Chapter 2
Hermione walked confidently, guiding her daughters by the hand as their laughter filled the air with the carefree joy of childhood. She felt at peace, wrapped in the warmth of their conversation, so much so that she didn’t see the signs.
She didn’t notice how some healers exchanged tense glances.
She didn’t notice the group of cloaked figures scattered throughout the hospital lobby.
She didn’t notice the dark tattoos on their necks.
The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.
The hospital, always buzzing with the movement of healers and patients, suddenly became eerily quiet. Hermione stopped, frowning as she realized that the bubbling sound of potions from nearby rooms, the murmuring of voices, even the footsteps on the marble floor… had all disappeared.
Then, the explosion.
The blast was deafening. A burst of fire lit up the hallways, and a wave of hot air lashed against her face. Hermione felt the ground tremble beneath her feet and, before she could react, chaos erupted.
Thick black smoke spilled like a living beast, consuming everything in its path. Screams of panic echoed through the corridors as patients and healers ran in terror, stumbling over each other. Explosions followed one after another, shaking the hospital’s walls, bringing down ceilings and shattering windows.
Hermione felt her heart hammering against her chest. Everything moved in slow motion.
Around her, horror unfolded:
Healers desperately trying to control the fire with magic, but their spells fizzled into nothing.
Patients fleeing, some crushed beneath falling debris.
A small child sobbing, searching for his mother amidst the chaos.
Everything was collapsing.
And in the midst of disaster, her instincts kicked in.
Adrenaline surged through her like lightning. She had to get her daughters out of there.
—Mummy! —sobbed Rose, clinging tightly to her hand.
Hermione frantically scanned her surroundings. She needed her wand. But if she reached for it, she would have to let go of one of her daughters. And that was unthinkable.
Victoire trembled, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with fear.
She couldn't wait any longer.
She bent down and lifted both girls into her arms, holding them tightly against her chest. Their small arms wrapped around her neck, their tear-streaked faces pressing against her skin.
Hermione pushed forward, weaving through the panicked crowd, dodging falling debris.
Then, another explosion.
The ceiling collapsed.
A massive chunk of stone came crashing down.
The impact was brutal. A sharp pain shot through her back, and for an instant, the world blurred. Her arms weakened, her mind fogged.
And then, darkness.
The hospital continued to crumble, flames licking at its remains, when a figure emerged from the smoke.
Shrouded in a dark cloak, her hair concealed beneath her hood, her eyes glowed with unwavering determination. She moved with deadly precision.
Her wand was already in hand when she saw Hermione’s unconscious body, the two children sobbing in her arms.
She wasn’t going to make it in time.
Gritting her teeth, she rushed forward.
But before she could reach them, a slashing curse struck her side.
The pain was instant, searing. It felt like invisible blades tearing through her flesh. She staggered for a moment, gasping, feeling warm blood soak into her robes.
Sectumsempra.
She forced herself to stay upright and turned her gaze toward her attacker.
The leader.
She recognized him immediately.
The man stood amidst the destruction, a cruel smile on his face, his wand still raised as if he had been waiting for her. He didn’t want to simply kill.
He wanted to torture.
But she wasn’t going to let him.
There was no time for this.
Tightening her grip on her wand, she ignored the pain.
Time was running out.
Hermione was still unconscious. The children were still crying. And the hospital was seconds away from complete collapse.
She had no choice.
She ran to them, her cloak billowing behind her. She dropped to her knees beside Hermione, ignoring the burning pain in her side, and reached out, pressing her fingers against Hermione’s hand.
One thought.
Escape.
With the last of her strength, she whispered a spell.
Magic surged around them like a roaring storm, crackling through the air. The ground beneath them vanished.
And in the next heartbeat…
They were gone.
The air shifted abruptly.
The blistering heat of the fire and the stench of ash were replaced by cool, crisp air, the scent of damp wood, and the distant sound of birdsong.
The Veela Forest of Haguenau.
The woman collapsed to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She pressed a hand to her wounded side, feeling the sticky warmth of her blood seeping through her fingers.
But her attention was not on her wound.
Hermione. Still unconscious, her body still wrapped protectively around her daughters.
The children. Shaking, but safe.
The woman closed her eyes for a moment, a trembling sigh escaping her lips. She had gotten them out just in time.
But relief was fleeting.
They were not safe yet.
