Chapter 10: First Visit to the Old Forest

Early in the morning, a lone figure arrived at the foot of the High Hay, just outside Buckland.

The Hobbits of Buckland had long feared and distrusted the Old Forest, having grown up with stories of its dangers. Few dared approach the towering hedge that bordered it.

Centuries ago, to resist the creeping advance of the Old Forest's trees, the Hobbits of Buckland had planted the High Hay — a long, thick hedge stretching east from the Brandywine River, past the Withywindle, and ending in a great arc over twenty miles long.

Darian walked along the High Hay for several miles, searching in vain for a gap in the hedge. Climbing over it was impossible — it was simply too high and dense.

Left with no other option, Darian drew two bone-chopping knives from his belt.

With a flick of his wrist, the blades shot forward, spinning through the air and hacking into a section of the hedge.

Leaves and branches flew as the knives carved deeper and deeper, until finally, a man-sized hole was made, revealing the looming, shadowy interior of the Old Forest beyond.

Darian crawled through.

Between the hedge and the Old Forest lay a wide buffer zone, some hundred feet across. No trees grew there — only weeds. It was as if the forest itself avoided the area.

Kicking the ground, Darian noticed faint scorch marks.

It seemed the Hobbits of Buckland had once waged war on the forest, even resorting to fire to push back the encroaching trees.

Stepping across the scorched zone, Darian entered the forest.

Instantly, a heavy pressure fell upon him.

It felt as if dozens of unseen eyes were watching, full of hostility.

He turned toward the source of the feeling — and his gaze settled on the trees.

They were ancient, towering, gnarled. Their branches writhed slightly, as if reaching for him. Somewhere in the wind, he heard whispering — faint murmurs, as if the forest itself were alive and conspiring.

Darian acted as though he hadn't noticed — but inwardly, he was on full alert, silently casting his magical senses out in every direction.

Without warning, a thick branch snapped downward, aiming straight for his head.

"Protego!"

He raised his hand just in time. A translucent magical shield shimmered into existence, blocking the blow.

Since acquiring Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, Darian had focused his practice on the Shield Charm. It was known to block most physical and magical attacks — perhaps the most practical defensive spell there was.

It was also a difficult spell, one many seventh-year Hogwarts students struggled to master — especially without a wand. Darian had spent an entire month practicing before he could finally cast it with even moderate success.

And today, he had chosen the Old Forest as his testing ground.

Around him, the forest stirred.

Branches rustled without wind.

Malice thickened in the air.

Without hesitation, the two bone-chopping knives flew from his belt again. They darted toward the nearest great oak and towering pine, slicing off two thick, straight branches, and brought them back to Darian.

With no desire to stay, he turned and fled, branches in hand.

Behind him, the trees groaned — literally groaned — as if in pain and fury. Bark cracked and fell. Roots burst from the earth, thick as arms, trying to trip or strike him.

"Oh come on! I just took a branch! No need to be so dramatic!"

Darian grumbled as he ran, the flying knives spinning defensively around him, slicing through smaller roots.

But against roots the size of barrels, the blades were useless.

"Leg-Locking Curse!"

The roots froze, twisted together by magic, becoming a tangled mass unable to pursue.

Darian laughed with relief. The spell had worked better than expected.

Without looking back, he crossed the buffer zone and crawled back through the hole in the hedge.

Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.

He looked down at the two branches in his hands and grinned. He hadn't managed to "sign in" to the forest yet — but he had collected valuable materials.

After hiding the hole in the hedge, Darian returned to Brandy Hall, the home of his Hobbit friend, Drogo Baggins.

There, he borrowed tools and began working.

He stripped the bark, trimmed the excess, and sanded the branches. Before long, two smooth sticks lay before him.

Picking up the oak stick, he focused his magic into it.

To his surprise, the magic flowed through — a little sluggishly, but steadily. The stick responded. A smile spread across his face.

The pine branch also conducted magic, though it was slower and more resistant.

Still, the conclusion was clear: trees from the Old Forest could be used to craft magic wands.

Excited, Darian pondered. He didn't yet know how to make a proper wand — but now he had hope. Wand cores needed compatible materials, after all.

In the wizarding world, different wand woods suited different personalities — Harry Potter's was holly, Voldemort's was yew, Dumbledore's was elder.

If the wood was incompatible, a wand could be weak — or even dangerous.

Oak and pine weren't right for Darian. But what was?

He remembered the vast variety of trees in the Old Forest.

He would have to return. Again and again.

But first, another task remained.

Darian's eyes fell on the two pots of White Fresh, a rare magical herb.

After a month of magical care, the White Fresh had grown tall and strong, nearly ready for harvest.

Under the moonlight, Darian held the two stems and infused them with magic.

The plants shimmered, glowing faintly silver. Drawn by the magic, the moonlight gathered around them.

In moments, they sprouted higher, stronger — exuding a crisp, clean fragrance.

They had matured.

Darian smiled.

Step by step, the road ahead was becoming clearer.