On Firbolg-Born and Olde Ones
In the beginning, before wizards and witches walked the earth, there were the creatures. Dragons that shook mountains with their passing. Phoenixes whose songs could raise the dead. Basilisks whose gaze could end kingdoms. High Elves who danced between worlds. Elder Dragons who had witnessed the birth of stars.
These were the Olde Ones, the primordial beings from whom all magic ultimately flows.
From time to time, impossibly rarely, two such creatures would fall in love. A basilisk and a phoenix. A dementor and a unicorn. A grim and a thunderbird. A high elf and an elder dragon. Their unions, against all nature, against all probability, would produce offspring. These children were called Firbolg-born, the first beings to carry the blood of two magical creatures in their veins.
Firbolg-born were rare beyond measure. They possessed hard souls, like their parents, which meant they lived for centuries, even millennia. Their magic was deep and wild and terrifyingly powerful. They were the first druids, the first true wielders of magic in the form that would later be called wizardry.
And sometimes, even more rarely, two Firbolg-born would find each other. Their children, and their children's children, if the blood remained pure and undiluted, were called Olde Ones. These families carried the full inheritance of their dual-creature ancestors, their souls still hard, their magic still deep, their connection to the ancient powers still unbroken.
Today, Olde families are nearly extinct. Most have intermarried with humans over the centuries, diluting their blood, softening their souls, becoming what the modern world calls "purebloods." True Olde families, those whose souls remain fully hard, whose magic remains fully wild, can be counted on one hand across the entire world.
Each Olde family carries physical or psychical characteristics that mark them. The Evans green eyes. The Keith silver flecks. The Potter untameable hair. These are not mere coincidences of genetics. They are markers, signposts, declarations to those who can read them that here walks the descendant of something ancient.
On Names and Duties
In the time before surnames, before families as we understand them, names were not merely labels. They were declarations of purpose. They were responsibilities carved into identity.
Moridunon Ambreys or Myrddin Emrys, the man the world would later call Merlin, explained:
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"Ambreys," he said, "is part of my duties. I am responsible for Mons Ambres, so my name implies that responsibility. If I will ever have a child, they will be Ambreys like I am. It will be a family name one day."
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This is the origin of family names among the Olde ones. They began as duties, as roles, as responsibilities passed from parent to child. The Potter name, despite the modern world's assumption that it derived from the muggle occupation of pottery-making, was originally a duty name. It meant something else entirely in the old tongue, something lost to time but preserved in the family's connection to the Grim Lines.
And so it was with all the ancient families. Their names were not chosen. They were earned, inherited, embodied.
The Keith Line: Children of Emrys
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Keith claims descent from Emrys himself, the man the world calls Merlin. And because Emrys was Firbolg-born, son of a basilisk and a phoenix, the Keith line carries both these bloodlines to this day.
From the basilisk, the Keiths inherit the parseltongue, the ability to speak with serpents. They inherit a certain resistance to poisons and venoms, a gaze that can, in the most powerful among them, command rather than merely observe. They inherit the patience of serpents, the willingness to wait, to watch, to strike when the moment is right.
From the phoenix, the Keiths inherit their healing potential, their connection to fire, their capacity for rebirth and renewal. They inherit tears that can mend, songs that can soothe, and a certain immortality of spirit if not of body. They inherit loyalty, fierce and absolute, and a love that burns bright enough to warm generations.
The Keith family, as direct descendants of a Firbolg-born, are counted among the Olde ones. Their souls remain hard. Their magic remains deep. They are not merely purebloods; they are something older, something rarer, something the modern world has largely forgotten how to recognize.
In their approach to their heritage, the Keiths are neither secretive nor boastful. They do not announce to the world that they carry Emrys's blood, but neither do they hide it. The information exists, accessible to those with the standing and the knowledge to seek it. Those in power, those who move in the deepest circles of magical tradition, can discover the truth if they wish. The Keiths simply do not make it easy for the unworthy.
The Le Fay Line: Children of Morgana
Before there were Evans and Flamels, before the name was hidden and divided, there was only Le Fay.
Morgana Le Fay was Firbolg-born, daughter of a high elf and an elder dragon. She was powerful beyond measure, skilled in magics that even Emrys approached with caution. Her descendants carried her blood through the centuries, preserving her knowledge, her traditions, her power.
But the Le Fay name became a curse.
The exact details are lost to history, buried under centuries of careful silence. What is known is that roughly two to three generations before Nicolas Flamel's time, something terrible happened. The Le Fay family was hunted. Persecuted. Nearly exterminated. Those who carried the name were killed on sight, their magic feared, their lineage condemned.
