Beyond the Emerald Green

Special Thanks: To my beta-readers, Indy514, 007, Merfyman, and my friends who so graciously read and encouraged as well.

Beyond the Emerald Green

prologue

She stepped off the train onto a deserted platform, wind blowing the smoke back from the train’s engine onto her face. Pushing her short blonde hair behind her ears, she coughed and moved away just as the train’s whistle blew shrilly. With mild interest, she watched as the monotonous transport began to roll away from the platform, revealing the scenery around her to be sullen and dark.

The weather was bitter and cold, and the woman looked around to make sure she was at the right place. A piece of parchment in her hand, words written upon it in green ink, held the name of the place she was supposed to go to. With a little apprehension, she walked up to the station counter and showed the name to the manager. After a moment of searching a crumpled map, the manager was able to point her in the right direction. She uttered her thanks, slipped the parchment under a thick notepad in her arms, and made for the exit.

Drops of rain were itching to fall as the woman walked doggedly up a steep dirt road, winding up a hill. Her tan colored raincoat was already tied around her so tightly that it was impossible to make any attempt to tighten it more without suffocating her. Thoughts of doubt and reluctance ran across her mind, not for the first time since she had begun her journey. The red dirt from the road she was treading began to cling to her large buckled shoes as the first droplets of water fell to the earth. Quickening her pace as best as she could, breathing hard from the effort of walking uphill, the woman’s regret on having accepted this assignment became increasingly more discernible.

Finally, as the rain grew steadily more intense and thunder began to roll faintly far behind her, she reached flat land. The dirt road simply died into a thicket of enormous trees, made more omnipotent by the dark gloom of the rainy weather. She took a deep breath, her blonde hair now wet and sticking to her face. Somewhere beyond those trees, deep into that forest, was who she was looking for.

Lightning flashed and the thunder boomed, making her even more nervous as she hurried among the trees. Her sodden raincoat became loose as she sped up, urging herself to keep moving. Already the notepad in her hands was damp, even after being carefully sheltered under her arm. She let out an exasperated cry, sloshing through steadily growing puddles in new mud.

Suddenly, she slammed up against something she couldn’t see. Nearly stumbling backwards, she cursed under her breath and nodded. She was expecting this. Fumbling in her coat, she drew out a long mahogany wand. After a few well-chosen words tumbled out of her mouth, the air in front of her seemed to melt before her eyes, falling with the rain. But the path remained clear, and she didn’t hesitate to break out into a run and head up toward the top of a precipice of rock.

The weather hindered any attempt to take a closer look at the upcoming spectacle. It was too difficult to make out anything through the dark gloom to see how oddly a house was sitting at the edge of a crag. How the dark wooden structure seemed to be balanced impossibly from plunging over the hill and into the dark gloom that was the ocean below. It had large glass windows, glowing faintly from firelight or candles inside. When the lightning flashed again, she could just make out a stone stairway leading up the side of the rocky crag to the porch of the unusual house. The sight of it filled her with both hope and doubt, unsure about whom she will meet inside.

It seemed like an eternity going up those steps, made slick by the rain. Now she was soaked from head to foot, chilled to the bone, and wanting desperately just to be back home where it was warm. But she had a job to do, and she was the only one who believed that it might be possible to accomplish it.

She was too cold, wet, and exhausted to appreciate the woodwork on the large door that appeared before her. She was too headlong too take in the carving of a stag burnished deeply on the wood with careful craftsmanship. All that mattered was reaching up with her fist and pounding upon that door, eager to get it all over with… if it could even be done at all.

At first, after the resounding echo of the frantic knock she made died away into the confines of the house, her heart sank when no movement could be heard from inside. Moments passed, droplets of rain dripping off her nose and hair, annoying her to the point where she knocked furiously again. Yet, there was still no answer.

Her long journey was for nothing, and she had been warned. She was willing to admit it now, on the threshold of her impossible assignment. Despite the doubts of her colleagues and her own, she insisted that she could do it… that she could accomplish what many before her could not. To go back and face her friends and co-workers made her heart jolt with failure.

But then again, I knew all along that the others were right. I just wasn’t willing to accept it.

After a groan of anguish and a sneeze, she turned to head back the way she came. Trying to figure out how to afford the trip home with the strange money she had to acquire for this impossible assignment, she stepped out into the rain once more. That was when a soft creak and a stroke of light across the ground made her stop.

