The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

The rest of the week passed in a measured rhythm—less chaotic than Caelum had expected, but no less demanding.

Each day brought new lessons and new professors, and while the castle's ancient halls could feel overwhelming, the familiarity of learning settled something within him. There was a structure now—a purpose that replaced the endless vigilance he had lived with at Greystone House.

He made mental notes of each subject and its teacher.

Professor McGonagall, stern and precise, led Transfiguration with an air of unquestionable authority. She didn't tolerate nonsense, but her explanations were razor-sharp, and her transfiguration technique—elegant. She noticed Caelum's silent concentration in the back row and, on the third day, offered a rare nod of approval when he turned a matchstick into a sharp silver needle on the first try.

Professor Sprout was much gentler, her Herbology class filled with rich earth smells and awkward laughter as students wrestled with squirming magical plants. She patted Caelum's arm one day when he efficiently repotted a venomous tentacula without losing a finger. "Quiet but capable," she remarked with a smile.

Astronomy was slow but peaceful. Caelum enjoyed the quiet of the night tower, tracking stars and constellations in ink while the cold crept in through stone walls. He always kept his hood up in open spaces during the day—sunlight was tolerable in in brief exposure, but this class let him enjoy the sky without discomfort.

History of Magic was another matter. The ghostly Professor Binns droned on endlessly, barely noticing the living students. But Caelum still took notes. He found a kind of peace in the rhythm of old wars and treaties, especially when learning about wizarding families long gone… families erased.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the most curious class of all. The new professor—Patricia Rakepick—was unlike any instructor Caelum had encountered. Tall, poised, and striking with her long red hair and sharp, penetrating gaze, she carried herself more like a seasoned duelist than a traditional academic. Caelum hadn't recalled her name from the novels, but then again, the position changed so often it was hardly worth memorizing. Unlike most professors, she made no attempt to hide his surprise at Caelum's spell control during demonstrations.

"You've practiced," she said after Caelum deflected a knockback hex using only a basic shield charm.

"A bit," Caelum replied evenly, offering no more.

Whatever Rakepick thought of him, she didn't show it—but Caelum noticed how the professor kept an eye on him longer than others.

Despite everything—despite the stares, the whispered rumors—Caelum found something like… joy. Not in the attention, but in the learning. The structure of formal education, the clarity of knowledge presented in organized ways—after years of devouring stolen fragments from blood elixirs and Greystone's limited library, this was different.

This was progress.

Even the professors, whether outwardly cold or quietly kind, seemed to notice. A student who listened—truly listened—was rare.

…

Now, Caelum found himself walking silently down a quieter corridor behind Professor Snape.

The Potions Master's stride was swift but almost gliding—his black robes trailing behind him like a phantom's shadow. Caelum briefly wondered if the robes were enchanted, but still, he kept pace effortlessly.

Their destination: the infirmary.

It was Friday afternoon. Time for his weekly visit to Madam Pomfrey for his blood elixir. After thorough correspondence with Amelia Bones, the school had been fully briefed on Caelum's condition. To keep things discreet and well-monitored, it had been arranged that Snape—trusted and always guarded—would escort him weekly.

Neither of them spoke.

Caelum didn't mind the silence. He could tell that Snape didn't bring him here out of compassion, but out of duty. But perhaps—perhaps—there was a kind of respect there too. The fact that Snape hadn't once treated him like a monster or pitied him set him apart.

Inside the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey greeted them with her usual brisk professionalism. She handed Caelum the vial with a neutral expression, watching as he drank it with minimal reaction.

It was always the same: a brief surge of warmth, a distant echo of someone else's memory, and the hunger dulled.

He handed back the empty vial. Madam Pomfrey gave a curt nod. "Good. Same time next week."

Snape turned. "Come."

And they walked out together, silence trailing behind them like a cloak.

..

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Slytherin dormitories, Silas Avery was pacing furiously.

"That damn half-breed," he muttered, his fists clenched. "I knew it. Something happened that day in the courtyard. He got in my head."

Two other boys—both from pureblood families close to the Averys—watched in silence as Silas muttered curses under his breath.

"I told you he was trouble. And now he walks around like he's some prince, and nobody does anything. Even Snape just lets him be."

One of the others hesitated. "Silas, maybe… maybe we should let it go. You said yourself you don't remember what happened exactly—"

"Because he made me forget!"

He slammed his hand on the bedpost, eyes blazing.

"No one gets away with that. Especially not him. We'll watch. We'll wait. And when he slips up again… we strike back."

A slow grin formed on his face