The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

Caelum sat in the far corner of the courtyard, the old stone still cool beneath him. The sky was painted in deep purples and bruised blues, the barest blush of morning sun just brushing the edge of the horizon.

Dawn was approaching—but not quite here.

It was his favorite time.

Not full daylight, but not night either. A moment caught in between, where shadows still lingered but the world began to stir. A time where he could be both things—light and dark—and neither had to explain itself.

He rolled his wand between his fingers, letting its polished rowan wood glide across his knuckles, a nervous habit that had become something of a meditation.

Around him, the manor was still asleep.

Susan was curled up in her bed, dreaming who-knows-what. Bridget, the live-in nanny, wouldn't be up for another hour. Even Amelia had learned to let him have his space at this hour.

Which was why this was his hour.

He stood slowly, the hem of his long dark robe brushing the cobbled path, and walked to the circle of flat stones he had claimed for practice over the years. Scorch marks from past failures and breakthroughs still clung faintly to the edges—faint reminders of where he began.

He raised his wand.

"Lumos."

A pinpoint of light flared at the tip, steady and clear.

Then, he twirled the wand, channeling it again with a twist of will.

"Levioso."

A pebble floated upward with practiced ease. He rotated his wrist, weaving the pebble through an invisible figure-eight in the air before letting it settle down again.

Caelum exhaled.

These spells were effortless now. Reflex. Like breathing.

His mastery of basic spellcasting could now be considered near-perfect.

It wasn't simply talent or intelligence that brought him there—it was the blood elixir.

For five years, every measured dose brought with it whispers of memory. Fragments of knowledge of magic. Snatches of experience from witches and wizards long gone or long forgotten. Those fragments had been inconsistent at first—clouded, patchy—but over time, they layered, clarified, and deepened.

Every spell learned by someone else, Caelum relived in dream and repetition.

Lumos, Levioso, Protego, Silencio, Expelliarmus, even lesser-known charms like Homenum Revelio and Specialis Revelio. His technique was elegant, calculated. The theory behind them engraved into his thinking. He had built his magic like an architect designs a tower—each piece laid with precision.

…

Then there was the vampiric half.

He'd come to terms with it long ago—what he was. What it meant.

He could now step into shadow and disappear entirely, no longer relying on a Disillusionment Charm. With practice, he discovered that standing still wasn't even necessary. As long as there was shadow, he became part of it—his outline muted, his presence suppressed.

His reflexes had sharpened to inhuman precision. He could track the twitch of a wrist, the tremble of a wand tip. His senses—smell, hearing, low-light sight—were honed to supernatural clarity. In training duels with Amelia's Auror colleagues, he often evaded spells before they were even fully spoken.

But there were still frontiers.

The transformation—that swerving, shadow-wrapped blur he had seen years ago in the Forbidden Forest from the vampires—remained elusive. He felt it in the marrow of his being, as if something in his blood called to it, but he hadn't fully grasped it yet. The closest he'd managed was a blur-speed sprint across a training field—barely more than a flash.

Still, progress was progress.

And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was awakening inside him… wasn't exactly the same.

And then there was the fire.

His first and oldest companion. Still the most volatile.

He had named it long ago: Luxardent—light that burns.

White-blue edged flame, fierce and cold, as beautiful as it was destructive. When he was younger, it had surged uncontrolled, ripping through corridors, igniting more than he meant to. But now?

Now it obeyed.

Mostly.

The spell he had forged in the crucible of battle—Ignis Obscura—was a turning point. It had been raw then, an improvised fusion of instinct and emotion, fire shaped like magic. But after years of practice, he could now summon it again at will. Not just as a singular spell, but as a layer. A signature.

Every fire-based spell he cast now bore trace elements of Luxardent—enhanced power, slight afterburns that lingered even after the flame vanished.

Not only was this integration less taxing, it was more versatile.

His fire, at its core, was him.

If ever his wand was taken, or if spells were blocked, he could still call upon it raw. Unformed. Untamed.

He stepped back and closed his eyes.

"Let's try again," he murmured.

Holding the wand down at his side, he focused—not on the spell, but on the flame. The one that lived inside.

"Ignis Obscura."

The spark leapt from the wand tip, slower than a flash but more potent than ever. It coiled into a ribbon of searing blue flame that hovered in front of him, casting ghostly shadows against the garden walls.

He willed it into shape—an arc, then a ring—and held it, suspended.

His hand trembled slightly from the effort. Not from pain, but weight. The fire had grown since he last shaped it this way. Sharper. Hungrier.

But also his.

With a controlled breath, he extinguished the flame.

The courtyard returned to its dim serenity. Birds stirred somewhere above, the world preparing to wake.

…

Behind him, a voice broke the silence.

"That was beautiful."

Caelum turned. Amelia stood near the garden arch, dressed in her light Ministry robes, coffee cup in hand. She wasn't surprised—she never was when it came to him anymore.

"It's early," he said.

A beat of silence passed.

"Big day."

He nodded, brushing a bit of ash off his sleeve. "Feels strange."

"First step of many," she said gently.

"I'll blend in, you think?"

Amelia smiled softly.

"No," she said. "You'll never blend in. But you'll belong. And that's better."

He looked away, faintly embarrassed.

"Now come inside," she added. "Bridget's packing your trunk and Susan's already asking if the train has chocolate frogs."

Caelum gave a rare grin.

"I'll be there soon."

Amelia gave him a nod and turned back toward the house.

As her footsteps faded, Caelum turned once more toward the quiet courtyard.

In a few hours, he would be on the Hogwarts Express.

A new beginning awaited.

But for now, the in-between remained.

Just long enough for one more spell.