The story that the reader is about to explore revolves around the series of events leading up to Dumbledore's death and its aftermath, all told from the perspective of a character who is quite far removed from the main storyline of the Harry Potter universe. She is a background character who has never had any lines, was never given a name, was never introduced, and is not given proper detail in illustrations. Her involvement with Harry, Ron, Hermione, or other related characters is minimal—if not negligible. The information she possesses would be similar to what the average wizard or witch might know if they were not personally involved with Dumbledore.
While there may be mentions of the main characters, the focus of the story will not revolve around them. Instead, it will highlight how their individual decisions have affected the wizarding world and its inhabitants. Similar to the butterfly effect, a small decision has great consequences for the rest of the world, whether one is aware or not.
This story aims to present characters who are forced to make difficult decisions for the safety of their families, peers, and neighbors. These decisions, while propped as fodder in the original books, still hold significant importance.
Reviews are welcome. I plan to update the story regularly, and feedback will help me improve the quality of the story and my writing.
Chapter 1
Cragcroft
Befuddlement Draught: A potion that causes drinkers to become belligerent and reckless.
Ingredients:
Distilled water - 3 pints
Lovage - 7oz dried and powdered
Scurvy grass - 7oz dried and powder
Sneezewort - 7oz dried and powder
Bring 2 pints of distilled water to a rolling boil.
Add the scurvy grass and leave it on medium heat until it turns a dark shade of red and starts producing a cloud of black smoke. Then add the sneezewort and stir clockwise for 20 minutes or until it turns a dark green.
Add the remaining distilled water and bring to a rolling boil. After 15 minutes, lower the heat and let sit for an additional 15 minutes.
Add the final ingredient, the lovage, and stir counterclockwise for 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Allow to cool until the potion resembles a thick soup with a dark maroon color.
This potion can be used in liquid form or dried and powdered.
Note: A chunk of river water can increase the potency. DO NOT LEAVE ON HEAT—IT WILL EXPLODE!
A thick summer fog enveloped a seacoast hamlet nestled near the Cragcroftshire region of the Scottish Lowlands. The hamlet's tiny stone cottages, each adorned with straw-thatch roofs, were scattered along narrow, winding sandy pathways. As the fog rolled in, it softened the rugged landscape, echoing the rhythmic crashing of waves against the jagged cliffs. The only light that broke through the dense dawn fog came from the flickering lanterns spread throughout.
A small figure emerged from one of the cottages, and with a flick of the wrist, orange light shot from a wand. The flickering of the lanterns stopped, and the light grew brighter.
"See? That's much better," the middle-aged woman proclaimed, her voice brimming with a deep, warm Andalusian accent. From behind her, a dramatic groan broke the early morning silence.
"Why do we have to wake up at the crack of dawn?" the girl grumbled, her arms crossed in discontent. "No one is even awake at this hour! Who are we selling to? The morning larks?" The girl droned. The woman, undaunted, flicked her wrist with a practiced ease.
Before them, a small, shabby shack began to materialize, its wooden structure rising from the ground. Above the door, a wooden sign appeared reading 'The Needy Potioneer' in large blue script. With a bright smile, the woman turned to face her daughter, ready to share in the excitement of their day's venture. However, her expression shifted when she caught sight of her teenage daughter's sulky face, the corners of her mouth turned down in unmistakable annoyance.
"It's the last day of summer. Tomorrow, you'll be heading off to that darn school. This is our final day to spend quality time together, Marietta," the woman said with a touch of sadness. Marietta fell silent, her expression softening as guilt stirred within her. She took a moment to reflect; her mother was right—this was indeed the last day they would have together.
Marietta's mother, Floriana, was perpetually consumed by worries about her daughter's well-being. Her anxiety was only intensified by the frequent absences of Marietta's father, a traveling potion maker. In quiet moments of solitude, Floriana often voiced her conviction that homeschooling would provide a far more secure and nurturing environment for Marietta, especially in light of the troubling events that had plagued the school in recent years.
The memories of terrifying events weighed heavily on her mother's mind: during Marietta's second year, a basilisk had turned several poor Muggle-born students to stone. In her third year, a murderous warlock escaped from Azkaban and stalked the grounds, terrifying the students. The fourth year brought the tragic loss of a young Hufflepuff during the Triwizard Tournament, and it was revealed that one of the professors was a dark wizard in disguise. Her fifth year was marred by the brief and chaotic reign of a round, pink professor who enforced bizarre punishments. Compounding Floriana's distress was the fact that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors seemed to vanish as quickly as they arrived, with none managing to stay for more than a year. "How can my dear Marietta learn to protect herself if she hasn't received the proper education?" Floriana would often lament.
