AN: This is a short introductory prologue/opening chapter to this story. While I'm currently writing a lot of Hogwarts-based stories, I wanted to introduce something a little different. As a Brit, my knowledge of America is not extensive so if anyone wants to reach out to beta this and check for accuracies I would really appreciate it!

This is a much more relaxed, magic-free take on what comes next for Harry. It will essentially divert from a few years after the war. I wanted to do something different to what I've done recently and more in line with things like Days to Come, which I really enjoyed writing.

The plan is for updates every two weeks, beginning with the first two chapters fairly quickly after one another. This may change as/if we run out of pre-written chapters, so far I have six chapters already written up and am aiming for this story to sit around the eighteen/twenty mark.

Chapter One: New Beginnings

The plane was loud. Children screamed. Men and women snored. The air was stale, the food was middling and the films were dire. It was awful, inconvenient and that was perfect. After a life of magic and loss and all the highs and lows that came with it, Harry Potter sat in the monotony of muggle existence and felt oddly at peace.

His life had been impossibly loud. He needed a fresh start, so he thought back to his time at Privet Drive. He'd tried to remember the last time he'd been happy without magic and the answer had been simple. Lost in stories that had seemed so impossible and then discovering histories that made these imagined versions of magic and joy pale by comparison. Before Hogwarts, he'd devoured all his textbooks and learned the history of a world that should've been his escape. Instead, it was just another prison.

Finding his way through customs took hours. It was relaxing despite the various people around him, tapping their feet, muttering angrily, their impatience was so at odds with his own strange tranquillity. It was as though he were a statue impossible to blow over in the storm of irritability.

Finally, he made it through the impossibly large airport, found a taxi that would take him and then, at last, he was there.

The building sat between two larger flats, no apartment buildings - he had to get used to that - like a dog sitting patiently between its owners. Large windows boarded up and sprayed with graffiti, would let in a generous amount of light. The door was chipped and faded, previously bright red and now a disappointing shade worn by hundreds of summer days and freezing winter nights. It sat back slightly from the busy street, stone steps leading up to the storefront.

His store.

God, this was insane. Standing in front of the place that had only been a dream the familiar thrill of excitement tinged with doubt kicked in. He'd faced evil wizards, saved Wizarding Britain, twice, and yet this. Somehow, this shop seemed impossible compared to the life he'd lived. That had been all he'd known, a life of sacrifice, pain and anguish. This. This was the life he wanted and it was so much scarier.

He should go home. He should get back on the plane and leave this new city, this city of loud cars, of ferry boats and impossibly crowded streets. Seattle was more than he'd expected. Brighter, filled with life and muggles hurrying wherever it was they were going. A life without magic meant more travelling, meant less time and barked conversation through phones that seemed a lot smaller than he remembered.

Instead of turning around, instead of returning to the life he'd abandoned, Harry swallowed his pain and headed into the shop. His shop. He'd have to get used to that. The door was locked but a muttered alohamora took care of that. He'd be out before the estate agent got there.

A bell tried to tinkle but only dropped dust onto his shoulder. Inside, the story was pretty much what the exterior hinted to. An abandoned counter sat covered by a thick dust sheet. Tables and chairs, too battered to be sold, were scattered across one side. Behind the counter was a door that led to a kitchen he would face when he had more time.

Pillars ran at intervals through the centre of the room and above was an extra floor of what had once been seating. Light dappled through the windows and wood up there, revealing floating clouds of dust.

The building had once been a coffee shop, but a combination of debts and the rise of chains had seen the old owner folding six months before. The estate agent had said it was a fixer-upper and had happily taken his parents' money.

He'd tried to pay with his Auror wages, but that had gone to Ginny. Not a bribe, but more a way to settle his conscience. She'd said she'd understood, but he could see in her eyes it was a lie. She'd shouted at first, stubbornly refused to accept it, then, when it was clear it was happening, she'd relented. He wished he could've stayed for her, more than that, he'd hoped she'd come but knew that was nothing but a dream. Her family needed her and she needed them. Harry was just the odd one out, no matter how much they wanted him to be family - he wasn't.

He was dragged from his reverie by the door opening behind him. He whirled, hand automatically going to the wand in his pocket and regretting it as soon as he did. He must've looked ridiculous.

The woman in the doorway beamed. Her curly black hair was pulled back into a loose but elegant ponytail, immaculate red nails matched her lipstick. Beneath a beige overcoat, she wore a deep blue dress that was clearly chosen to appeal to people of an interested disposition. Everything about her was put together, perfect and thought about, the exact opposite of the shop they stood in.

"Mr Potter, I assume?" Her accent was soft and nowhere near as strong as his probably sounded. He recognised her voice from the various phone calls they'd had.

"Miss Stapleton, hi."

"Beatrice, please."

"Beatrice," Harry corrected himself. "Sorry, I wanted to see it and the door was open." Hardly the truth but 'I got in with magic' wouldn't be the best answer either.

"Oh. How strange. I'm so sorry about that, Mr Potter. We take the security of our properties very seriously," Beatrice said fussily, retrieving a phone from one of the pockets of her coat and seemingly making a note.

"No! No, it's fine. Honestly. Don't worry." He didn't want to get anyone in trouble, but clearly, he already had. "It's probably just, erm, kids?" Good one, Potter, nice.

She hummed, unconvinced, then brightened. "Even so, I will follow up with this for you. Now, shall we?"

Her smile, which seemed brighter than the sun, appeared once again. It was rather alarming. Harry wasn't accustomed to American customer service. The most he'd got from Tom at the Leaky Cauldron was a less unkind grunt when he'd mentioned he'd quit the Aurors.

Bewildered, Harry allowed himself to be led to the least broken of the old tables. Beatrice laid out the paperwork and pointed out where he'd need to sign. He did so and produced his visa, passport and all the other documentation he'd been told to bring. It took longer than he'd expected and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when they were finally through with everything. Hours of travelling without any sleep made his eyes heavy and more than once he'd had to hide his yawns from the energetic estate agent.

"Aaaand that's everything!" She shut her folder with a happy finality. "Be sure to leave us a review if you're satisfied with our performance and," her big eyes seemed to somehow inflate before she added, "if you could mention how pleased you are with my service especially, it would be greatly appreciated."

"Er, sure." She practically skipped out of the shop. It was quiet after the hurricane of her chatter and positivity. The weight of what he was doing threatened to overwhelm him once again, so instead of fretting, he stowed his suitcase behind the counter and locked the door, not with magic, but with the keys Beatrice had left for him.

Then he walked out into Seattle with no clue what to do.