Severus remembered the searing pain of the cursed snake’s bite, the final, agonizing gaze into Potter’s green eyes, and his last, barely perceptible breath. He was certain he had died. But suddenly, he opened his eyes... and found himself not in the afterlife, but in a place utterly unknown.

It was London, and yet it wasn't. At first glance, it seemed familiar: the bustle, the grey sky, the distant hum of Muggle life. But something was off. And soon he began to notice oddities. People rushed by, heads bowed not in thought but to glowing rectangles in their hands, fingers tapping furiously. Their clothes were sleeker, tighter, with odd, vibrant patterns—nothing like the baggy, muted Muggle garb he knew. It seemed that even the skyscrapers had become taller and there were more cars on the road.

And then he stopped at a particularly bright billboard, on which ad images were rapidly changing. Squinting, he tried to grasp any meaning, until he noticed the date at the bottom: 2025. The realization hit him like a bludger. He was almost thirty years ahead of his time! And worst of all—his magic felt weak and unstable, requiring time to recover.

As he struggled to make sense of this impossible reality, the sky opened up and a downpour began. Seeking shelter, Snape ducked into the nearest building, which turned out to be a cozy café. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t immediately notice the young woman behind the counter who smiled at him.

“Good afternoon!” she greeted cheerfully. “What can I get for you?”

Snape, still trying to comprehend where he was, replied coldly, “I don't need anything. Just shelter from the rain.” His voice sounded harsh, but the barista didn’t seem fazed.

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “You’re welcome to sit here until the rain stops.”

Snape gave a barely perceptible nod and sat down at the nearest table. His thoughts swirled in a chaotic vortex, but for now, he was safe from the storm. It's a pity not from the prying eyes of the barista.