Although the suffocating heat and the stench of ash were left behind, replaced by the coolness of the forest, the whisper of the leaves, and the sweet perfume of the flowers, a new challenge awaited.
This place was alive—a presence that decided who to protect and who to reject.
The wounded woman knew this. And now, she was on trial.
She felt the ground vibrating beneath her knees, the air thick with ancient magic, surrounding her like a predator studying its prey.
The forest did not want her here.
Not yet.
Then, the fire appeared.
It was not ordinary fire. It was Veela fire. White and pure, it burned without consuming, moving in spirals as if it had a will of its own.
She sensed the danger before the fire advanced.
But she did not move.
She knew she shouldn’t.
If she ran, the forest would destroy her.
The little girls gasped, their small bodies curled up beside their unconscious mother.
Victoire sobbed.
—No! Don’t hurt her!
Rose, however, did not cry.
The five-year-old, gripping her sister tightly, did not take her eyes off the fire.
And then, she spoke.
Not out loud.
But the forest heard her.
The fire stopped.
It hovered for a moment, then slowly withdrew, as if it had changed its mind.
The woman narrowed her eyes, panting.
The forest had accepted her.
But not because of her.
Because of Rose.
The magic of the forest seemed to recede, as if its judgment had been made.
The woman could barely stand when she felt a shift in the air.
Suddenly, Hermione gasped, her body jolting as she awoke.
Her lungs filled with air in a ragged breath, as if she had just surfaced from deep underwater.
—Mummy!
Before she could even process where she was, her daughters threw themselves into her arms.
The witch held them as tightly as she could, feeling the warmth of their small bodies, the tremor in their fragile arms.
They were alive.
But something was wrong.
There was something... someone else there.
Hermione lifted her gaze.
And then, she saw her.
A woman stood a short distance away, watching them.
Hermione’s face tensed, her sharp eyes scanning every detail:
The dark cloak.
The firm stance.
The deep wound on her side.
And, most of all…
The way she looked at her.
There was something eerily familiar about her.
But before Hermione could ask who she was…
The forest whispered.
And from between the trees, new shadows emerged.
The branches above shuddered.
They were not alone.
Hermione tensed.
She recognized this forest.
She knew it did not allow intruders.
So why was this happening?
The wounded woman stepped closer and subtly positioned herself between Hermione and the approaching figures.
—They followed us. —Her voice was a low, grave whisper.
A chill ran down Hermione’s spine.
—Who?
Before the woman could answer, the sound of snapping branches echoed through the darkness.
A pair of golden eyes glowed between the trees.
Hermione felt her wand vibrate in her grip.
They hadn’t escaped.
They had only bought themselves time.
Hunted in the Veela Forest
The air grew colder.
The trees seemed taller, their shadows stretching unnaturally, as if the forest itself were watching. The distant hum of Veela magic still lingered in the air, but it was no longer the only presence here.
The golden eyes between the trees did not blink.
Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. Her instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong.
Beside her, Victoire and Rose clung to her cloak, their small bodies trembling. The witch could feel the frantic beating of her daughters' hearts, mirroring the rapid pulse in her own throat.
They couldn’t stay there.
The wounded woman, still clutching her side, took a step forward.
She said nothing, but Hermione noticed the way she positioned herself slightly ahead of them—protectively.
That gesture stirred something in her mind.
Her movements were instinctive.
But this was not the time for questions.
—How many? —Hermione murmured, her eyes never leaving the darkness of the undergrowth.
The woman took a second to respond.
—Enough.
A new sound shattered the silence.
Footsteps.
Soft, deliberate. Gliding over the leaves.
Their pursuers were moving.
The golden eyes multiplied.
There were at least four.
A shiver crawled down Hermione’s spine.
Beasts.They were not human.They were predators. And they were surrounded. The wounded woman didn’t hesitate.
—Run. —She whispered urgently.
But Hermione didn’t move. She couldn’t. Because at that moment, one of the figures stepped out of the shadows. And what she saw made her blood run cold. It wasn’t a man.
Not entirely.
Tall and gaunt, with an almost ethereal silhouette, its skin had an unnatural ashen-gray hue. Its golden eyes gleamed under the moonlight, reflecting hunger—and something worse.
The creature’s lips curled into a slow smile, and as they parted, sharp fangs glistened in the darkness.
No. These weren’t just beasts. They were hunters. Hermione swallowed hard. The creature took one step forward. Then another.
The forest did not stop it.
Why?
The answer came before she could process it.
