Zipping up his leather jacket before finishing hand-rolling a cigarette, Severus Snape bolted the rest of his whiskey with a grim expression, and then left the pub, sliding his notebook back into his bag.

His evening was perfect. The street was quiet. The moon was full. The cigarette was smooth and he was warm inside. He knew exactly what he was going to do when he reached his home - he was going to pet his cat, take a shower and then go to bed...

That was until a much too familiar voice greeted him out of the blue and ruined his plan. He almost choked on the smoke from his cigarette.

"Hello, Professor."