It started with a toothbrush.
Hadrian Potter—legally Jonathan Doyle—was brushing his teeth before bed in the orphanage's communal bathroom. The lights flickered overhead as usual, humming with exhaustion. The sink was cracked and sprayed water out of the side like it was trying to spite the building.
But something was off.
The toothbrush levitated.
He hadn't dropped it. He hadn't thrown it. One second he was brushing his back molars, and the next, the brush was hovering in front of him, gently rotating in place like a lazy helicopter blade.
He stared at it, open-mouthed. The bristles gave a soft whirrrp sound.
And then the entire mirror shattered.
CRACK!
It was a clean break—dozens of pieces splitting outward in a spiderweb pattern, but not a single shard fell. The pieces stayed stuck in the frame like they were afraid to fall.
Hadrian's heart slammed in his chest. "Oh crap."
Footsteps came pounding down the hallway. He didn't even think. The Book in his mind flashed open, and he mentally wrote with wild urgency:
That accidental magic is one that reverses itself after a few seconds.
A second later, reality folded in on itself with a soft pop.
The mirror was whole again. The toothbrush lay on the sink. And Mrs. Catterstone, the house matron, walked in just in time to scowl at him for "loitering."
"Bed," she snapped.
"Yes, ma'am," Hadrian said, trying not to visibly hyperventilate.
Meanwhile, in a quiet tower in Scotland…
Albus Dumbledore stood before the great Book of Admittance, a massive leather tome that had rested in Hogwarts Castle for over a thousand years. It stirred only rarely.
Tonight, it stirred.
The quill beside it—once belonging to the founder Helga Hufflepuff herself—jolted awake. It lifted without wind, floated over the open page, and wrote with swift, confident strokes:
Hadrian James Potter
Born: 31 July, 1980
Current Location: London, Muggle Orphanage
Albus slowly lowered the cup of tea from his lips.
"…Potter?" he murmured.
He turned to Fawkes, who let out a questioning trill.
"I'm rather sure we only had the one," Dumbledore added, brows furrowed in thought. "And he's very much accounted for at his aunt's house."
The Headmaster walked toward a high shelf, retrieved an ancient telescope-like instrument, and pointed it vaguely toward the south. With a few muttered incantations, swirling magical signatures began to appear—flickers of names, bloodlines, locations.
And there it was again.
Hadrian Potter.
Unregistered. Undocumented. But undeniably real.
"Well," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "It appears we have… a surprise."
Back in London…
Hadrian lay in his cot, staring at the ceiling. He had no idea that his tiny act of accidental magic had rippled across the magical world—or that his now real name had just been recorded in one of the most protected books in Britain.
He only knew that magic was real. He had it.
And the Book of Lived Time… had just bent reality for him.
He grinned.
Let the game begin.