A/N: The magical world of Harry Potter and all characters from said world of wonder belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. All characters original to this fanfiction do, however, belong to me. I do not make any money from this work, just reviews and entertained readers.

As this is my first fanfiction, please make your judgements with a kind heart and your feedback with kind words. Pardon my Americanisms, errors, and anything else that doesn't suit your tastes. This story is AU will likely not be consistent with Rowling's depiction of magical America. Sorry.

I decided to post the first few chapters of this work in progress in a vain attempt to keep myself motivated. I've been thinking of this story for a while now and am hoping that some feedback from the world at large will inspire me to keep writing. That being said, please tell me what you think! If you like what you're reading and where you think this is going, tell me so. I'm afraid this tale might wither and die without motivating words...

He paused just inside the doorway as the wind nudged the front door shut behind him. Its faint creak and click spoke volumes in the dusty silence. The dry, stale air filled his lungs with a mixture of relief and regret as he took a steadying breath in. What had once been nothing more than a brief refuge was now to be his residence for the indeterminate future. Severus sighed inwardly at the thought. Although he rather prided himself on his ability to adapt to changing situations – a trait that had kept him alive on numerous occasions – his reluctance to this personal exile was an unwelcome weakness.

Setting his trunk against the wall near the small row of hooks by the door, he deftly shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it. Entertaining a wistful desire for his previous life's comforts was a fool's errand. He knew full well there had been little so-called comfort during those dark times.

Clenching his jaw, Severus set about with a determination to rid himself of what he knew was surely a weakness. In a single, swift movement that attested to his many years as a wizard, he drew his wand and gave a quick jab at the blackened fireplace. Flames burst against the grate with a healthy puff of smoke, crackling the old house into life. The day was not particularly cold, but the early September wind had brought a chill. Striding forward through the small sitting room, he forcefully pried open the decrepit windows to the left of the mantle, the shutters swinging out with enough aggression to hit the exterior of the humble structure with a loud bang. It sent the crows who had been scouring his overgrown yard up into the air with a shriek that Severus found oddly cathartic.

The same wind that had ushered him into the home now tickled his face as it passed gratefully inside the stale building. Severus glared at the scrap of nature he owned. It was the same look that had cowered many a student into submission, the same look that had the ability to part a crowded hallway like the Red Sea before him.

This property was his, and it would know it.

The illustrious Potions Master, ex-Death Eater, and former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had finally come to stay.

Not for the first time, the flames danced before his eyes in the darkness, lulling him into another morbid reverie. Severus huddled further into the thin blanket he had wrapped around his person. The bottle of Firewhisky and glass tumbler discarded on the coffee table before him, he leaned his head back against the couch and cursed his clever mind. He was a highly proficient Occlumens, able to dupe the darkest wizard of the age, yet the dancing light of the flames had a seductive way of enticing memories he had long since suppressed to the surface. With a snort, he took a moment to appreciate the irony of his own inability to ward his thoughts from himself. What use was an impeccably trained mind if it had a habit of indulging in masochism?

The many items he had accrued over the years he spent as a professor were spilling from the limited shelves and cabinets of the house. They had been easy enough to magically shrink and pack into the expandable trunk. Now they looked almost comical: a myriad of books stuffed roughly onto ancient shelves and a legion of potions ingredients overcrowding the kitchen cabinets to litter the counter tops. He did admit that it gave the previously abandoned rooms a cozy feeling, not dissimilar to the overstuffed couch upon which he was currently lounging.

Lazy.

Perhaps it had become routine, he thought to himself. His previous, brief encounters with this place had been spent in an attempt at utter relaxation. An attempt to do nothing, with the hope that the excessive distance between himself and the world he knew would keep him sane. A long-fingered hand swept up to pinch the bridge of his impressive nose in disdain. As if he could ever have truly escaped the warring attentions of both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord during his brief sojourns to this wilderness over the holidays. The summers he spent moping about Spinner's End pining for lost love had only exacerbated his need for an escape to keep his sanity. Years later than he should have, he realized – prompted by the idiot Potter boy's arrival at Hogwarts – that he desperately needed a change of scenery, if only for the short holiday breaks. On a whim, he had purchased this remote plot of land in the most unlikely place anyone would think to seek him out: America. Not even the America that was just across the pond, but the Pacific Northwest along the West Coast.

Of course, he couldn't spend the summers here with his view of the magnificent Mt. Rainier. Oh no, that would have been too pleasant. It simply would not do. His life had never made any allowances for pleasantries. He had to spend the warm season in his dank childhood home, where he could be called upon by either of his two masters. His balancing act of appeasing and spying on the two greatest wizards in Britain had taken its toll on his sanity, the near-constant anxiety fraying away at his nerves until he wasn't sure how many were left. Thus, his rare visits to this shabby excuse of a house had been spent recuperating, trying to gauge if he still had any ability to feel. Such a futile attempt it had been.

Then again, perhaps his efforts hadn't been completely without merit. He had survived in the end, hadn't he?

And then, only just.

Scraping his mangled body across the Shrieking Shack, he had left the empty vials of venom antidote and Blood Replenishing Potion in his crimson wake. He had barely had enough sense to head toward the village, rather than the school. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he had turned up during the battle in that state. Severus had no doubt that there were any number of lower-ranking Death Eaters who wouldn't have hesitated to finish him off. Instead, he had painstakingly crawled his way to the outskirts of Hogmeade until his agony finally caused him to pass out.

With an abrupt motion, he swooped forward to pour another swig of Firewhisky into the tumbler. It shot down his throat and temporarily burned away the memories that should have been hazy with past pain, but were sharply focused instead. Still fresh after all this time.

Yes, he had survived, against all odds and certainly against all of his predictions. The moment he cast the Killing Curse on Albus he thought he had effectively sealed his own fate as well. There would be no way of coming back from that, he had been sure.

Hero.

That's what they called him.

What utter rubbish.

It had been easy enough to deal with the Potter boy when he looked upon Severus with hatred, but now those green eyes shone with something else. Gratitude? Adoration?

Forgiveness?

It make him sick, to think that those eyes – Lily's eyes – now gazed at him with an emotion he knew he would never see from the woman to whom he had dedicated his life. He should have known better, should have foreseen his uncanny knack for survival. He should never have given up his tortuously treasured memories on what should have been his deathbed.

And it wasn't just Potter, either. Suddenly all of the wizarding world wanted to give him their thanks, to honor him, to award him. He hated the attention, the unraveling of all his secrecy. It was incongruous with everything he had built his life around. The decision to make the permanent move to this place had not been a difficult one. He had only allowed himself two of the many tokens of appreciation thrust upon him: the Order of Merlin, First Class that should have been his when he captured Black for the Dementors, and an international portkey.

The latter was essential to making life in America tolerable. He eyed the tattered spoon resting on the mantle. Despite everything, Severus was a creature of habit. He knew the various apothecaries and where to find the best and rarest ingredients in Britain. America was still largely a mystery. Most of the wizarding population was along the East Coast, and those possessing magical blood on this side of the continent were few and far between. There was nothing like the vast trade network of magical goods he was accustomed to in this strange land.

With a grimace, he reminded himself that was precisely the reason he came here in the first place.

Solitude.

Anonymity.

Exile.

And, he was loathe to admit, the possibility of peace.