Snape found himself a seat at the table furthest from the front door, his back to the wall. One hand curled around a glass of whiskey, the other rubbed his temple as he contemplated the differences between people he knew before arriving at Margate, and who those people were now. He made a list in his head.
-James Potter, not dead. Have not spoken with him, though, but I doubt he's anything but the arrogant prick I know him to be.
-Sirius Black, also not dead. Still an arrogant prick.
-Harry Potter, older than I know him to be. Named a son after me. HA! But he says he has no family. This is confusing.
-Hermione Granger. Says Potter the younger was never born. Is not friendly with the youngest male Weasley. This is more confusing than Potter's not having a son that he did name after me.
-Charlie Weasley. Was an adequate student, I remember. Seems more aggressive and disagreeable here.
-Luna Lovegood. Same as before, but that isn't saying much.
-Lucius Malfoy. Used car salesman?!
After heaving a great sigh, Snape drained the rest of his whiskey and waved the empty glass at someone who looked like a server. He'd had a few already and could no longer remember who it was that took his order to start with.
Rabastan had that theory about their lives being fiction. Snape had wanted to go to the book store to see if this theory was factual in any way, but hadn't yet made the trip.
He couldn't decide whether or not he was happy to be on holiday in Margate. His visit was already proving to be more stressful than he had anticipated; in reality, he was looking to find a quity little town to settle down in for a while where no one would know or bother him while he brewed and researched. He thought it would be quiet. But somehow he'd wandered into this place where dimensions and realities mixed and blurred and had no definitions to confine them.
"This is all Dumbledore's fault," he said aloud, just before he knocked back the whiskey that the waitress had just set before him.
notacoward
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