It was a morning like any other.
The sun shone high in the blue sky, spilling light onto a new day. For most people, it was nothing more than the beginning of another routine—just like any other morning.
And that was only natural. After all, how could the world know that on this very morning, the greatest wizard of all time had just been born?
England, Gray Manor (1980)
On the second floor of the vast manor, two men waited anxiously outside a chamber door.
The younger one looked to be in his early twenties, with dark brown hair and piercing black eyes. Tall—well over six feet—he nevertheless seemed shrunken by nerves, fidgeting like a boy rather than a grown man.
Beside him stood an older man, shorter in stature but far more composed. His expression was neutral, yet his upright posture radiated an air of superiority.
"How much longer will it take?" the elder finally muttered, the first words he had spoken since they began waiting.
The younger man forced a shaky smile. Seeing his father nervous for the first time was oddly comforting.
"Don't worry, Father. Everything will be fine," he said, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder.
The elder gave a dry laugh. "You tremble too much to speak of calm. Still…" His tone softened, just a little. "How could I not be anxious, when my grandson is about to be born?"
The younger man opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when the door creaked open. For the first time, sound spilled into the hall—the thin, piercing cry of a newborn, ringing like music to their ears.
The midwife smiled warmly. "Congratulations. It's a boy."
Father and son embraced at once, grinning from ear to ear.
"It's a boy!"
"It's a boy!"
Their laughter was unrestrained, filled with pure relief and joy. Only when a soft cough drifted from the chamber did they fall quiet.
"I can hear you both, you know," came a gentle voice.
"Darling, we'd be just as happy if it were a girl," said the young man, hurrying into the room where his wife lay with the infant cradled in her arms.
"I'll believe you," she murmured, her eyes never leaving her son.
The old man approached, tears glimmering in his eyes.
"Are you crying, Father?"
"You're the one crying, idiot."
The woman rolled her eyes at the two men bickering while she stroked her baby's soft cheek.
"His name will be Noah," she said tenderly. "Noah Gray."
What none of them knew was that the child was strangely aware of it all.
Noah's consciousness lingered in a liminal state—his mind weak, memories clouded, his body heavy with a deep, unnatural drowsiness. This was no ordinary nap.
I hope I wake up… This feels like a good world to live in, he thought, before sinking into darkness.
He didn't yet know if this world held magic, but for some reason, the brief interaction with these people filled him with a warmth that made him want to stay.
And as his consciousness slipped away, the infant's body remained awake. His eyes grew hazy for a moment, then cleared again, as if nothing had happened.
Days turned to weeks, and in the blink of an eye, six months had passed. Happiness had settled like a gentle cloak over the Gray family.
The new heir had been born—a healthy boy named Noah. Even in dark times for Britain, his presence was a beacon of joy.
Wizards and witches of great renown came to pay their respects. Ancient figures, long thought dead, appeared with extravagant gifts.
A private celebration was held at Gray Manor, attended by close friends and influential guests alike. For the Grays were no ordinary family—they were one of the most prominent in the magical world. And Charlie Gray, Noah's grandfather, was a figure whose very name commanded respect. Wherever he went, titles and positions were offered to him freely. Yet for decades he had distanced himself from politics.
No one dared provoke such a man. And so, the celebration unfolded without incident—no plots, no ambushes, not even a whisper from Voldemort or his Death Eaters. It was, for Britain's magical society, a much-needed breath of relief.
The manor itself seemed to come alive for the event. Its already immense halls expanded further to host the guests, while enchanted chandeliers spilled golden light across polished floors. Violins and pianos played themselves, their melodies weaving seamlessly into the laughter and conversation of the crowd. Wizards and witches danced gracefully, savoring the fleeting beauty of peace.
Noah, carried in his mother Laura's arms, was the star of the evening—though his mother herself rivaled him for attention.
Laura Gray was radiant, her golden hair shining beneath the chandeliers, her sapphire eyes sparkling like the sky. Her fair skin glowed against the pale blue gown that embraced her figure. Men and women alike turned to look—but none dared linger, for at her side stood Adam Gray, her husband, whose mere presence deterred even the boldest. Few realized that soon, the baby in her arms would eclipse them both on the list of people one did not cross.
Adam Gray was known for his sharp instincts in business. The family's wealth had multiplied under his guidance, though rumors suggested he despised the corporate world.
Guests flocked to see baby Noah. Women pinched his chubby cheeks, cooing over the deep blue of his eyes, while men huddled around Adam and Charlie, proposing arranged marriages for their daughters.
Every request was met with the same firm reply:
"He will choose his own wife."
The advantages of tying one's bloodline to the Grays were obvious, especially in such uncertain times. Yet not a single guest pressed the matter twice.
It was then that an elderly man with a long white beard and a crooked nose approached.
"So this is young Noah," he said in his raspy voice. "A charming child indeed."
A hush fell over those nearby, their eyes filled with reverence.
Charlie smiled. "Albus, I didn't know you would come."
The man was none other than Albus Dumbledore—Headmaster of Hogwarts, bearer of countless titles, and perhaps the most respected wizard alive.
"I always find time for friends," Dumbledore replied warmly, embracing Charlie before greeting Adam and Laura. He brushed his fingers against Noah's cheek, tickling him lightly.
"And I do hope," Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his eye, "that young Noah will attend Hogwarts when the time comes."
Charlie only shook his head. "It's too soon to decide."
"From the look of you, the decision's already been made," Dumbledore sighed. "When, then? And where will you go?"
"In a month. To France," Charlie answered gravely. "You know why—I must think of my family's safety."
"I understand," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. "My time is short, so I'll take my leave."
When he was gone, Charlie released a long sigh. A hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"Don't mourn," Adam said quietly.
"I don't mourn for myself," Charlie whispered. His gaze lingered where Dumbledore had stood. "But every day he seems older, more burdened. I'll never understand why he chose to carry the weight of the world alone."
The celebration lasted through the night. By morning, the manor had returned to its normal size, and the house-elves cleaned everything with little more than the snap of their fingers.
A month later, the Gray family departed for France, leaving Britain's chaos behind—for now.