Excerpt from "The Scripture of the Threshold" – First Scroll:
"Before there was light, there was darkness. Before there was life, there was death. And before there was either, there was the Moment Between – the moment from which all things were born. When two souls were born in a single breath on the last night of July, a third deity was conceived. Not a god of life. Not a god of death. But the God of the Threshold. And the world would never know this truth..."
The night of July 31, 1980, brought a rare storm to the English countryside. Lightning tore across the blackened sky, each rumble of thunder shaking the old timber houses of Godric's Hollow. But inside number 12, a different storm was raging.
Lily Potter groaned in labor pain, her hand squeezing James's until it turned white. Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts' nurse, was trying to maintain composure, but her face grew increasingly pale.
"What's happening?" James asked, voice thick with worry. "Why is it taking so long?"
"I... I don't know," Madam Pomfrey admitted, her wand trembling in her hand. "Everything was normal until minutes ago. Then suddenly... there are two heartbeats."
"TWO?" James exclaimed.
A violent contraction made Lily nearly sit up. "James! There's... there's another one! I feel it!"
The room filled with golden light from Madam Pomfrey's wand. She muttered complex diagnostic spells, her eyes widening in astonishment.
"Merlin's beard," she breathed. "You're right. There are two babies. But... but how can that be? All previous scans showed only one!"
A lightning bolt split the sky, illuminating the room for an instant. And in that flash, Lily saw her shadow on the wall – not one shadow, but two, overlapping but not quite matching.
"Push, Lily!" Madam Pomfrey shouted. "The first one is coming!"
Fifteen chaotic minutes later, a high-pitched cry echoed through the room. Harry James Potter was born with messy black hair like his father's, and right on his forehead, a small red mark shaped like a lightning bolt.
James wept, kissing his wife's forehead. "A son, Lily! We have a son!"
But Lily's pain didn't stop. "Still... still more," she moaned.
Madam Pomfrey looked down, her face paling. "Good lord. A second one. But... it's not in the normal position. It's as if... it's in between."
"Get it out!" James screamed. "Do whatever you must!"
One hour. The longest hour of James Potter's life. Finally, as the clock struck midnight, the second child was born.
But there was no cry.
"Elias," Lily whispered, completely exhausted, before fainting.
Madam Pomfrey lifted the child. She paled. The baby wasn't crying. Wasn't moving. Its skin was so white it was almost translucent, and its hair...
"White," James breathed. "Completely white."
Not the white of silver or snow. But a pure, primordial white, like light before it's split by a prism. Under the lamplight, it reflected every color but retained none.
"Breathe," Madam Pomfrey said, performing resuscitation spells with her wand. "Breathe, little one."
One minute. Two minutes.
Then the baby took a breath – not the typical first gasp, but a strange sound, like wind whistling through rock crevices, like whispers from somewhere very far away.
And it opened its eyes.
James stepped back. The baby's eyes were silver-gray, but not the gray of old age. Within the pupils, tiny specks of light sparkled, arranged in patterns James could swear he'd seen somewhere – in old astronomy books, in drawings of forgotten constellations.
"Lily," James said, voice hoarse. "Lily, look at him."
Lily woke, exhausted but alert. She reached for the baby from Madam Pomfrey. When her skin touched the child's, a strange shudder ran down her spine.
"Elias Aurelius Potter," she whispered.
And in response, the baby blinked once. Its eyes found Lily's, and in that moment, the young mother had a strange feeling – as if her son wasn't looking *into* her eyes, but *through* them, into something deeper inside.
Madam Pomfrey regained her composure and began magical checks on both children. Harry – everything normal, even astonishingly powerful. But when she turned to Elias...
"Impossible," she breathed.
"What is it?" James asked.
"This child... he has no magical signature. None at all. But he's not a Muggle either. It's as if... as if magic enters him and disappears."
Lily hugged Elias to her chest. "He's my son. Whatever he is."
Suddenly, all the candles in the room went out. The room plunged into darkness, illuminated only by lightning outside the window. Then, slowly, the candles relit – but not with the usual warm yellow flame. They burned with cold blue flames that gave off light but no heat.
And in that blue light, all three adults saw: Elias's shadow on the wall wasn't normal. It was faint, like the shadow of an object only half-present in this world.
A knock sounded at the door.
Everyone startled. Madam Pomfrey hastily covered both children with blankets, James drew his wand.
But it was only Sirius Black, face full of worry, soaked from the rain.
"Is it over? I heard crying from outside..." Sirius trailed off when he saw the two small bundles. "Two?"
James nodded, his face a mixture of happiness and anxiety. "Harry. And Elias."
