Early in the morning, a lone figure arrived at the foot of the High Hay, just outside Bucklebury.
The Hobbits of the Buckland region had always feared the Old Forest. Since childhood, they had been warned to stay away from it, told stories of dark things lurking among its ancient trees. As a result, few dared venture near the High Hay, the tall hedge planted generations ago to hold the forest at bay.
Centuries ago, in an effort to resist the creeping advance of the Old Forest, the Hobbits of Buckland planted a mighty hedge along the eastern border. Over time, it had grown thick and high, forming a living wall that stretched in a great arc from the Brandywine River past the Withywindle and beyond, covering more than twenty miles.
Dui walked for miles alongside the High Hay, searching in vain for a gap or opening.
Climbing over was out of the question.
Left with no other option, Dui reached for the two cleaver-like blades strapped to his waist.
With a flick of his fingers, the bone-cutting knives shot into the air, spinning like wheels of silver, hacking away at the dense hedge in a focused burst of magical speed.
Leaves and branches flew in all directions.
Before long, the spinning blades had carved a tunnel-like hole through the hedge, deep and just wide enough for a person to pass through. Beyond it lay the edge of the dreaded Old Forest.
Dui stepped through.
Between the High Hay and the forest loomed a wide no-man's-land—nearly a hundred feet of barren soil, where no trees grew. Only tall weeds and charred grass whispered in the wind. It was as if the forest itself refused to cross this line.
Kicking the ground lightly, Dui saw traces of old burns, faint black scars on the earth.
The Hobbits must have once fought hard to push the forest back—fire, perhaps, was their only option.
Dui crossed the clearing and stepped into the Old Forest.
Immediately, a heavy, watchful pressure fell over him.
It felt like being watched—by hundreds of unseen eyes, glaring with ancient malice.
His gaze swept over the gnarled trees. Some were massive and twisted, their limbs creaking and flexing as if they could move on their own. He could hear faint murmurs, whispers carried by the wind, as though the trees were plotting together.
Dui pretended not to notice, but inside he was on high alert. Quietly, he reached out with his magical senses, probing the forest around him.
Suddenly, a massive branch dropped from above, aiming straight for his head.
"Protego!"
An invisible barrier shimmered into existence just in time, deflecting the blow with a magical crack.
Since reading Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, the Shield Charm had been the first spell Dui practiced. A powerful defense against both magic and physical attacks, it was an essential tool for survival.
Hard to master, it was a spell even some seventh-years at Hogwarts struggled with. But Dui—wandless and determined—had spent an entire month training before he could cast it reliably.
And naturally, the first place he chose to test it was here, in the Old Forest.
The trees were no longer still.
Branches rustled without wind. Leaves whispered to one another.
The air grew thick with menace.
Dui knew the trees were angry. This time, he didn't hold back.
His knives leapt from his belt once more, slashing two thick branches—one from an oak, the other from a pine. As they dropped, he caught them mid-air with magic and turned to flee.
The two trees roared, low and guttural, their trunks groaning as they twisted toward him. Bark cracked and fell away like dead skin, revealing dark, sinewy wood beneath. The ground trembled as roots tore free from the earth, lunging to strike.
"Oh come on! I just took a branch! No need to be so dramatic!"
Dui darted through the forest, the knives whirling defensively around him, slicing at the roots that tried to trip or catch him.
But some of the roots were too big—thicker than barrels.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
The Leg-Locking Curse hit the tangled mass of roots, freezing them in place. They coiled into a knot and collapsed in a heap.
Dui laughed in surprise—he hadn't expected that spell to work so well.
He didn't wait to find out if it would hold. He bolted back across the clearing, squeezed through the hedge-tunnel, and collapsed on the other side, catching his breath.
In his hands were the two branches. He smiled.
No chance to complete his goal of signing into the Old Forest today, but securing materials for a wand was victory enough.
After carefully concealing the hedge opening, Dui made his way back to Bucklebury.
At the cozy home of Drogo Baggins, he borrowed tools and began processing the branches—peeling bark, trimming the wood, sanding it smooth. At last, two straight, polished sticks lay before him.
He picked up the oak first, gently channeling his magic into it.
To his surprise, the magic flowed easily, if a bit sluggishly.
Promising.
He tried the pine.
It accepted magic too, though even more slowly.
His eyes lit up.
The Old Forest's trees could be used to make wand cores.
He didn't yet know how to craft a proper wand, but this discovery gave him hope.
As for the sluggishness? That might be due to incompatibility.
Wand woods were particular—Harry Potter's wand was holly, Voldemort's was yew, Dumbledore's was elder. A wizard's wand had to suit their nature, or the result could be weak… or dangerous.
Oak and pine weren't the right fit for him. That much was clear.
But the Old Forest was vast, and full of many tree types. He could return and collect more. One of them had to be the right match.
But first, he had something else to attend to.
He glanced toward two pots growing by the window.
Whitefresh.
After a month of nurturing with daily doses of magic, the twin Whitefresh plants had grown tall—nearly a meter now, and almost mature.
On a moonlit night, Dui knelt beside them.
With both hands, he poured magic into their roots.
The leaves swelled with color, shining with life.
Then, at a sudden moment, something shifted.
The moonlight bent toward the plants.
The Whitefresh began to glow—soft silver light radiating from their leaves, the smell of fresh herbs thick in the air.
In the space of minutes, they shot up to full height—lush, potent, and ready for harvest.
Bathed in silver light, Dui smiled.
The pieces of his magic were coming together.