It was a rare moment that Severus Tobias Snape – the recently self-retired potions professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – felt giddy. But this was definitely one of them.

So many roads were opening before him as he evacuated himself and his few valuable possessions from the castle, apparated to his despicable house in Spinners End, made quick inventory of what to take and set the rest on fire.

Red flames danced in his black eyes as he stood safely disillusioned and watched his life burn, and he smiled. Then he apparated again, this time to Cornwall, and bombarded himself with every counter curse he knew to tracking and monitoring charms.

One Apparition later he was in Bretagne. He gave the same treatment to his little bag of earthly belongings. He repeated this procedure a couple of times – he was a spy after all.

The seventh jump landed him in Belgium, where he stashed his belongings. He set a monitoring charm on them and left. He would return and collect them. Probably.

Maybe.

Someday.

One jump, few charms, Polyjuice and a broken wand later a tired nondescript-looking sandy haired woman rose on a plane set to Thailand and took a comfortable sitting position. She requested a glass of champagne and confided in her seat partner that she had recently gotten away from an abusive relationship. The bonds of sisterhood grew between the two witches, as the matronly one took the celebrating one under her wing and told her everything about the magical side of Bangkok.

The sisterhood ended as they departed the plane in a discreet, wandless Obliviate. The sandy-haired survivor of abuse disappeared to the booming metropolis without a trace.

Who shall I be? Man formerly known as Severus Tobias Snape pondered while he wandlessly Summoned a small amount baths from the pockets of every drunk tourist he walked past. They certainly wouldn't miss the coins that he needed to start his life again.

John? No, I would never know when someone called me. Tobias? A resounding NO, for reasons best forgotten. Septimus? A bit predictable, yes. But at least it is close enough that I would react instinctively if someone called me that. But a man needs a surname.

As if heavens, or rather Felix Felicis had heard his pondering and decided to give guidance, he saw a particularly sloshed Englishman with a John Deere cap. Jackpot.

Couple hours later one Septimus Deere walked into a wandshop and requested a wand, for someone had stolen his when he had gotten a little too deep into his cups last night. It was a heirloom of my grandmothers', the Englishman had explained to the wandsmith, It never accepted me, hopefully it now has a better match.

Septimus had found the water of Thailand pleasant and had spent many an enjoyable afternoons in the sea. He had been travelling on both muggle and magical means, and had begun thinking about settling down, when he felt the last drop of Felix give him a sign.

Da Magpy Nest. A bar, in a reputable area. Looking for a new bartender. With chances of becoming an owner, when the current one would move to Finland with her beau.

Grammatical errors aside, this looked promising. Septimus felt the beginnings of a smile tugging his lips while he walked to meet his new destiny.

Years later

"And that's why I left England. Let those cocksuckers die and take their blood purity with them!" Harry Potter, a very drunk hero slurred and accepted another mojito. The bar owner, one Septimus Deere, nodded.

"On hell of a story, mate", he sympathised, "I for damn sure would not want to trade places with you."

"You know, for years I wished I could do the same stunt as my old potions professor and just …disappear. Poof, gone, just like that. He always called me a dunderhead, among other things, and I have to say that in some parts he was right. I am way too stubborn to just let go and leave even when I would be better off", Harry admitted, "But, you know, I had to see it through. I thought my parents would have wanted that. And that they needed me. Now I realize I was just manipulated by everyone. Even Ginny…"

The man behind the bar offered some encouraging words while Harry took deep breaths to calm himself and took big gulps of his tenth mojito.

After a few moments the younger man had gotten himself out of dark memories, and continued: "I should have left earlier, really. But I couldn't, because of all the vows and promises I had made. But now it's over. I'm free as a goddamn bird! And that calls for a toast!"

An almost empty glass of mojito filled with ice was lifted boisterously to the skies and a drunken screech of "To freedom!" startled the other patrons of the bar. They watched amused as the tourist who had occupied the bar stool for the better part of the evening tried to sloppily take sip, only to pour ice on himself.

"To freedom", the bar owner agreed and watched the saviour of magical Britain sink under the table. Luckily to the drunk Englishman he had some spare rooms currently empty that he liked to rent to tourists.

Septimus Deere, the illustrious owner of Da Magpy Nest smiled to himself and downed his cola before levitating the snoring Man-Who-Conquered to an empty room, adding some monitoring charms to make sure nothing untoward would happen to the hammered guest. Then he returned to his place behind the counter and apologized his other patrons for the distraction.

"Some people", he calmly explained, "Just need more liqueur than their livers can handle. A round on me, dear friends. To freedom we all crave and deserve. To second chances and drunk Englishmen!"

Septimus Deere poured and raised glasses with his patrons with an easy smile that had appeared on his face when he had invented his life over.

He definitely liked this version better.