Origins
The woman looked down at the newborn tucked away in the incubator, wrapped in a warm blanket provided by the hospital. Multiple IVs stuck out of his little arms. He was pink and frail, even a single touch could tear his skin. A breathing tube made sure he was getting enough oxygen.
He was born dangerously early. Three months premature, to be exact. Right before midnight. 11:58pm, December 31st, 1979.
It broke her heart, seeing him like that.
"You should at least name him." The nurse spoke. "You might be discharged, but he has to stay here. You haven't named him yet. What should we call him?"
The red-haired woman glanced back at the nurse, bags in hand. "Would that be fair? Naming him even though I won't be in his life?"
The nurse looked conflicted. "I'm not sure I can answer that. Is there even a right answer?" She asked in return.
There was a long pause.
"But, I think giving him a name would be bittersweet. Like a farewell gift. A name for him, special and just as unique as he is. Maybe something to remember you by, if nothing else?" She continued. "Maybe, one day, he will want to meet you. A name could help with that."
The woman looked down at her baby boy, smiling sadly at the thought. Would he want to find her, one day when he is grown?
Would he even survive?
"I suppose a name wouldn't be a terrible idea." She sighed.
But what would she choose?
She lingered by the incubator, contemplating for many hours, until she recalled the name of his grandmother. With that in mind, she made it official. The name may not lead back to her, but at least it could connect him to his father in some way.
Once it was made official, legally entered into the system, she looked over the birth certificate.
The portion for father was intentionally left blank. For the mother, it read "Lily Evans."
And the little boy's name was Elias Sevryn Prince.
The woman, Lily, sighed softly, looking over at her son. "I'm so sorry. I can't give you the life you deserve." She whispered, tears running down her cheeks. "I hope you understand."
And then she was gone, little Elias given up for adoption.
He never questioned who his mother was, even after he was adopted into a kind family and raised well. He was happy and healthy despite his being born three months early. He was a miracle, his adoptive parents sure to tell him so as often as they could.
They never hid the fact he was adopted from him. He never questioned why he was given up in the first place. He figured his mother must have had a good reason and respected that. He went to a good family in the end, and was sure she would be happy for him, whoever "Lily Evans" was.
There were times he questioned his lineage, however. Sometimes, when he was angry or scared, or seemingly at random, strange things would happen.
His adoptive mother, a gentle woman named Samantha Cross, told him of how he would throw a tantrum when still a baby. Not wanting to eat certain foods, he would cry and avoid the spoon she was attempting to feed him with. Sometimes, the baby food would go flying across the table without him touching it.
There was another time when she had received flowers from his adoptive father, Alexander. They began to wilt in the vase atop the kitchen table. Little Elias, about three or so at the time, insisted on climbing onto the table to fix them. And fix them he did, right in front of their eyes, the wilted blossoms rising back up, regaining their color, their life.
Even now, eight years later, they remained just as vibrant and healthy as when they were first cut.
Strange occurrences continued as he grew, but his parents simply went along with it. He would help his father organize the office, moving things without touching them. He would help his mother in the garden, tending to the herbs and vegetables.
None of it really made sense, but they accepted it. It became a way of life for them.
And then the letter came, in the hands of a professor. It was December 31st, his eleventh birthday. Now that the professor explained it all to Elias and his parents, everything suddenly made sense. All the odd occurrences, his strange abilities. It was magic.
And now, in his hands was an acceptance letter for a school that could teach him everything he needed to know about it.
His parents were shocked, but they went along with it, willing to support him no matter his decision. Too curious to ignore, he decided to attend the School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. They prepared what they could, and were introduced to a new fantastical world.