The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

They didn't speak much after the escape.

Mara led them to an abandoned maintenance corridor on the western fringe of the campus—technically off-record, unmonitored, and long since decommissioned. No wards, no windows, just dust, stone, and a broken charm lamp that flickered above the rusted grate they now called safe.

Talwyn sat against the wall, face pale, cradling his arm. Julian cleaned Lina's wounds with shaky hands while Mara tried to coax her back to consciousness.

Caelum sat apart. Not out of arrogance, but necessity.

His hands still trembled, holding the fire back after tasting what it could truly do.

No one asked him about the fire—yet. But the glances passed between them. Uneasy. Measuring.

Eventually, Talwyn spoke.

"You saved us."

Mara nodded. "That spell—was it even a spell?"

Caelum looked down at his hands.

"It was mine," he said. "I call it… Luxardent."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Latin?"

Caelum nodded. "Light that burns."

A beat of silence.

Then Talwyn let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Fitting."

No one pressed further. Not yet.

But the questions had begun circling.

...

Lina's hands trembled, but her voice did not.

She sat cross-legged in the flickering light of the broken charm lamp, a blanket around her shoulders and her gaze fixed on nothing—on memories etched too deep.

The Circle surrounded her. Caelum sat on the edge of the group, quiet, eyes half-shadowed. Talwyn's arm was wrapped in spare cloth, his jaw set against pain. Mara and Julian flanked Lina protectively, but didn't interrupt.

"Two months ago," Lina began, "they changed my therapy schedule. Said it was a routine review. I didn't think much of it. Then came more evaluations. Magical resilience, ward tolerance, emotional profiling. They called it 'adjusted rehabilitation protocol.'"

She exhaled slowly. "Then one night… they came for me. I tried to fight, but without my wand, it only lasted for a moment. They were fast—hit me with a paralytic and put me to sleep."

"Silencing charms. Layers of them. Not even a footstep echo. I tried to scream. Nothing came out. My own heartbeat didn't make a sound."

Her eyes hardened, voice thin.

"I woke up in the South Wing. I had no idea how I got there."

The lamplight flickered against the fear behind her eyes.

"They moved me through empty halls. Straight into a room that had no door from the inside. Just stone, binding runes, and one small magical aperture—for blood samples."

Talwyn shifted.

"They kept me restrained. Didn't speak to me. Fed me synthetic nutrient draughts once a day. The air was always cold—like the room was intended to feel dead."

Julian swallowed. "How long?"

"I don't know. Time stopped meaning anything. No clocks. No sunrise. Just enchantment cycles."

She turned to the others.

"Two staff members talked one day outside the room. They didn't know I was awake. One said, 'Why are we wasting time with this one? She's been flagged already.'"

"What does that mean?" Mara asked, already dreading the answer.

"Protocol Thorne," Lina whispered.

That name settled on the group like fog.

"Obsolete," Mara finished. "Illegal. Repealed decades ago."

"Not here," Lina said. "Not in Greystone. Not under the table."

Caelum's voice was low. "I've heard them mention it. Protocol Thorne."

Everyone turned toward him.

"In the early days," he continued, "when I first arrived. They didn't think I understood what they were talking about. Just two staff in a hallway. One said the protocol was still 'technically active' even if it wasn't publicly recognized anymore. The other laughed and said it's only used when someone becomes... inconvenient."

Lina's jaw tightened.

"They never said anything directly to me," Caelum added. "I haven't been flagged. But now I know what it means when someone disappears without a transfer record."

Talwyn's voice was like gravel. "Then this isn't just about keeping us inside. It's about thinning us out."

"Sorting," Mara added. "Not saving."

The silence that followed was heavy. The kind that wrapped around choices yet to be made.

...

Meanwhile: The Observatory Tower, North Wing

The observatory had long since been sealed to students and staff. Officially, it had been declared unsafe—staircase rot, unstable ceilings, defective scrying wards.

In truth, it had never closed. It had changed hands.

Rosier stood at the wide arched window, fingers interlaced behind his back, watching the sun begin to bleed into grey morning.

Behind him, his covert agent—draped in nondescript brown robes, featureless face hidden behind an enchantment-glass mask—stood beside the viewing table, reviewing the trace glyphs from the previous night's incursion.

"No Ministry response," the agent reported. "Security breach registered as internal incident. One enforcer injured. Memory likely scrambled by unbuffered spell exposure."

Rosier gave a slow nod. His voice was quiet, but precise.

"Have we located them yet?"

"Not precisely. They escaped into the southern maintenance grid—records haven't been updated in decades. No tracking wards exist in that section."

Rosier turned from the window, the faint golden sunlight catching the edge of his robes.

"Then find them. Immobilize and capture."

The agent tilted their head. "Lethal force?"

Rosier's eyes narrowed, voice sharp.

"Permitted—except for Caelum Sanguine. He is to be taken alive, under any circumstance."

"Understood."

A pause.

"And if others resist?"

Rosier didn't blink. "Eliminate them. Quietly."

The agent gave a slight bow, then stepped back into the shadows of the observatory.

Rosier returned to the window, expression unreadable.

This wasn't about potential anymore.

It was about containment.