Welcome everyone to my new story. It's been quite sometime, and I hope it won't be nearly as infrequent or have such a sudden drop off as my previous. This is the first new story I've gotten round to writing, and much of it is already planned, with work on future chapters already beginning. But I wanted to post this one a little earlier than originally planned. Much love to all who read, and my wonderful partner for her support. I of course do not own Harry Potter, if I did well, I wouldn't have student debt.

Chapter One: And So It Begins

It is often strange how the world works. How every country, religion or belief has stories that have some similarity to a variety of others, from other beliefs. How stories and events seem to repeat themselves, as if life is destined to constantly relearn these lessons over and over again. It is also strange how one small change can affect these stories. You've heard this story before, no doubt a hundred times in some form or fashion if you are here reading this one. Yet bear with me as I tell you this version of the tale. I think you'll find it's not like many others.

In this telling, a small change was made. A butterfly began to leave its cocoon. In the story you know, this butterfly flew north, doing so for a fair while before eventually coming to rest in the home of a Lepidopterist, and the world went on as the story you know. In this one however, this single butterfly made a different choice that would change the world as you knew it.

It flew south.

It flew on and on, seeing sights it never would have seen in another life. All the way to a little park in London. There it landed upon a weakened branch in the early spring of that year. That landing would dislodge a single leaf. That leaf would fall, fluttering down through the wind onto the face of a man, tall with short and well-kept black hair, pale skin and gray eyes like the clouds that had opened up above him, just hidden behind a set of wire-frames in a dashing suit, briefcase in hand rushing through the park, late for a meeting. This man, spluttered and stuttered in his step, trying to dislodge the leaf that had stuck so fast to his head from the rain that fell so harshly around him. He stumbled once. Then twice. Until with a third he crashed into a woman walking the other way. Delicately dressed, with well maintained porcelain skin, eyes of blue the shade of the summer sky, and brown hair that tumbled loosely down to her shoulders.

"Oh, I am ever so sorry" the man cried as he reached out to grab the woman lightly before she could slip into one of the many puddles dotted around them. "This damnable leaf caught by surprise" he continued waving around the culprit lightly.

"Oh it's quite alright" the woman began, startled but smiling nonetheless. "It really is"

"I'm glad to hear it, my apologies again" the man replied, the woman's smile so contagious he had begun to smile too. They stood like that, the rain falling almost lazily around them, for just a second longer "Well I really must be off" and he made to sprint away. If he had done that, then maybe this story would have reverted to the one you knew. But the woman had only made it a few feet down the path when he reappeared. "I know I've apologised already, but I feel as if that is not enough to make up for my blunder"

"Your blunder?" She laughed

"Yes, yes, knocking you like I did, it was most ungentlemanly" He replied, his smile wider now, one of genuine, and surprising warmth. "My name is Thomas, Miss"

"Elizabeth"

"Elizabeth, I would like to make it up to you. A drink perhaps?"

"Well, I can not let you be ungentlemanly now can I?" She smiled, and the two arranged to meet later that week, for a drink. Which became another drink, another time, then lunch, then a dinner or two. Growing and growing until a year later. Thomas and Elizabeth Ridgeway were married. The couple that should never have met.

They bought a house on Bayswater Road, not far from the park that they had met in. Thomas was a respectful Lawyer, and Elizabeth was a writer, though yet to be published. Their home was far too large for them on their own, and even with the occasional visit from friends and family, the hiring of a maid to help fill the void. The house always felt empty even still. That was until March 13th 1970. You see, on that day, Markus Edward Ridgeway was born. The porcelain skin, and curls of his mother, the black hair and grey eyes of his father.

The now family of three were an exceptionally happy one. Elizabeth released two books on history, one just before Markus's birth with the other not long before his sixth birthday. Whilst Thomas would rise and rise in position. Markus would remain an only child but was a happy and studious yet playful child. Often entertaining himself in some manner, be it by book, by prank or by simply playing any number of games that children do. His mother read to him every night, always tales of history or the magic that existed in various forms of myth and legend. Their life was content.

When Markus was six years old, he visited the streets of London proper. He had done this before of course, himself and his parents would often go out each weekend to see a variety of different things, be it the theatre, the opera or some sort of dinner that his mother or father had been invited to. But on this occasion, Markus, like many children are want to do, wandered away from his parents. In his adventure he saw various sights and sounds. Until he stumbled upon an odd little shop. Brass lettering above the door spelt out the words Gladdrag's Goods. The paint was an opulent green that stood out starkly next to all the other storefronts. Yet no one seemed to notice it. None did when the little boy of seven opened the door and went inside.