She turned back to see the large ornate door pulled back, the streak of gentle firelight dancing on the wet grass. A dark face was just barely peering from inside, and the person said nothing.

"Hello?" she said loudly over rolling thunder.

The person remained silent.

"Er… my name is Erin McDougal. Could I speak with you a moment?" she walked back up closer to the door.

The person, tall and dark, edged back behind the door, just barely visible.

"Why?" a man’s low, tired voice inquired from the dark face.

Erin was tired and annoyed by the person’s lack of open hospitality. Could he not see that she was soaking wet and cold?

"I’m here from the Daily Prophet. Are you…? Are you… Mr. Harry Potter?"

He did not answer for a long moment, Erin shifting her weight uncomfortably in her wet raincoat. Her notepad was wet beyond use now.

"What if I am?" he asked quietly and suspicious.

"I’d like to interview you."

The door shut loudly in her face. Erin was beside herself with anger.

"Well I never! Of all the rudest things…! I mean, for Merlin’s sake, it’s raining and cold out here!" she stomped her foot, tossing back her wet blonde hair with a flick of her head. There was nothing left for her to do; she couldn’t use her wand to force open the door, that was illegal. She could knock again and demand to be at least given a place to wait out the storm, but Erin knew that that would be fruitless from a man who was so heartless as to shut her out in the first place.

With a low growl, Erin turned to go back down the stone stairs, only to hear the soft creak of the door again behind her. She looked back abruptly, swinging her wet hair around, to see the door left ajar with the firelight seemingly beckoning her back. The man was not there, but Erin had the feeling that he had had a change of heart.

"Alright then," she muttered under her breath, sloshing through in her soaked raincoat into the doorframe. "Perhaps this won’t be so impossible after all."

The house was dim, with the firelight from a distant large room ahead of her providing the only light. The door closed by itself behind her, most likely enchanted to do so. Erin noticed a coat hanger with a single large black cloak hanging from it, and she didn’t bother to ask if she could take off her raincoat to put there as well. She nearly had to peel her coat off her, dropping her useless parchment on the floor and hanging the wet coat on the only other peg on the hanger. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked over the wood paneled floor down a small corridor and into a large open room where the fire was sitting.

Here, the wooden walls were replaced with glass. Erin was struck with an image in her mind of bright sunlight and blue sky spreading itself across the view. Only now the glass was black and indigo blue with the gloom of the rainstorm outside. The rain pattered hard on the roof above her, droplets just visible on the glass windows. It was then that Erin looked around the large room, seeing only a single large armchair placed in front of the fire.

A clatter to her left and a clap of thunder above her shook her from the stare she was in, and Erin looked over her shoulder to see the open room move into a smaller one. It was there that she saw the man, back towards her as she took in that this smaller room was the kitchen.

He was tall, dressed in worn clothing that hung off of him loosely. His black hair was a horrible mess, strands of it reaching out in every direction. Erin rubbed her arms up and down for warmth as she noticed how skinny he was, making him seem so frail and tired. The only movement he was making was a slow, rhythmic stirring of his right arm, obviously cooking something over a stove.

"Ehem." Erin cleared her throat, feeling awkward. A moment ago she didn’t care if she could break a way into that house, no matter what this dark man said. But now, standing in his presence in his home, she felt like an intruder. Now not even sure if she could even ask again if he would allow himself to be interviewed. Yet, that was what she was there for… and now that she was inside where it was dry, her young confidence that got her there in the first place was coming back.

However, the man still didn’t move, didn’t turn, still didn’t say a thing. Erin stood maladroitly at the kitchen’s edge, close to a counter. It was then that she noticed that the house was nearly empty. The armchair facing the fire the only real piece of furniture she could see. It seemed like forever until the man made any other movement. He reached into a cupboard, pulled out two mugs, and filled one with a large ladle that was sitting on the counter to the side. Then in a slow, fluid movement, he passed her silently, and went to sit with his back turned in the armchair facing the fire.

Erin blinked, unsure of what to do next. She looked at the steaming pot he was cooking with, and at the mug to its side. A roll of hunger pains twisted her stomach, and she looked back at the armchair where the man was sitting, wishing he would give permission verbally. Yet he still remained silent, unmoving, and Erin’s hunger gave in. She took up the ladle, pouring what she discovered to be tomato soup into the empty mug he had left out obviously for her. Smiling as she breathed in the heated aroma of the soup in the mug, she tentatively moved out into the large windowed room. Her smile faded as she wondered what to do or say next. Slowly, holding the hot mug with both her hands, she moved next to the armchair, seeing his long legs stretched out toward the fire.

