Grayson Smyth was no hero of the town of Grenwitch Falls. He was no conjurer of sorts with the skill to command a magical wand. No Grayson Smyth was a luckless child of average height and build. Son to a bread baker who's delightful treats brought smiles to the town folk, his mother would no sooner have wished for her own child's disappearance then to have him by her side, but as luck would have it for the luckless Grayson, fate had promised him a different future.
The morning was cold and frost filled the air with every tired breath young Grayson took. Like all the days that followed before them and like all the days that promised to come, Grayson dressed himself in his gray slacks and white button up bakers jacket, clutching a puffy white hat with a snarl draped across his lips. He bode farewell to his dog Diggers- a brute of a dog by any standards with a fluffy gray and white mane equal to that of a wolf. Grayson's mother had begged him to rid their home of the hapless pup who had wandered up to their doors not five years earlier, but part with Diggers, Grayson would not for he had held a secret he had never told another. A secret that would find Grayson forever banished from Grenwitch Falls if discovered by another. Diggers could speak. And from his lips, Diggers had spoken the tales of a young, fearless Harry Potter. . . . .