The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

Caelum didn't return to the Grey Circle.

Not yet.

Talwyn had watched him with quiet interest during the week—occasionally nodded in the hallway, once hesitated in the library like he was about to speak.

But Caelum didn't stop.

He had made his intentions clear.

"When you're ready to do more than survive… let me know."

And for now, he had his own work to do.

...

The fire wasn't just magic.

It was him.

It wasn't born of wand movements or incantations, but from pressure. From moments where control wasn't enough, and something older clawed to the surface.

The first time it had sparked, he'd been shaking from blood hunger. The second, angry after overhearing a staff member refer to the hybrids as "failed batches."

Each time it emerged, it came with heat—not from his body, but from somewhere deeper, as if the very thread of his soul had a burn line running through it.

Tonight, he would face it.

...

He'd prepared the room.

Runes, chalked precisely, circled the floor in concentric rings. He had borrowed them from various containment diagrams—modified, incomplete, but better than nothing. If he lost control, they might at least slow the fire from spreading.

The rest of the room was stripped bare.

He sat in the center.

Cross-legged. Barefoot. Shirt off. Palms open on his knees.

Breathe.

He reached inward—not through thought, but through instinct.

At first: nothing.

Then, the flicker.

A spark at the base of his spine. A hot coil pressing against his ribs. The itch behind his throat. He exhaled sharply, and light shimmered across his fingertips.

He didn't move.

Instead, he invited it.

Come closer.

The flame obeyed.

It curled along his skin—not burning, but hungry. It shimmered up his arms, his collarbones, like molten ink sketching forgotten runes. His breath came faster now, and he could hear it — that low crackling just beneath the silence.

Not enough to destroy.

Just enough to be.

He tried to speak.

"—Incendio—"

The flame flared, then snapped back.

Wrong.

That wasn't how it worked.

It didn't come from words. It came from will.

Focus.

He held out his hand.

The fire coiled there. A small ball of light and heat, hovering just above his palm. It pulsed once, twice, and then—

Slammed into the ward ring.

The chalk runes flickered gold.

Caelum flinched.

The flame hadn't just wanted to burn. It had tested the barrier.

It's learning too.

The thought sent a shiver through him.

He wasn't just practicing magic.

He was shaping something alive.

...

After nearly an hour, he collapsed backward, breathless, sweat-drenched, but not burned. The fire had finally quieted, curling back into that hidden fold within him.

He stared up at the ceiling.

I need a name for this.

Not "Incendio." Not "Flame Manipulation." Those were spells.

This was something else.

A spark, yes. But also an armor—one he would wear when the world demanded submission, and he chose resistance.

He would hide it from the Ministry. From the Circle. From everyone.

Until the day came when he wouldn't have to anymore.