Despite her mother's growing concerns, Marietta remained resolute in her decision to continue attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her steadfast determination was buoyed by the unwavering support of her father, Alfonso. A proud Gryffindor alumnus, he had always nurtured in her a belief that true courage and strength are the most valuable qualities one can possess. He frequently reminded her that fear is often nothing more than a construct of the mind, a barrier created by insecurity. For Marietta, the very small possibility of facing basilisks and dark wizards was just another challenge to overcome - after all, it was never her who had to face them.
Alfonso hailed from the Salvatierra family, a long-established line of pureblood wizards with a deep respect for tradition and heritage. However, unlike many of his relatives who clung to the notion of blood superiority and the archaic values upheld by pureblood families, he rejected such prejudice. Instead, he aimed to cultivate a sense of openness and acceptance in Marietta, teaching her to see beyond the superficial divisions that often plagued their world.
While Alfonso was often physically absent due to the demands of his trade, he was anything but distant. His love and presence resonated through his periodic letters, which he wrote with a genuine interest in the lives of both his wife and daughter. Though not without challenges, Alfonso was moderately successful in his profession, having built a reputation for his ability to sell even the most peculiar items. "He could sell jobberknoll feathers to a troll," they would often joke, serving as a testament to his charm and wit. He traveled extensively, believing it was best to deliver his products personally. This approach added a personal touch that helped him stand out from competitors while ensuring the quality of the ingredients and potions he provided, ultimately expanding his clientele along the way.
Floriana was surprisingly young for someone with an adolescent daughter. With her vibrant spirit and youthful energy, she often reminded others that she had become a mother early in life. Unlike her husband and daughter, Floriana had never attended Hogwarts and had no formal magical education. Her parents, Palmira and Baldomero Maestre chose to homeschool her, focusing on passing down their ancient knowledge of herbology and potion-making.
As she came of age, Floriana longed to break free from the constraints of her small, isolated, magical village in the rural hills south of the Iberian Peninsula. She dreamed of adventure and exploration beyond the familiar peaks of her home. During this period of yearning, Alfonso, a young, charming traveling salesman, arrived at the entrance of her village.
Alfonso would frequently visit Floriana, his interest in her blossoming into a warm and genuine affection. Even when he had no wares to sell, he made the journey to see her, their conversations lingering long into the evening. They spoke of their dreams, shared laughter, and exchanged stories, building the foundation of their deep intimacy. Their relationship flourished, and it wasn't long before love settled in. Floriana taught Alfonso her family's time-tested knowledge, which later proved to be an invaluable investment. Before they knew it, they had decided to elope. Within a year of their joyous union, the couple welcomed their daughter, Marietta. They traveled from town to town for the first half of their daughter's life, and then, when Marietta began to show early signs of magical abilities, they decided to settle in the serene beach town of Cragcroft.
Alfonso continued to travel for business, utilizing Floriana's family recipes as the backbone of his enterprise. Meanwhile, Floriana devoted herself to nurturing their sole daughter. Over time, she felt inspired to open a shop of her own, eager to contribute to their finances despite Alfonso's gentle insistence that it wasn't necessary. This venture occupied her time and distracted her from the loneliness that settled during the months when both her husband and daughter were absent.
Marietta rubbed her tired, dark brown eyes, letting out a wide yawn as she stretched her arms overhead to shake off the grogginess that clung to her. She gathered her wavy dark hair and pulled it back into a loose ponytail. She opened a tiny, weathered suitcase resting against the wall of the shack. After unzipping it, she began to carefully extract a remarkable amount of items; she displayed them on the shelves that lined the walls of the shack. Small potion vials, dried magical herbs, freshly potted plants, glass drinks with names like 'Serpent Blood' and 'Tears of a Fwooper,' and large canisters filled to the brim with eclectic potion ingredients. Each meticulously labeled and color-sorted.
