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The path to hope

In a slow pace she walked towards the gate. She wasn't in a hurry when she was in the forest. She was never in a hurry. The roof of leaves would protect her until the end of the path. She had never reached the end of the path. It was always light there. It didn't matter how many leaves there were hanging above her head, what season it was, or how high the sun climbed into the sky. It was always light there, or at least lighter than in other places. When she was younger her father used to tell her that her mother was there. There, in the light. She still liked to believe that today, because it gave her peace, and an even bigger amount of hope.

She took of her shoes and felt the dust and warm ground beneath her feet. She let her hand slide over one of the palms aside the path. A little, black spider found its way over the palm of her hand and balanced on the tip of her finger. The spider found its way to one of the bushes aside and hid itself between the leaves, searching for a place to hide. That was exactly what the forest was like to her. A place to hide.

The path made her calm and gave her peace. No one ever came here. No one had ever taken the effort to explore the forest behind the gates, to see it. No one, except for her father. Her father had showed her these woods, and Luna loved it – just like he did. There were more animals, birds, fish and other creatures in this forest than in what forest ever, because it was so unexplored. As long as no one would wander the path, no one could harm the forest. Not the forest, not the animals, not the plants. As long as no one would follow them over the soft ground and the autumn leaves, the forest would stay as it was. Nearly as perfect as the light at the end of the path. As long as no one would dare his way towards the light, this forest would be theirs. Hers and her father's.


He closed his eyes and took in the warmth of the morning sun. It felt strange on his grey skin. It felt as if the darkness had swallowed him completely and was now slowly spitting him out. He took a few careful steps down the path. He kept his eyes closed while taking in the fresh air. He didn't need his sight to know the way here. It had been years since he had last been in the forest, but it hadn't changed. It seemed as if in those years, while so much had happened, not a single leaf had fallen from the trees and as if not one time the sun had abandoned the green grass.

His father had taken him here for the first time when he was eight years old. He told him about the wizard that once lived in the forest, but were slowly driven away by the Muggles after they discovered about the existence of the forest. After a while the Muggles left the forest themselves. Muggles are easily bored by all the beauty they own. The wizards, once housed in the forest, never came bang, in fear to be disturbed once more. The forest stayed where it was, though it was hardly ever honoured with a visit – not by Muggles, nor by wizards. But it lived on. It didn't need anyone, it actually managed better on its own. As long as the forest stayed pure and wasn't disturbed too much, it would live on.

That day Draco had understood exactly what his father meant by those words. He had even believed them. Now he wasn't so sure about that, but that didn't break his admiration for the forest. He slowly wandered the paths and tried to catch a bit of the peace of the forest. The forest was always peaceful. He looked at the light at the end of the path. He never went far enough to see no light at the end of the path, even though it had felt like that sometimes. The light was hope. He felt his cheeks dampen. Even though he didn't deem it likely that they would ever walk here again together, it remained their forest. His' and his father's.