Sirius approached, looking down at his future godchildren. When his eyes rested on Elias, he went quiet. "Merlin. He..."
"Different," James said. "And that's a secret, Padfoot. An absolute secret."
Sirius nodded, his face uncharacteristically serious. "Of course. But Prongs... there's something about this one. I can feel it. Like a... void."
Just then, Elias opened his eyes again. And this time, all four adults saw: in those silver-gray eyes, the tiny specks of light rearranged themselves, forming a fleeting image – the image of a half-open door.
Then the image vanished. And Elias closed his eyes, as if sinking into a sleep far deeper than ordinary sleep.
The following months passed in increasing tension. Lily and James knew Voldemort was hunting them. And now, with two children – one mentioned in prophecy, one a complete mystery – the danger multiplied.
Dumbledore visited on an October day. He sat in the living room, drinking tea James had made, his blue eyes observing the two children playing on the rug.
Ten-week-old Harry was trying to reach a toy dragon Sirius had given him. Each time the boy touched it, the toy emitted small sparks.
Ten-week-old Elias sat quietly, looking out the window. The boy had never cried, never laughed. He ate, slept, and... observed. Always observed.
"Albus," Lily began, voice worried. "About Elias..."
Dumbledore set down his teacup. "I've heard from Poppy Pomfrey. A child with no magical signature, yet not a Muggle. A living paradox."
"Can you examine him?" James asked. "To be sure..."
Dumbledore nodded, drawing his wand. A complex golden light enveloped Harry first. "Powerful. Very powerful. And... oh."
"What is it?" Lily asked.
"I'll explain shortly," Dumbledore said, turning to Elias.
The light shone down on the white-haired baby.
And nothing happened.
No, not nothing. The light vanished. Completely. As if Elias were a black hole to magic.
Dumbledore tried again with a different spell. Then another. Each time the same – magic disappeared upon reaching the child.
Finally, Dumbledore sat down, his aged face suddenly looking more tired than ever. "This... I've never seen. Never read about it. Nothing in our oldest records."
"What does it mean?" James asked, voice full of dread.
"It means," Dumbledore said slowly, "this child exists outside every magical law we know. Perhaps he doesn't belong to this world. Or... he belongs to a part of the world we cannot perceive."
He paused, looking at Elias. The baby turned its head, silver-gray eyes meeting the old wizard's blue ones. And in that moment, Dumbledore had a strange feeling – as if he weren't looking at a child, but at something ancient, vast, and completely alien.
"About Harry," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. "There is a prophecy."
He told them about Trelawney's prophecy. About the child born at the end of July with the power to defeat the Dark Lord.
"And it only mentions one child," Lily sighed.
"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "But now we have two. And this changes everything. Or... perhaps not."
"What do you mean?"
Dumbledore looked at Elias. "Perhaps the prophecy only mentions Harry because... Elias is completely outside its scope of prediction. As if this boy doesn't exist in the same reality as the rest of us."
The room fell into heavy silence.
"What do we do?" James asked.
"Keep the secret," Dumbledore said. "To the world, you have only one child. Harry. Elias... must be hidden. Not just from Voldemort, but from everyone."
"What does that mean?" Lily asked, voice trembling.
"It means," Dumbledore said, voice full of regret, "you will have to live as if you have only one child. Elias cannot go outside. Cannot be seen. Cannot be mentioned."
"That's a prison!" James protested.
"It's protection," Dumbledore said gently. "Because if Voldemort learns of Elias... I cannot guess what he would do. He might see the boy as a threat to be eliminated. Or... worse, he might see him as a potential tool."
Lily hugged Elias tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "No. I can't. I can't hide my son away like a dirty secret."
"Not a dirty secret, Lily," Dumbledore said. "A sacred secret. Some things are too precious to share with the world."
That night, after Dumbledore left, Lily and James sat in the children's room. Harry was fast asleep. Elias lay awake, eyes open, looking at the ceiling as if watching something they couldn't see.
"What do you think?" Lily whispered.
James looked at his two sons. "I think... we'll keep the secret. But not the way Dumbledore said. We'll love them both equally. It's just... the outside world will only know about one."
Lily nodded, tears flowing again. She looked at Elias, and suddenly, the baby turned to look at her. A small, pale hand rose, touched her cheek, wiped away a tear.
And for the first time in ten weeks, Elias smiled.
Not a typical baby smile. But a gentle, sad, knowing smile. As if the boy knew everything. And accepted everything.
A year passed. October 31, 1981.
The atmosphere in the Potter house was heavy as lead. Sirius, the trusted Secret-Keeper, had convinced them to switch to Peter Pettigrew. A fatal mistake.
"Lily, take the children!" James shouted from downstairs. "He's here! He's coming!"