Although Marietta loved her mother and cherished their time together at home, she often felt the need to distance herself from her mother's overbearing affection. This feeling was intensified by the struggles that came with being a typical teenager, grappling with the complexities and awkwardness of adolescence. She longed for the camaraderie of her fellow Hufflepuffs and often reminisced about the ordinary walks through the familiar, inviting hallways of her school. There were days when she wish to be back in her classes, particularly reveling in her beloved subjects like herbology and potions. Surprisingly, she even found herself missing the pressure of completing her mundane assignments, experiencing an odd nostalgia for challenges. The comforting scent of baked goods wafting from the kitchen, conveniently located just outside her house's common room. If she closed her eyes, she could vividly picture the earthy, whimsical decor of the Hufflepuff dormitory, filled with charming knickknacks and eclectic furniture, alongside students in their black and yellow striped robes casting playful spells on each other. But above all, she missed her independence.
Tomorrow couldn't come any sooner.
They sat quietly in the dimly lit shop for what felt like hours. Finally, they received their first customer of the day. The woman had a disheveled mane of dark gray hair, haphazardly pulled into a loose braid with what seemed like leaves and tiny branches entangled in it. Her wide, flat snout resembled that of a bulldog, and her bony fingers, adorned with rings of various shapes and sizes, darted toward the shelves and pointed at the jars just above Marietta's head.
"I'll take a few sprigs of lovage, some scurvy, and a handful of sneezeweed," she declared in a raspy voice. As she spoke, she kept muttering to herself, saying things like, "That'll show him, yeah," and "That rotten soul deserves it," hinting at her motives for buying the ingredients. Perhaps the unresolved grievance could be addressed with a little Befuddlement Draught.
"It'll be 15 galleons." Marietta announced with a bright, welcoming smile as she measured out the herbs and placed them into a woven container.
The old witch's eyes narrowed, and she scoffed, "15? That's outrageous! I can buy that for a fraction of the cost at The Apothecary."
With a sigh, Marietta straightened up. "I doubt you'll find those prices at The Apothecary, as we are their supplier. We grow all our herbs and magical ingredients right here. These herbs have been cultivated under the best conditions, using the finest fertilizers the highlands have to offer," her voice was firm, and once again, Marietta flashed her a bright smile. "It will be 15 galleons, please." The old witch continued to grumble under her breath but ultimately pulled out a leather coin purse and counted out the payment. "Thank you, and have a wonderful day!" Marietta cheerfully said as she handed over the bundled herbs, her spirit unfazed by the customer's sour demeanor.
As the sun began to set, it soon became clear that Marietta and Floriana's first customer was likely their only customer of the day. Untroubled by the slowness of their working day, they gathered their supplies and prepared to head home.
"Did you get all your books for the year?" her mother asked.
"Yes, Mamá. I made sure to get everything on our first day in London last week," Marietta replied, sliding the last vial into the suitcase.
Every trip to pick up school supplies turned into a shopping escapade, and her mother often used it as an excuse to stay a few extra days in London. Marietta didn't mind; she loved wandering around Diagon Alley whenever she could pull her mother away from the Muggle scene. Diagon Alley felt so alive compared to her hometown—filled with bustling crowds and vibrant shops. Even the weather was better; Cragcroft was constantly gloomy and cold, regardless of the time of year. She often wondered what had possessed her parents to settle in such a dreary town. The people there were far more interesting than the familiar faces back home. She enjoyed the company of fellow witches and wizards, even if they were just strangers. It made her world feel a bit larger.
Her mother, however, adored exploring the Muggle side of London and frequently pulled Marietta along, eager to discover quirky shops filled with odd, non-magical items. One time, she insisted on buying a can opener despite having no real use for it. Afterward, she brought home a case of assorted canned goods, and for a week, Marietta had to eat nothing but canned liver and brussels sprouts.
She packed her books, supplies, and the extra robes her mother insisted on tailoring, along with fitted sheets and an assortment of healthy snacks her mother lovingly made. Among her cherished possessions was a moving photograph of her parents.
Her father beamed with a wide, toothy smile, his chestnut hair slicked back, and his light brown eyes gazed adoringly at her mother. His olive complexion was supple; he had thin black glasses perched on his sharp nose that framed his oblong face. Her mother had wild, thick curls of dark brown hair that draped down to her hips and accentuated her pale, heart-shaped face. Her gentle brown eyes were fixed on her young husband. Both were adorned in ill-fitting wedding attire. Marietta hugged the frame and wished her father was here to see her off; he probably was already halfway to Kirkenes and wouldn't be able to make it back in time for her train departure.
She packed the frame in her luggage, put on her nightgown, and, with heavy eyelids, laid her head on the pillow. Tomorrow, they would head to Edinburgh.