—They’re here for the girls.
The wounded woman’s voice was barely a whisper.
Hermione felt her world tilt.
Her arms tightened around Rose and Victoire.
—What do you mean?
The creature tilted its head, as if relishing the panic in her eyes.
—You know, Hermione Granger. —Its voice was serpentine, whispering, ancient.
A chill ran down Hermione’s spine.
How did it know her name?
The creature smiled with eerie patience.
—Give them to me… and I’ll let you go.
Rose shivered in her mother’s arms.
Victoire clenched her fists, her small jaw trembling with rage and fear.
But Hermione… Hermione felt something stronger than fear.
Fury.
Her fingers curled tightly around her wand, feeling the raw magic bubbling beneath her skin.
The creature didn’t flinch.
It knew it had the upper hand. It knew Hermione wouldn’t risk her daughters.
But what it didn’t know…
Was that Hermione Granger did not negotiate with monsters.
With a flick of her wrist, she aimed her wand straight at the creature’s face.
—Then you’ll have to kill me.
The creature smirked.
—If you insist.
The forest erupted into motion.
The air grew thicker, charged with a magic Hermione couldn’t quite grasp.
The golden-eyed creatures showed no fear.
What unsettled her most was that they weren’t challenging the forest.
And that chilled her to the bone.
—I already told you… give them to me. It’s what’s best for everyone.
The figure standing at the front spoke in a calm, almost condescending voice.
Hermione did not lower her wand.
—Why isn’t the forest attacking them? —the woman who had saved them asked, her voice steady, but Hermione could tell her mind was racing.
A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine.
The creature tilted its head with calculated ease, as if the situation amused it.
—Oh, so you still haven’t figured it out.
The shadows behind him stirred. More figures emerged from the trees, all with the same golden eyes glowing in the darkness.
There were more than four.
Hermione had miscounted.
—We are not intruders, —the creature continued, its voice dragging over each word in a serpentine tone. —We were born here.
The forest whispered.
As if confirming his words.
Hermione felt the weight of that truth sink into her chest.
—That’s impossible.
But the wounded woman shook her head.
—No, it’s not. The calmness of the forest… it must be true.
Her eyes were dark, grim. As if she had feared this moment for a long time.
Hermione didn’t understand.
The Veela Forest did not allow just anyone inside.
It only accepted Veela and those of their blood.
—Then… what are you? —Hermione murmured, feeling as though she didn’t want to hear the answer.
The creature’s lips curled into a lazy smirk.
—The Forgotten.
Hermione felt a cold weight settle in her chest.
The wounded woman closed her eyes for a moment, as if she knew exactly what he meant… and as if she had hoped never to explain it.
But Hermione demanded answers.
—What does that mean?
The golden eyes focused on her.
The creature tilted his head slightly, in a gesture that felt far too human.
—It means that this forest was once ours.
Hermione froze.
—The Veela cast out their own blood, —the wounded woman murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
The creature did not deny it.
—We were exiled.
—Why? —Hermione almost spat the question, a sick feeling growing in her stomach.
The creature held her gaze with an infuriating calmness.
—Because we were too strong.
The forest whispered again.
It did not contradict him.
Hermione felt her wand vibrate in her grip.
Magic responded to emotions, and right now, the only thing she felt was fury.
Fury because these beings had been exiled for a reason she still didn’t know.
Fury because the forest wasn’t stopping them.
Fury because they wanted her daughters.
—You will not touch my daughters.
The creature smirked, as if he had been expecting that response.
—You don’t get to decide that.
The magic around them shuddered.
Hermione noticed the shift immediately.
The forest wasn’t fully on the creatures’ side.
But it wasn’t helping her either.
It was waiting.
Observing.
Hermione gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time for this.
—If you truly belong to the forest, —she said coldly—, then let the forest decide.
The creatures fell silent.
The wounded woman slowly lifted her head, surprised by Hermione’s words.
She understands.
The golden-eyed leader’s gaze narrowed.
—You want the forest to choose?
Hermione didn’t hesitate.
—Yes.
The creature smiled.
And then, the forest roared.
The wind howled with inhuman force, leaves swirled in spirals, and the ground shook beneath their feet.
The forest was responding.
Hermione felt the magic in the air condense around them, as if the very forest had awakened from a long slumber.
The battle was no longer just between them and the creatures.
The forest had taken control.
And now, it would decide who deserved to stay… and who had to go.