He kept searching.

He knew that it had to be here, somewhere. He had sworn not to leave the Forbidden Forest until he had found it.

The muggle invention called 'backpack' rest on his shoulders. It was stuffed with jerky and water. Like he said, he was not going to leave.

A stray Acromantula approached him. Like most other things that dared to interrupt his search, it was met with several angry spells. After it scurried away, he resumed crawling on his hands and knees. So far, he had scoured almost the entire forest, and he knew that he was close. By this point, dirt and mud streaked his skin and cloak. The odd leaf or twig littered his hair.

He knew that he was close. He could feel it in his aching bones. A ray of moonlight lit the ground in front of him, like a beacon. Something shone in its light. Something that cast a purple glow.

He lunged forwards, clutching the cold stone in his palm. He opened his fist slowly, as if a sudden movement would make it flutter away. There it was. He had finally found it. Entranced, he spun it in his palm once. Twice.

Thrice.

A blinding flash lit up the forest, and he fell to his knees. After a few seconds, it dimmed considerably, and he could look at its source. A semi-transparent figure stood in front of him. He staggered to his feet, clutching the stone tighter. His eyes traced over every familiar feature. They stood in a tense silence for a few moments, then the apparation spoke, with a smile.

"Forge."

"Gred."