The store was incredible. A variety of oddities lined the front shelves, Jars labeled eyes of newt, Salamander guts, a cacophony of feathers, plants and other such strangeness. Long and thin boxes lined up behind the counter, an old fashioned till sitting upon its surfaces. Everything in the shop was lit by candle light. It was the back of the store that caught Markus's eye however, books lined the back wall, stacked from floor to ceiling on shelves that looked fit to burst. He quickly ran to the back scanning over the variety of titles. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, A guide to wandlore, Cornish Pixies and their fairy brethren, How to kill a doxie in ten easy steps. They were like no books Markus had ever seen before, yet they seemed to call out to Markus, like the shop itself had done. He pulled a thick tome of old leather and parchment from the shelves, golden embroidery spelled out its title, Lights and Obscurity; A True Telling to Myths and Magic, it was a beautiful book to say the least. It was as he was beginning to open the book, ever so gently of course he had been taught to respect them, especially ones as apparently old as this, when he was startled by the voice of the shopkeeper.

"Where are your parents, boy?" The voice called as the figure stepped out from a backroom. The figure themselves was an ancient looking old man, heavily wrinkled skin, white beard and whilst he had a ring of hair around the sides and back of his head, he had long since gone bald on top. He wore a black apron over a pair of dark trousers and a green shirt. But the man had a friendly smile and a glint in his eyes that spoke of a youth that seemed beyond his age.

"They're just down the road sir" Markus began after catching his breath. "They were talking about where to eat for dinner and I found your shop"

"Found it you did lad" The man, Gladderag Markus assumed, laughed. "It's not often I have young ones wander in" he continued whilst he began to fetch out the boxes of jars he'd been bringing from the backroom. Markus moved over and began to help carry them over to the various displays of over jars. "Well, what do you think of it?" Gladderag asked.

"It's a bit strange" Markus answered honestly, "Do you actually manage to sell this stuff" He gestured at the jars as he spoke "Newts eyes, powdered spider fang, Acromantula silk? It's all quite weird, your books are strange too"

"You'd be surprised at what can be sold to the right person lad" Gladderag said as he began to unpack the jars onto the shelf. "You've never seen any of this lot before?" He asked with a quizzical tone.

"Of course not sir" Markus replied, all the while passing out the goods from the box to Gladderag as he puttered around the shop. "It's like the stuff my mum reads me at night"

"Oh I do suppose it is" Gladderag chuckled "Muggles get so close to the truth they don't even know it"
"Muggles?"

"A word I'm sure you'll come to know in years to come" Gladderag answered as he finished putting out the last of the goods from the box, Markus could only be slightly more confused, and a little miffed at the reply if he was honest. Gladderag slowly wandered over to the bookshelves and picked up the tome Markus had been about to open before being startled. The man seemed to think to himself as he looked at the book, before nodding to himself and pulling another smaller booker, with a blue cover decorated in an artful way from the shelf as well. "Here you go lad, as thanks for your help"

"Oh I can't sir, my parents would be cross if they knew I took things, I have money I can pay with" Markus said now feeling obligated to buy the books.

"Your money's no good here lad" Gladderag began before laughing heavily to himself "You take them with my thanks, the first has sat on my shelves for far to long, and the second, well I can just as easily get a better copy tomorrow" He finished before shoving the books into Markus's hands and guiding him to the door. "You best run back to your parents, lest they be worried"

"Thank you, Thank you ever so much" Markus would say, before doing just that.

He'd read those books a number of times as he got older, A True Telling, and the Tales Of The Beedle and The Bard. Fantastical stories that spoke as if magic were real. He'd try and find the shop again on other visits, but was never able to guide his parents back to it. And later he'd never get the chance.

On November 7th 1977, Thomas and Elizabeth Ridgeway would be killed in an accident along with ten others, when the ferry they had been riding down Thames mysteriously sank. It broke Markus that day. The boy had loved his parents dearly, and they'd been well-respected by their neighbours and peers who came to their funerals. But none were able or willing to take young Markus in. So on November 8th, Markus Ridgeway moved into the Darlin Home for Lost Boys and Girls. The death of his parents stole away much of the childish glee the boy had once had. He dove into schooling and reading as a means to cope. He reread stories his mother had often read him, just to hear her voice in his head. He'd act out just to hear his fathers angry yell that never came. He tried his best to connect with the other children, but most had not grown up in the same lifestyle as him and resented him for it. But he got by.

He was just returning from school one morning just after his eleventh birthday when the Matron, Matron Vivienne Grene, a short and plump woman with graying blonde hair, and the wrinkles of a woman that had lived a happy life, called his name. Markus was quick to stop and respond to the kindly Matron who guided him to her office. In the office sat a squat little woman, with graying hair and a thick brown coat.

"This is Professor Pomona Sprout" The Matron explained "She's from a school up north, that your parents had planned to send you" Markus didn't doubt it as a thing his parents would do, but it was odd that it was only now occurring, and how did the school even know he was here. His no doubt confused look was easily noted by Mrs Sprout.

"I'm sure you have many questions, don't worry I'll make sure to answer them all" She said with a friendly smile. "If we could have a few moments?" she asked the Matron, who Markus was almost certain wouldn't leave and so was shocked when she did so with little fuss. As soon as she was out of the room Mrs Sprout, pulled from her cloak a letter which she handed to the young boy, which he then quickly tore into.

Mr Markus Edward Ridgeway

The 5th Bedroom on the second landing

Darlin Home for Lost Boys and Girls

London

England

"So, any questions?"