The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the skies with fiery hues, as magic pulsed through the forest that bordered Alfheim, a small, hidden village nestled near the edge of the forbidden forest. As twilight deepened, the villagers hurriedly locked their doors and extinguished every light, hoping not to attract the shadowy creatures rumored to emerge from the forest after nightfall. No one dared to venture near the woods at this time, for a chilling legend warned that anyone who entered after dark would never return the same.
Yet, amidst their fear, there was one exception—a boy no older than seventeen, with messy dark brown hair, round glasses, and a lightning-shaped scar etched on his forehead. Harry was often seen heading toward the forest at sunset, carrying a lamp in one hand and a basket filled with clothes, toys, and other necessities strapped to his back. It was an odd but familiar sight, one the villagers had grown accustomed to witnessing once a week.
All they knew about Harry was that he lived in a small treehouse deep within the forest with his thirteen-year-old brother, Aaron. They wondered about the boy’s peculiar habits but dared not question him. Tonight, however, something was different. Harry walked briskly, his face etched with panic. He was late.
Harry understood the dangers of the forest all too well. His father, James, had once warned him of the legend before his tragic death in a mysterious accident. But Harry knew something the villagers didn’t: as long as he entered the forest before the sun completely vanished, he would be safe. He had always been cautious, but today, exhaustion had caught up with him, and he’d fallen asleep. Now, he was nearly fifteen minutes late.
As Harry stepped into the woods, an unsettling silence greeted him. The usual symphony of chirping insects and rustling leaves was absent. His heart pounded as he thought of his brother waiting anxiously back home. “Aaron must be worried sick,” he muttered, quickening his pace.
Suddenly, a faint sound behind him shattered his thoughts. Harry froze, instinctively drawing the knife he always carried. He scanned his surroundings, but all he saw was an unnatural fog creeping through the trees, enveloping him in its cold embrace. Laughter—soft and sinister—echoed through the mist, sending shivers down his spine.
Panic seized him. He ran blindly, the fog hindering his vision, until he stumbled upon higher ground where the air was clearer. Standing atop what seemed to be a hill, Harry paused to catch his breath. Despite his fear, he couldn’t help but notice the eerie beauty of the moonlit landscape.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a silhouette in the distance. He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Someone, or something, was watching him. Too terrified to move, he clutched his knife tightly and prepared for the worst.
Meanwhile, back in their treehouse, Aaron paced nervously. His brother had never been this late before. Harry had always warned him never to venture into the forest at night, but worry gnawed at Aaron’s resolve. He couldn’t just sit and wait.
Packing a small bag with essentials—water, bread, matches, a blanket, rope, and a knife—Aaron lit a candle and stepped into the forest. As he walked, he noticed an unusual glow ahead. Curious and desperate for answers, he followed the light.
To his surprise, he found a group of masked individuals holding peculiar sticks that emitted light. Though uneasy, Aaron approached them. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m Aaron. I’m looking for my brother, Harry. He was supposed to be home by now, but he’s not. Have you seen him?”
The group exchanged furtive glances, their smiles hidden behind their masks. “Dear Aaron,” one of them replied smoothly, “you shouldn’t be wandering alone in the forest at this hour. Come with us. We’ll help you find your brother.” The man introduced himself as Rodolphus, and Aaron, eager for help, accepted their offer.
Unbeknownst to him, these were Death Eaters—followers of a dark wizard—and their intentions were far from noble. They planned to use Aaron as bait to lure Harry into the graveyard at the heart of the forest, where they hoped to resurrect Voldemort.
Back on the hill, Harry finally mustered the courage to turn around. His breath hitched as he saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was humanoid, but its sharp claws, pointed teeth, and glowing red eyes betrayed its monstrous nature. Yet, despite its terrifying appearance, Harry felt no fear. A strange sense of calm washed over him, as though this creature meant him no harm.
Before Harry could process his thoughts, a searing pain exploded in his head. He fell to his knees, clutching his temples as memories flooded his mind—memories of a world full of magic, of his parents and their sacrifices, of growing up with his brother in the safety of Alfheim, and of finding a half-dead boy in the woods.
The boy had introduced himself as Draco in his semi-conscious state. With the help of James and Aaron, Harry had nursed Draco back to health. During this time, they discovered that Draco had been bitten by a vampire, which had transformed him into a half-vampire.
Over time, Harry and Draco became inseparable. Draco eventually confided in Harry about his troubled past—about his parents, their ties to the Death Eaters, and his desperate attempt to escape their clutches. Despite his fears, Draco's concerns were justified. The Death Eaters ultimately tracked him down, exposing Harry's hidden sanctuary in the process.
Harry was vital to Voldemort's resurrection, which was why James had gone to great lengths to keep them hiding. When the Death Eaters found them, James and Draco fought valiantly to protect Harry and Aaron unfortunately during which James lost his life. Realizing the danger Harry faced, Draco made the heartbreaking decision to erase Harry’s and Aaron’s memories of him and their world, ensuring his safety and shielding him from the relentless pursuit of the Death Eaters.
When the pain subsided, Harry looked up to see the creature—his friend, Draco—gazing at him with tear-filled eyes. Recognition dawned between them, and without a word, they embraced. But their reunion was cut short.
“Your brother is in danger,” Draco said urgently. “The Death Eaters are trying to use him to get to you. We must act quickly.”
With Draco’s help, Harry learned of the Death Eaters’ plans. They apparated to the graveyard just as Aaron was being led toward an altar. Harry’s heart sank as he saw his terrified brother, but before Rodolphus could harm him, Draco intervened, attacking the Death Eaters with feral precision.
In the chaos, Harry grabbed Aaron and, with Draco’s help, apparated them back to the safety of the village.
Once safe, Draco explained everything to Aaron, who began to recover his own suppressed memories. Though Harry and Aaron pleaded with Draco to stay, he refused, fearing that his presence would only put them in greater danger.
“Take care of each other,” Draco said, his voice heavy with emotion. “And Harry, never forget our friendship.”
With that, he disappeared into the night, leaving Harry and Aaron to rebuild their lives—and their memories—together.
The next morning, Aaron awoke in his bed, convinced it had all been a dream. But as he recounted the events to Harry, his brother simply smiled and dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, caused by exhaustion.
As Harry prepared to leave the house, he whispered to the forest, “Thank you, Draco. I’ll find a way back to you. I promise.”
Unseen by Harry, Draco stood in the shadows, silently vowing to protect them both until the day they could reunite once more.