The Three Brothers: Book 1



The forest was quiet. Only the sound of the rustling leaves was to be heard. It had endured for many millennia, bearing silent witness to the many events that it had been a host of. But it was no ordinary forest; no, it was home of some of the most dangerous magical creatures in the world, who seemed to hold their silence on this day. Magic. At least that was what it had been called over the years. Over the years, many had discovered it, tried to study it, even attempted to control it, even claimed they knew everything about it. And time and again, they'd been surprised by what they called impossible feats of magic. But that was nought for the forest. For the forest did not bother with believing in magic; it simply breathed it. After all, today had been one of those remarkable days, and the forest had remained silent

"Pop" The sound was heard clearly in the clearing, at what could be called the gate to this magnificent forest, lying adjacent to the large and imposing castle. The bearded man who had appeared out of thin air turned and looked at the sight behind him. Once a stronghold against those who would persecute magic and witchcraft, its builders founded a school within it, training and preparing the younger generations in the art of magic. Hogwarts, it was called by its founders- Lady Helga Hufflepuff of Wales, Lady Rowena Ravenclaw of Scotland, Lord Salazar Slytherin of Ireland, and Lord Godric Gryffindor of England; and it had housed the future of magical Britain for the past millennium.

'This is no time to reminisce, especially when there is work to be done', thought the man. He walked a few paces, taking in the myriad smells and soft sounds from the forest before he saw it. There it was, lying in the dirt. He picked it up, and for a fleeting moment hesitated. 'No', he thought. 'Some things were not meant to be disturbed. And perhaps it has served its purpose after all'. He pocketed it, turned and left with another pop.

He appeared in the burnt down house, besides the lone surviving rose plant in the garden, swinging softly in the wind. Walking inside, he was met by the sheer amount of destruction around him, and a surge of sorrow entered his mind. 'No time for that now.' The longer he took, the longer it would take it all to end. An image of the house's previous owners entered his mind. 'It's alright. Death is but the next great adventure, right?'. His sight lingered on the charred walls and upholstery adorning the room, and on the chandelier covered with soot.

Shaking his head, he continued inside. Taking purposeful long strides, he walked by the stairs to enter the small room on the left. It looked like the only one to have received any attention over the years. Taking the stone out of his pocket, he placed it on the table before him. He then took a long stick out of a leather holder on his arm and started doing complex motions over the stones, as if he were unwinding a string. After two minutes of this, he pointed the stick at the stone, and levitated it over to the adjoining table, on which stood a large round-bottomed crystal flask filled with a lime green liquid which was simmering away. The stone hovered over the mouth, swaying slightly for what seemed like an eternity for the man, and then it fell in.

"Psssttt" The stone fizzled in the liquid, dissolving without making any noticeable change to it. The man stopped the burner underneath it and then aiming the stick in his hand inside the flask, and in a scooping motion, made it disappear. "Alright," he remarked aloud, "That it then". It was time for him to be someplace else. Walking briskly out of the room, he came into the entrance hall. Looking around one last time, he promised to return in a week, and start work on his next project. Taking in a long breath, he left with a pop.