The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

The cobblestones of Diagon Alley were warm beneath Caelum's feet, bustling with life and chatter as witches and wizards weaved between shops under the summer sun. Colorful banners flapped above, spell-infused advertisements hovered beside storefronts, and the air buzzed with the faint hum of everyday magic.

Caelum walked beside Amelia Bones, his pace calm and measured. He wore a set of dark, hooded robes—simple but neatly tailored, an unusual sight for a six-year-old. Yet somehow, the clothes suited him. He didn't fidget. He didn't point or gawk like the other children pressed to windows filled with bouncing brooms or color-shifting candies.

He watched. Quietly.

Not because it wasn't impressive—but because it wasn't unfamiliar.

He had seen this place before. Not with his own eyes, but in pages. In stories. In a life no one here could possibly believe.

"You've been here before," Amelia said, glancing over.

"It feels familiar," Caelum murmured.

Amelia nodded and pointed down the lane. "Ollivander's is just ahead."

As they approached the narrow, timeworn shop, the building seemed to lean slightly forward, like it was peering down at them. The crooked gold-lettered sign above the door read:

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.

Amelia stopped just outside.

"Caelum," she said, reaching out to adjust his collar, "go on in. He's expecting you."

She turned to Bridget, who was holding Susan's hand. The little girl was bouncing on her toes, her face lit up at the scent of pastries drifting from a nearby shop.

"Flores Florean Fortescue's," Amelia told Bridget. "Take her for a treat. We'll catch up after."

As the nanny nodded and guided Susan away, Amelia looked back at Caelum and gave him a small, quiet smile.

"Take your time. He'll find you the right one."

Caelum stepped forward and pushed open the door.

A soft chime echoed as he entered.

The air inside was cool and fragrant with old wood, dust, and something subtler—like ozone and secrets.

The shop was narrow and deep. Wand boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, arranged in towering stacks that leaned in slightly as though whispering to each other. The front desk stood empty, but Caelum could hear movement in the back.

Then—

"Ah," came a voice, dry and curious, "I wondered when I'd meet you."

A figure emerged from the shadows behind a tall stack of boxes—thin, white-haired, and pale-eyed. His robes hung like parchment, and he moved with quiet intent.

Garrick Ollivander.

"Caelum Sanguine," he said, as if the name itself gave him a chill. "Ward of Amelia Bones, and... subject of many Ministry debates this year."

Caelum blinked, wary but curious.

"You've read the reports."

"Only the parts that interest me," Ollivander said, eyes gleaming faintly. "A child of unknown magical origin... with a unique condition. Vampiric traits. Curious. Most curious."

Caelum tilted his head slightly. "Do you think it will affect the wand?"

"Not affect," Ollivander said, stepping closer. "Influence."

He stopped in front of Caelum and peered closely into his face.

"Magic is as much about who we are as what we cast. Wandlore, Mr. Sanguine, is an art of resonance. And your magic carries not only strength, but... something ancient. Predatory, perhaps."

"That's not exactly comforting."

Ollivander chuckled softly. "It's not meant to be. But we do not fear nature, Caelum. We understand it."

He turned away and began pulling down boxes—one, two, then five more in rapid succession. Each box had a handwritten label, every detail recorded with obsessive precision.

"Now then," he muttered. "Let's see where we begin... Ebony and phoenix feather? No, no, too rigid. Hawthorn and dragon heartstring? Mm, perhaps..."

The next half-hour was spent in trials.

Wands were placed in Caelum's hand, one after another. Some fizzled, some sparked, some outright rejected him—shaking with recoil or releasing a puff of smoke.

But then—

Ollivander paused before handing him the next wand. His expression was unreadable.

"This one," he murmured, "is... unusual. 12 inches. Rowan wood. Core of basilisk scale. Very rare. Very dangerous to craft. But it came to me during the war, from a collector who no longer needed it. I've never found a match."

He held it out.

Caelum took it.

And the room shifted.

The air grew still. The wand pulsed once—warm, not hot. Like embers catching in a hearth. A low hum echoed through Caelum's chest. A spark leapt from the tip—small but perfectly controlled.

Ollivander exhaled, eyes wide.

"Oh... yes. Yes. I believe this one will do."

Caelum turned the wand over in his hands, staring at it like it might bite him.

"What does rowan mean?" he asked.

"Protective," Ollivander said. "It favors those who fight against the dark. Even... if the darkness lingers within them."

Caelum glanced up, expression unreadable. "And the basilisk core?"

"Potent," Ollivander said. "Drawn from death. It carries old instincts, old knowledge. It must be wielded with purpose. But in the right hands..." He let the words trail off.

Caelum said nothing for a long moment. Then:

"This is the one."

…

Back in the sunlit street, Amelia spotted him first.

"That was quick," she said as Caelum approached. "Did you explode anything?"

"No explosions," he replied. "But I found the wand."

Susan offered him a lick of her melting strawberry cone.

"Want some?" she chirped.

Caelum gave a rare smile and shook his head. "No thanks."

Amelia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Come on then," she said. "Let's get lunch, pick up supplies, we need to stock up on your elixir, and maybe browse the bookshop."

As they walked down the alley, wand secure in a new holster under his robe, Caelum glanced at the crowded street—at the wizards laughing with friends, the students heading into shops, the warmth of sunlight spilling across everything.

A wand of his own.

A piece of magic that finally belonged to him.