Lily clutched both children, running up the stairs. Fifteen-month-old Harry, sensing something was wrong, began to cry. Fifteen-month-old Elias, silent as always, just hugged his mother's neck, his starry eyes glowing strangely.
She placed both in the large crib they used – one that could fit both side by side. "Stay there," she whispered, kissing each forehead. "Mummy loves you. Always."
An explosion from below. James's shout. Then silence.
Lily panted, hand shaking as she drew her wand. She stood before the bedroom door, prepared to fight to the death.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming up the stairs.
The door shattered.
Voldemort stood there, red eyes burning in his noseless white face. "Lily Potter. Step aside."
"Never!" Lily screamed, raising her wand.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green light shot toward her.
Lily jumped aside, but not completely. The spell grazed her shoulder, hitting the wall, but some energy still touched her. She fell, feeling life leaving her.
In her final moment, her eyes found the crib. Harry was screaming. Elias was sitting up, his starry eyes now glowing like tiny stars.
Voldemort stepped over Lily's body, approaching the crib.
"Harry Potter," he whispered. "The child of prophecy."
He raised his wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The second green light shot toward Harry.
And everything happened simultaneously:
From the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, a wave of golden light erupted – the power of love, of sacrifice that Lily had left behind.
The Avada Kedavra reflected back, hitting Voldemort, turning him to smoke.
But a fragment of both – the killing curse AND the love's power – flew toward the right side.
Toward Elias.
The fragment hit the boy's chest.
Elias didn't scream. He only opened his eyes wide. And in those eyes, a universe seemed to be spinning. The star specks swirled, forming miniature galaxies, then vanishing, then forming again.
The boy fell backward. Stopped breathing.
Elias found himself standing on a bridge.
No, not a bridge. A Threshold.
Beneath his feet wasn't water, wasn't an abyss. But a river of possibilities, choices, undetermined futures. One side of the river emitted warm golden light – life, beginnings, hope. The other emitted deep blue darkness – death, endings, peace.
And he stood right in the middle.
"Elias Potter."
Two voices at once. One warm like spring. One cold like winter.
He turned. Two figures stood at either end of the Threshold.
To the left: a woman with hair that shimmered like sunlight on water. She wore a simple white dress, but with every step, flowers bloomed beneath her feet only to wither immediately. In her hands, a crystal-clear egg, inside which something constantly moved, constantly changed.
To the right: a man in black robes, his face serious but not frightening. His eyes were gray, like Elias's. In his hands, a sickle of black silver, its blade not sharp in the ordinary way, but sharp in the way it severed everything from everything else.
"Do you know who we are?" the woman asked, her voice like the whisper of growing grass.
Elias nodded, though he didn't know how he knew. "Zoë. Goddess of Life."
"And I?" the man asked.
"Azrael. God of Death."
"Correct," both said simultaneously.
They approached, stopping on either side of him.
"You have touched both of us," Zoë said, her golden eyes looking deep into Elias's soul. "A killing curse. And a sacrifice of love."
"You should belong to one of us," Azrael said. "But you belong to neither."
"Because from birth, you have been a Threshold," Zoë continued. "A void. A moment between."
A third light appeared – not from either deity, but from the space between them. It was the color of dawn and dusk intersecting, of pearls under moonlight, of the moment between waking and sleeping.
A voice spoke. Not with sound. But with direct understanding transmitted into Elias's mind.
**THIS CHILD SHALL BE THE GATEKEEPER.**
Both Zoë and Azrael bowed.
**NO DIVINE ARTIFACT. NO MYTHOLOGY. IT MUST WRITE ITS OWN STORY.**
The light softened.
Zoë looked at Elias, her eyes full of gentle sadness. "You shall not live as a mortal."
Azrael placed a hand on his shoulder. The hand was cold, but didn't hurt. "You shall not die as a deity."
Together, they said: "You shall be the God Between Life and Death. The Keeper of the Threshold."
Then they both pushed gently.
Elias fell from the Threshold, tumbling back into the world.
When Dumbledore entered the ruined bedroom, he saw:
- Harry crying in the crib, the lightning scar on his forehead bleeding
- Lily's body on the floor
- And an empty crib beside it
He approached. The right crib was completely empty. Only a white blanket remained, still warm.
"Elias?" Dumbledore whispered, eyes scanning the room.
No trace. No body. No magical residue whatsoever. Just a complete absence, a void in the air where a child had been.
Heavy footsteps from below. Hagrid entered, tears streaming down his bearded face.
"Professor... James and Lily..."
"I know, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, voice choking. He pointed to the crib with Harry. "Take Harry to the Dursleys. And..."