The reasons remain unclear. Perhaps it was religious persecution, the burning times extended to magical folk. Perhaps it was political, some long-forgotten feud with powers that could not tolerate the Le Fay strength. Perhaps it was simple fear, the mundane terror of magic so deep and old that it could not be controlled or understood.
Whatever the cause, the result was devastating. The Le Fay line was reduced to two survivors. A brother and a sister. The only remnants of a family that had shaped magical history for millennia.
They made a choice. A desperate choice. A necessary choice.
They hid.
The Birth of Evans and Flamel
The brother and sister who survived the extermination could not keep the Le Fay name. To do so would be to invite death, to draw the attention of those who had already proven they would stop at nothing to destroy their line. They needed new names. Safe names. Names that would let them disappear into the world and rebuild in secret.
The brother chose Flamel. Perhaps it was an old family name from a minor branch. Perhaps it was a craft name, reflecting some skill or profession. The records are silent. What matters is that he took it, lived it, passed it to his descendants. Nicolas Flamel, the most famous alchemist in history, carries this brother's blood. The Flamel line, through him, preserved the Le Fay inheritance in secret.
The sister chose Evans. A simple name. An unremarkable name. A name that would draw no attention, raise no suspicions. She buried herself in obscurity, married quietly, had children quietly, lived and died quietly. The Evans name spread through France, always low-key, always hidden, always watching.
But the sister had children, and her children had children, and eventually the Evans line grew strong enough to branch. Today, there are four branches of the Evans family. Three remain in France, preserving the blood in its purest form, closest to the original Le Fay inheritance. The fourth, the one that would produce Lily Evans, migrated to Britain.
The French branches, particularly the main branch, maintain the old traditions. They guard the libraries, preserve the rituals, keep the knowledge that their ancestors carried from Morgana herself. They are the true heirs of Le Fay, though they dare not speak the name.
The British branch, separated by distance and generations, grew more diluted. They intermarried with local families, lost some of the old knowledge, became something slightly different. But they carried something the French branches did not: through marriages and alliances now lost to history, they acquired Pendragon blood, the phoenix line of Arthur himself.
The Pendragon Connection
Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, was himself Firbolg-born, son of a phoenix and something else, though the records are unclear. His line carried phoenix blood, as all true kings must, for only those who can be reborn can rule forever.
Through marriages and alliances now lost to history, the British Evans branch acquired Pendragon blood. It entered their line quietly, unexpectedly, and manifested only occasionally. Lily Evans carried it. Harry Potter carries it now.
This is why Harry, in addition to his Evans inheritance, has something more. This is why the prophecy marked him, why Voldemort feared him, why the magic of his mother's sacrifice burned so brightly. The phoenix blood of Pendragon, combined with the dragon and high elf blood of Evans, created something rare even among the Olde ones.
The Evans Inheritance
From Morgana, through the high elf and elder dragon lines, the Evans family inherits gifts both beautiful and terrible.
From the high elves, they inherit their grace, their longevity, their connection to the natural world. They inherit beauty that seems otherworldly, presence that commands attention without effort. They inherit the famous green eyes, marker of their line, which appear in every generation with magical inheritance.
From the elder dragons, they inherit their parseltongue. This is crucial to understand. Parseltongue is not solely a serpent gift. Dragons are serpentine creatures, ancient and wise, and their blood carries the ability to speak to their lesser cousins.
The Evans (Le Fay) family has always had parseltongue, long before Salazar Slytherin was born, long before Hogwarts was founded. It comes from the dragon, not the serpent, though both paths lead to the same destination.
They also inherit elemental power, territorial instincts, and a wisdom that comes from blood that remembers when the world was young. Elder dragons do not forget, and neither do their descendants.
But there is something else. Morgana herself was not merely a wielder of magic; she was a student of its deepest mysteries, including those that modern witches and wizards would call forbidden. The Evans line inherited her affinity for dark magic but also healing, her understanding that power often requires sacrifice and rituals, her willingness to walk paths others fear to tread.
This is the magic that Lily Potter accessed in her final moments. Not the light magic of protective love that the tales describe, but something older, darker, more profound. A sacrifice ritual drawn from the oldest runes, powered by love that transcended death itself. Lily did not consciously know this magic. She did not study it or prepare it. In her moment of ultimate desperation, her blood remembered what her mind had forgotten, and she did what Evans women have done for millennia when their children are threatened.
She sacrificed. She gave everything. And because of that, Harry lived.