"Ermm… thank you. For the soup. And uh, for letting me in." she ran a hand through her wet hair, suddenly nervous.

He still didn’t say anything. The only sounds were the pounding of rain, rolls of thunder, and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

"Well, er…-"

"Sit down." He said abruptly, his tired voice containing hidden power restrained within.

Erin blinked again, looking around doubtfully, as there was no other furniture. She almost considered taking the floor, when he spoke again, louder this time.

"Sit."

He didn’t even move, from what she could see from her viewpoint, but another identical armchair was conjured out of thin air behind her. Without waiting for another word, she sat down, the soup-filled mug in her hands. Erin stared, able to see his upturned arms holding his own mug of soup. His hands were aged, but not elderly… just worn from the stresses of life. She could make out his nose, holding up a pair of fine rimmed glasses. His black hair jutted out, flecks of gray now visible with the firelight. When it was apparent he wouldn’t speak again, she sipped at her soup.

"Why are you here?" he asked abruptly all of a sudden. Erin jumped, tipping some soup on her chin.

"Er…" she fumbled to clean her face, heart racing. "I’m here to interview you. You are Harry Potter, am I right?"

He took a loud, slow breath.

"And what if I am?" he said quietly.

She narrowed her eyes, growing tired with this solitary man who had chosen to hide himself away in the middle of nowhere for so long.

"If you are, which I know you are, I’m here to find out what happened that made you choose to exile yourself away from our world."

"I thought I told you reporters to leave me alone. My life is my business, no one else’s." he muttered darkly.

"After all that you’ve done, you disappear. Our people looked up to you, admired you, had faith in you… and when it was all over, you shunned the very life you fought so hard to keep in tact. Everyone now thinks you a coward, unable to come to terms." Erin said tersely.

"And do you think I’m a coward?" he whispered.

Erin paused.

"No. I’m here to prove I’m right, but now I’m not so sure."

The silence returned, and Erin looked away, twisting the mug slowly in her hands. She began to wonder if any of the other reporters before her got this far with the famous wizard, but from the feel of things, she wasn’t sure she was going to get any further.

"There is so much that the world doesn’t know." Harry said quietly.

She looked over at his chair, considering his statement.

"If you tell me what really happened, perhaps the world would understand why you’re here."

A small table suddenly appeared in thin air right next to his chair, and he set his mug atop it. Then, slowly, making Erin hold her breath, he leaned forward and looked straight into her eyes. She gulped, staring into the deep, bottomless green peering straight through her. There was power beyond anything she ever sensed before in those eyes, and they had seen many, many terrible things. He was a little older than middle aged, stress showing clearly on his face. It was then that Erin realized the intensity of this powerful wizard’s life, and already began to understand slightly just why he was alone in his exile.

"No one will ever truly understand. But if you promise me one thing, perhaps I’ll decide to tell you." He said directly to her.

"Sure." Erin could feel the journalist inside of her bristle with excitement.

"Do not copy what I tell you. You will not publish any notes with biased observation. Promise me, that you will write what you understand. You will not write about the ‘downfall of the great Harry Potter’, but about the life that he used to live." The lenses of his black rimmed glasses flashed across her face, and the force of his words struck Erin to the core of her soul. She couldn’t help but to nod in slight awe.

"Promise me!" he barked.

"Yes! I promise!" Erin jumped.

He nodded slightly, leaning back into his armchair and disappeared. Erin longed for her notepad of parchment, but not only was it too wet to use, she had just promised not to take notes. She would have to listen with every fiber of her body, and the journalist inside was ready.

"Well," Harry sighed. "I never thought I would do this, but maybe it’s about time the world should know. I trust you, Erin."

She had never felt such a higher complement, not even from the chief editor at the Prophet could top any praise from the man who had saved the world. Erin blushed, and settled into her chair.

"Everyone knows what happened in the beginning. Everyone knew long before I did myself. But what happened after I returned to the wizarding world is a story that only I know word for word, memory for memory. Listen, Erin, because I’m only going to re-live my life once more." Harry said deeply, and as the thunder and pounding of rain continued to storm outside, he began to tell his story…