1 The Forest

It was a cold and snowy December morning in a very isolated small village. The village was surrounded by trees and rivers.

It was usually green and full of life in summer, but it was dead and cold during winters. They rarely got sunlight.

Dead as it was, there were people walking up and down the village, procuring resources as to not be taken by the winter cold.

The same couldn't be said for the boy who was sat just outside his home. He had red hair and green eyes, his pale skin was crimson from the cold. He looked to be about 11.

His eyes were glassy, he was in a crouched down position, pinning both his hands to his ears. He was desperately trying to silence the muffled commotion that came from within the walls of his home.

The frightened look on his face told every passersby that the occurrence wasn't a rare one. Not that they didn't know, the village was extremely small, everybody knew everybody's business. But people chose to mind their own.

The door to his home suddenly flung open.

"I'm going back to the pub, I don't know why I even come back here." His father's voice sounded.

The man was clearly drunk. He abused his wife and child under the influence of hot whiskey and rum, come morning or when he was sober, he becomes the best father and husband anybody could ask for.

The child crouching down didn't have much time to react from his father opening the door, to him almost tripping on his small body, which earned him a punch on the nose.

His face was planted on the ground, his nose dirtied the pure white snow with it's crimson liquid, broken from the punch his father gave him before he walked away without a word.

The boy got up and slowly walked into their house. Only to see his mother, beaten to the point she couldn't even give her only son a great smile.

"Mum..." He said, his voice breaking into that of despair.

"Oh here son," she pointed a wooden stick to his nose, "episkey." she muttered.

In a matter of seconds, his broken nose was healed. She then tended to her own injuries. Her mother was as pale as he was, so the bruises didn't quite leave her skin.

The boy had inherited his mother's green eyes, but the red hair was his father's. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to hate his father. He'd remember all the times when he wasn't drunk, the times he'd teach him all kinds of spells, letting him ride on his broom.

He just wished he didn't drink at all, because then, he'd be like that all the time. Now he had to grow stronger, braver, so as to protect his mother and himself from the monster that pretends to be his father sometimes.

"Mum, when will I get a wand?" He snuggled with her, and held her tighter.

"You'll be 11 soon my beautiful boy. Your magic is also amazing for someone your age. In a week, we will visit the Ollivander family." His mother told him, caressing his hair.

He couldn't wait to finally have a wand of his own. He couldn't wait to duel other wizards, he could see himself travelling all over England, duelling and winning them all.

"I'll be the bravest man, I'll make you proud."

"I already am." She ruffled and kissed the top of his head. "Wear something warm when you go out and don't go beyond the river, you hear?"

"Cross my heart."

They both smiled, clearly this was routine. Something his mother told him every day before she let him go play.

He was wearing shorts, so he put on a jersey, a hat and ran out to play. Playing in the forest was his favourite thing, there weren't many kids in the village he lived in, none who were his age. The village was only for wizardkind.

Their population wasn't really that great, they were a dying a breed. They had to hide from muggles, to avoid getting wiped out.

He arrived at the densely populated forest. He picked up a twig, and started pretending it was his wand and was duelling invisible foes.

"Incendio!" He yelled, "take that dark wizard."

He didn't see it, but the twig momentarily sparked, confirming the boys magical abilities. The best he could do as an almost 11 year old without a wand was to make things levitate, if only a little.

He was told a wand would help him channel and control his magic better, he was ecstatic.

He went around the forest, injuring the invisible dark wizards he was fighting. Sometimes he'd pretend to be hit and fall, only to get up and continue his fight.

Just before he knew it he was face to face with the river. He'd been here plenty of times. He always heeded his mother's warnings, he never went beyond the river.

This time was different though, when he got there, there was another boy about his age. He was tall, pale with grey hair. As he got closer, even his eyes were grey in colour.

The boy was startled at the approach of another. He was crouched, but suddenly got up and a snake escaped his grasp.

"Who are you?" the red haired boy asked.

"..."

"Do you live around here? I've never seen you before and I know everyone in our village."

"I live just across the river."

"Are you, one of us?" He whispered the question as if afraid to be heard.

"..."

"I was just playing catch dark wizards game, want to join in?" He was excited to have met someone his age, he never has.

"You must be a muggle." the other boy mumbled.

"You're a wizard too? So am I. I'll get a wand soon."

"Oh."

The grey haired boy was stumped. He hadn't expected to meet another wizard his age around these parts. He was ways away from home, but since he turned 11 yesterday, he was allowed to go further than he usually did in his explorations.

He loved exploring. He had a rare gift, a gift his family urged him to never reveal to anyone. Not even to wizardkind.

"I'm Godric by the way," the red haired boy said with the biggest grin, his hand outstretched, "Godric Gryffindor."

"Salazar Slytherin." He was hesitant but he took the boy's hand nonetheless and introduced himself.