The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

The old storeroom was little more than a forgotten stone box. Dust coated the floor in uneven patches. The shelves were long since stripped bare. Cobwebs draped the corners like faded curtains. But it was dry, dark, and unwarded.

And for now, it was enough.

The Grey Circle limped inside in silence, leaning on one another. Julian collapsed against the far wall. Lina curled beneath an overturned bench, her breath shallow. Talwyn sat near the door, wand at the ready—even in exhaustion, unwilling to let down his guard.

Caelum took the far corner.

He didn't speak.

He sat with his knees drawn up, one hand curled loosely around the agent's wand, the other resting on his thigh. His eyes glowed faintly—not visible in bright light, but here in shadow, they shimmered gold, flickering like embers behind smoke.

The real blood had done more than heal.

His deeper cuts had already begun to knit closed. His breathing had steadied. The ache in his limbs dulled to a low burn.

But more than that—he could feel the magic in him shifting.

It was no longer a slow river.

It was a storm just beneath the surface.

Every spell he'd learned through books or borrowed memories now echoed louder in his mind. The knowledge absorbed from the agent's blood wasn't just impressions or emotions—it was technique. Intent. Cadence. Control.

He could recall how the agent adjusted stance mid-duel, how his spells chained together, how he masked incantation rhythm to mislead opponents.

Caelum flexed his fingers.

He couldn't reproduce it all yet. His body lacked the muscle memory. But his mind knew. And that was enough to start.

A sudden voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"You're quiet," Talwyn said.

Caelum glanced up. "So are you."

Talwyn gave a weak chuckle. "Can't tell if you're bleeding less because you're healing faster, or because you're just tougher than the rest of us."

"Both," Caelum murmured, dryly.

The others were watching too. Tired, yes—but curious. Wary. They'd seen what he'd done. What he'd become.

He didn't flinch under their eyes.

"Once Mara finds Mirren," Caelum finally said, "and she gets word to Kingsley, we'll have our opening."

Julian looked up from where he sat. "To what?"

"To confront Rosier," Caelum answered. "To end this."

Lina shifted. "You really think they'll come for us?"

"They have to. We have proof now. Lina's testimony. That enforcer's wand, even what's left of the body. We've exposed a Ministry facility being used to disappear magical children. Kingsley won't stay silent."

"If Mara makes it," Talwyn added quietly.

Caelum didn't respond.

He didn't want to voice what they all knew: if she was caught—if she was intercepted like they were—there'd be no second chance.

Instead, he closed his eyes, just briefly, feeling the power settle inside him like coals in a furnace.

I'm not ready yet, he told himself.

But I'm closer than ever.

...

Elsewhere, in Greystone House

In the dead wing, where spells were laid into the walls centuries ago and wards hummed beneath the stone, Rosier stood at the long ritual table, a scroll of runes unspooling beside him.

The surface shimmered, displaying a crude magical map of Greystone's inner layout—lit with tracking nodes and trace pings.

Three lights had gone dark.

Rosier's fingers twitched once. Just once.

He turned to the two enforcers standing silently by the doorway.

"They've moved," he said coldly. "At least one of them has left the premises."

"Shall we alert the Ministry, sir?" one of them asked.

Rosier didn't answer immediately.

Then: "No."

He turned back to the table, gaze sharp.

"The Ministry doesn't know how deep this breach runs. If they did, we'd lose more than this facility—we'd lose the freedom to act."

He raised one hand. The air shimmered. Magic pulsed.

"Mobilize the agents. One of them left the premises. A girl. Red hair. Fast. Probably carrying stolen documentation or a wand. Sweep the southern lower quarters. I want them alive if possible—but if containment fails, purge."

"And the boy?" asked the second enforcer.

Rosier's expression didn't flicker.

"Caelum Sanguine is mine."

He stood fully.

The movement was smooth, deliberate—shoulders squaring as the coat settled around him like smoke. For the first time in months, he reached for his own wand—long, slender yew, with a core as dark as his intentions.

The enforcers tensed.

Rosier never left the control wing, not until now.