The Magic of Different Worlds || Severus Snape x Reader ||

Chapter 1: A Man Walks Into a Bar

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"I've been doing this a long time. It comes naturally too."

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To this day, I have absolutely no idea how to make Firewhisky. Believe me when I say that I've tried. I've tasted plenty of glasses of Firewhisky. It has become one of my favorite alcoholic beverages to sip on at the end of a long day. It's not like any other alcohol I've ever tried, and it has certain effects on me that not even the most potent tequila could even attempt to mimic. I've spent an embarrassingly long time trying to replicate a drink that even remotely tastes like Firewhisky. I've never come close, and I've pretty much given up on trying to get it right,

I also have absolutely, positively, not even the slightest idea of how he ended up walking into my life that night. To put it plainly, our lives were so different. You could even argue that we didn't live in the same world. In many ways, that argument is completely fair. We didn't live the same lives. We didn't eat the same things. We didn't know much about each other's interests. Hell, we didn't even KNOW any of the same people.

So how was it that our souls were so perfectly connected? How was it that all of the blurry spots of our lives became so blatantly clear when the stars in our eyes danced together? How was it that I fell in love with a man who was never even ever supposed to cross my path? I don't have an answer for any of those questions. To this day, I still don't know.

And I am perfectly fine with that.

I lived a fairly "average" life. I stuck to a schedule that worked for me and made my life both productive and easy. I slept from 5 AM to 12 PM, then I took a shower, then I had lunch, I did chores around my apartment, went to work at 8 PM, came back home at 4 AM, and the cycle repeated. My work hours probably sound a little odd to you. Most people work a regular 9 to 5 job to return home to their family by dinnertime. I should probably preface that I was a bartender.

A damn good one at that.

I had been a bartender since college, and had sort of gotten stuck in the profession. The bartending gig was meant to be temporary. It was just supposed to be a short-term job to keep me financially stable enough until I found a job that was more...acceptable (in the eyes of my parents, at least). One year at the bar turned into two, and then into three, and then before I knew it I had put in over a decade behind that bar. I didn't expect to fall in love with it the way that I did.

I fell in love with the thrill that came with the rush of the late night crowds. I became proud of the way I became able to make any kind of drink without giving it a second thought. I grew to adore the conversations that I had with people. I made friendships with my regulars, and left my one-timers with a good lasting impression. I loved the way that I fit so perfectly into my job.

It was one of two things in my life that made me feel complete.

Most nights were pretty much the same. I'd clock into work, make sure that the bar top was just as clean as I left it from closing last shift, and work through my nine hour shift. I was a fun bartender. I was constantly making conversations, keeping the music on an upbeat shuffle, and doing skillful bar tricks that I had both learned and made up over the years. The bar was my sanctuary. It was my place of refuge, and the place where I found myself each day when I felt hopelessly lost. That bar in downtown London was my happiness, my comfort, and my world. I didn't think that my world was ever going to change.

Not until I saw him for the very first time.

I had never seen him before. He definitely wasn't one of my regulars. He was strikingly good looking, yet he didn't look like anyone I had ever seen. He had long black hair, and his eyes were pools of matching inky black. He had pale skin, and a hard frown on his features. In my years of bartending, there had only been two people that had stopped me dead in my tracks behind my usually fast pace behind the bar.