He looked at the empty crib. "Don't mention the second child to anyone."
Hagrid nodded, eyes red-rimmed. "But... the other baby..."
"Gone," Dumbledore said, his voice full of a deep sorrow even Hagrid had never heard. "And sometimes, disappearing is the best protection."
When Hagrid took Harry away, Dumbledore remained alone in the room. He used every analytical magic he knew, every searching spell, every detection charm.
Nothing.
Elias Potter had vanished without a trace. As if the boy had never existed.
But before leaving, Dumbledore saw something. On the wall, right above the empty crib, was a small stain. Not blood. Not smoke. But a faint mark shaped like a half-open door, as if someone had drawn it with light then let it fade.
He reached to touch it. The stain was cold enough to nearly burn.
And in that moment, Dumbledore heard a whisper, very small, very distant:
*"The Threshold has opened. The Keeper has awakened."*
Then the whisper vanished. And the stain on the wall vanished too, leaving the wall completely white.
Dumbledore stood there a long time, looking at the empty crib. Finally, he sighed, turned away.
"Good luck, Elias Aurelius," he whispered. "Wherever you are."
In an old stone house in a valley not on any map, an eleven-year-old boy sat before a window, looking out at mist-covered mountains.
His silver-white hair fell to his shoulders, flowing like a waterfall of silver. His skin was so white it was translucent, revealing faint blue veins running along his arms. And his eyes...
Silver-gray eyes with tiny sparkling stars inside, now deeper, more ancient.
Elias Aurelius didn't remember much of his first year. Only fragmented memories: his mother's face, his father's voice, Harry's cries. And after... the Threshold. Zoë and Azrael. The Creator's decree.
For ten years, he had lived here, in the House Between, with his only teacher – an old man who called himself simply "The Guardian." A man with sunset-colored eyes who had found Elias the night he disappeared, guided by "a pull from between worlds."
Elias learned many things in those ten years. Not magic – for magic still vanished when it touched him. But other things. How to sense the Thresholds between worlds. How to hear the whispers of souls caught between life and death. How to navigate the spaces that didn't quite belong to either reality.
He learned his purpose: to become the Gatekeeper. To guard the Thresholds. To guide those who were lost between states of being.
And he learned what he was: the Third Deity. Not of Life. Not of Death. But of the Moment Between.
On the morning of his eleventh birthday – July 31, 1991 – The Guardian came to his room. The old man's face was graver than usual.
"It's time," The Guardian said.
"Time for what?" Elias asked, his voice calm and measured, not a child's voice.
"Time for you to leave this house. Time for you to begin your true work."
The Guardian handed him a simple wooden box. Inside lay two things: a ticket for the Hogwarts Express, and a letter addressed to "Elias Aurelius, The House Between."
Elias opened the letter. It was written in shifting ink that seemed to hover between visibility and invisibility.
*Dear Mr. Aurelius,*
*We are pleased to inform you that you have been granted the unique position of Keeper's Apprentice at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While you will not attend classes in the traditional sense, you will be granted access to the Castle's ancient Thresholds, which have long needed tending.*
*Your duties will begin on September 1, 1991. Please take the train from Platform 9¾. A compartment has been reserved for you.*
*Yours sincerely,*
*Albus Dumbledore*
*Headmaster*
Elias looked up. "He knows."
"Of course he knows," The Guardian said. "He's Albus Dumbledore. But he only knows what he needs to know. He believes you are simply a rare kind of magical being who can tend to the Castle's unstable portals. He doesn't know what you truly are. And he must never know."
"Why Hogwarts?" Elias asked.
"Because Hogwarts sits atop a convergence of Thresholds," The Guardian explained. "And because your brother will be there. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. His destiny and yours are intertwined, though neither of you knows it yet."
Elias looked at the ticket. Platform 9¾. The same train Harry would take.
"Will I meet him?" he asked, a strange feeling stirring in his chest – something like longing, but older, deeper.
"Perhaps. But not as brothers. Not yet. You must first learn to be the Gatekeeper. And he must first learn to be the hero."
The Guardian placed a hand on Elias's shoulder. "Remember, Elias Aurelius: you are not of this world, yet you must walk in it. You are not mortal, yet you must understand mortality. You are not a deity of power, but of passage. Your weapon is not a wand, but a key. Your magic is not in spells, but in spaces."
Elias nodded, looking out the window again. Far below, in the world he was about to re-enter, a boy with a lightning scar was sleeping in a cupboard under stairs, unaware that his life was about to change.
And another boy, with stars in his eyes and a Threshold in his soul, was preparing to step back into a world that had forgotten him.
Two brothers. One destined to defeat darkness. One destined to guard the spaces between.
And their stories were just beginning.