Early in the morning, a lone figure arrived beneath the towering High Hedge wall outside Buckland Town.
The Hobbits of Buckland had always feared the Old Forest. From childhood, they were repeatedly warned about its dangers, and as a result, very few ever approached the High Hedge side of the town. To them, the forest was not merely a collection of ancient trees but a hostile, living entity filled with malice and mystery.
Hundreds of years earlier, to resist the gradual encroachment of the Old Forest, the Hobbits of Buckland had constructed defensive measures along their eastern lands. They planted a massive hedge as a living barrier, hoping to halt the slow but relentless advance of the trees.
Over time, that hedge grew tall and dense, eventually resembling a magnificent city wall. It stretched from the banks of the Brandywine River, curved past the Withywindle River, and extended all the way to Hedge-end, forming a great arc more than twenty miles long.
Robert walked several miles along the High Hedge, carefully examining it for any gaps or weaknesses. However, no matter how far he went, he found no opening through the hedge wall.
Climbing over it was also out of the question. The hedge was simply too tall and too thick, its branches interwoven like hardened armor.
Left with no alternative, Robert reached down and pulled the two Bone-Chopping Knives from his waist.
With a flick of his wrist, the knives flew from his hands and transformed midair into spinning, whirling blades. They struck the hedge repeatedly, slicing and chopping with relentless precision. Leaves, twigs, and shattered branches exploded outward, scattering across the ground.
Bit by bit, a hole began to form.
The spinning knives carved deeper and deeper, until finally the hedge wall gave way. A passage several meters deep and wide enough for a person to pass through appeared. Through the opening, the shadowed depths of the Old Forest could be seen.
Robert squeezed through without hesitation.
Between the High Hedge and the Old Forest lay a buffer zone nearly a hundred feet wide. No trees grew there—only weeds and low grasses clung to the soil, as if the forest itself deliberately avoided the area.
Robert stamped lightly on the ground and noticed faint scorch marks beneath the dirt.
It seemed that long ago, the Hobbits of Buckland had fought a desperate battle against the Old Forest, even resorting to fire to repel the trees' advance.
Crossing the buffer zone, Robert reached the forest's edge. He did not pause. Instead, he stepped directly into the woods.
The moment he crossed the boundary, a heavy sense of oppression washed over him.
It felt as though countless unseen eyes filled with hostility and malice were watching his every move. Robert followed the sensation and slowly raised his gaze, his eyes settling on the ancient trees surrounding him.
They were enormous—thick-trunked, tall, and twisted with age. Their branches writhed and tangled overhead, forming a dense canopy that blocked out much of the light. From somewhere deep within the forest, he faintly heard whispers and murmurs, like conspiratorial voices speaking in a language just beyond comprehension.
Robert pretended not to notice anything unusual, but inwardly, his guard rose sharply. He quietly extended his magical perception, continuously sensing the surrounding trees and the fluctuations of magic around him.
Suddenly, a thick branch snapped loose from above and came crashing down toward his head.
"Protego!"
Robert reacted instantly.
An invisible shield flared into existence above him just as the branch struck, stopping it cold. The heavy wood bounced harmlessly aside.
Ever since acquiring Dark Arts: A Guide to Defense, the first spell Robert had chosen to practice was the Shield Charm. Capable of blocking most spell attacks and nearly all physical assaults, it was arguably the most practical and life-saving spell in existence.
However, it was also notoriously difficult. Even some seventh-year Hogwarts students failed to master it. For Robert, who lacked a wand entirely, the challenge had been immense.
He had practiced day and night for an entire month before he could barely cast it successfully.
Sure enough, the very first thing he did after mastering the Shield Charm was come to the Old Forest to test it.
Seeing their attack fail, the previously silent trees grew restless. Branches creaked and leaves rustled violently, despite the absence of any wind.
Robert could feel the hostility intensifying. He stopped holding back.
With a thought, the two Bone-Chopping Knives shot out from his waist once more. They targeted the largest oak and pine trees nearby, slicing through two straight branches as thick as a man's wrist. Under his control, the severed branches flew back into his grasp.
If he didn't run now, when would he?
Robert immediately turned and sprinted toward the edge of the forest, clutching the branches tightly.
The oak and pine trees, enraged by the loss of their limbs, let out deep, muffled roars. Their massive trunks twisted unnaturally as thick layers of bark peeled away, revealing raw wood beneath.
The ground shook violently.
Roots as thick as serpents burst from the soil, writhing and snapping as they tried to trip or crush him. Dirt heaved upward, as though some massive creature were turning beneath the earth.
"Damn it! Why are they so temperamental?" Robert shouted while running. "I only took a couple of branches! So stingy!"
The Bone-Chopping Knives flew in rapid arcs around him, slicing through thinner roots as they attacked. However, when faced with giant roots as thick as buckets, even the knives struggled, unable to sever them in a single strike.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
The spell struck the massive roots.
Instantly, they stiffened and tangled together, locking into an inextricable mass that could no longer pursue him.
Robert was overjoyed. He hadn't expected the Locking Leg Jinx to be so effective against something like tree roots.
Not daring to linger, he seized the opportunity. While the enraged trees struggled against the spell, Robert sprinted out of the Old Forest without looking back, crossed the buffer zone, and squeezed through the hole in the High Hedge.
Only then did he finally exhale in relief.
Looking down at the oak and pine branches in his hands, Robert grinned. Although he regretted not being able to perform a Check-In within the forest, acquiring suitable materials for a wand was still a significant gain.
After carefully concealing the opening in the hedge, he returned to Buckland Town.
Back at Drogo Baggins's house, Robert borrowed several tools and began processing the branches. He stripped away the bark, trimmed off excess wood, and polished them carefully. By the time he finished, two straight, smooth wooden sticks lay neatly before him.
Picking up the oak stick—barely deserving the name "wand"—Robert slowly injected his magical power into it.
His eyes lit up.
The magic flowed smoothly through the wood. Aside from a faint sense of sluggishness, it responded well and showed great potential as a wand casing.
He set the oak aside and picked up the pine stick.
Magic could flow through it as well, but the resistance was noticeably stronger.
This confirmed an important conclusion: the trees of the Old Forest could indeed serve as materials for wand casings.
The realization filled Robert with excitement. Although he still didn't know how to properly craft a wand, having access to viable materials meant hope.
As for the resistance he felt when channeling magic, Robert had a theory. It likely meant that the wood was incompatible with him.
In the wizarding world, wand woods varied greatly. Harry Potter's wand was made of holly, Lord Voldemort's of yew, and Dumbledore's legendary wand of elder. Using an incompatible wand could weaken spells or even cause unpredictable accidents.
Since oak and pine were not ideal matches, Robert found himself deeply curious about what his true wand wood might be.
The Old Forest contained countless species of trees. Perhaps, with enough trips, he could test them one by one.
However, there was something else he needed to do first.
His gaze shifted to the two pots of Dittany nearby. After more than a month of continuous magical irrigation, the plants had grown nearly a meter tall and were approaching maturity.
On another moonlit night, Robert grasped the stems and steadily infused them with magical power. The Dittany responded eagerly, growing increasingly lush and vibrant, as if moisture itself could be squeezed from their leaves.
At a certain moment, the plants reacted.
Silver moonlight was drawn toward them, gathering in shimmering strands. The Dittany began to glow faintly, bathed in soft radiance.
In the span of moments, the plants surged to full maturity, releasing a rich, soothing herbal fragrance into the air.
Robert watched quietly, a satisfied smile forming on his face.
His preparations were finally beginning to bear fruit.
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