The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

The snow had not yet come, but the chill in the stone corridors of Hogwarts had begun to bite. It was mid-December, and the final days of the autumn term approached with quiet anticipation. In the Headmaster's office, the long oak table was filled with murmurs and flicks of parchment as the Hogwarts staff meeting was underway.

At the head sat Albus Dumbledore, serene as ever, hands steepled beneath his chin, eyes glinting beneath half-moon spectacles. Each Head of House took turns giving term-end summaries. The reports were typical: some students excelling, others lagging, a few minor disciplinary issues, a broken broom, a love potion mishap.

Then Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"If I may raise a concern—about a first-year student," he began, voice light but precise. "Caelum Sanguine, Slytherin House."

The room stilled. Flitwick continued.

"The boy is… remarkable. Exceptionally bright. In charms and spell theory, he demonstrates an understanding far beyond his age. Subtlety in spellwork that, frankly, I wouldn't expect from someone much older. And he doesn't flaunt it. He often pretends not to know an answer immediately—but I can see the calculation in his eyes. He's hiding how much he truly knows."

There was a pause.

"But I'm concerned not about his academics—but his social development."

That got some attention.

Flitwick went on, "It started in the first month—there were some cruel flyers distributed, suggesting the boy was not entirely human. The staff responded quickly and removed them, but the effect lingered. Most students keep their distance. Apart from two or three—his roommates in particular—he rarely interacts. He's polite, yes. Quiet. Observant. But isolated."

Professor Snape gave a nonchalant sniff. "First years always have squabbles. It will pass."

"Maybe," said Professor McGonagall, arms folded. "But we cannot ignore it. A student left without a sense of community can drift into darker corners of their mind. We cannot force friendships, but we can at least keep him challenged. Perhaps alternative assignments—something more suited to his level. If he's willing."

Dumbledore had remained quiet, fingers tapping once on the arm of his chair. But now he spoke.

"You mentioned his spellwork showed… the mark of experience, Filius?"

"Yes, Headmaster. Intent. Efficiency. Knowledge of magical rhythm. These things do not come from raw talent alone. It feels… practiced."

Dumbledore's eyes dimmed slightly in thought. His mind was drifting—to a night six years ago, when Aurors retrieved a child from the Forbidden Forest. A child injured. Bitten. A fire unlike anything they'd seen before.

"A fire that did not belong to any spell we knew," Dumbledore murmured, mostly to himself.

Snape looked up sharply. "Headmaster?"

"Nothing," Dumbledore replied, with a soft shake of the head. "Professor McGonagall, your idea is sound. Let us offer young Caelum assignments that might keep his mind stimulated. And Severus—when the school resumes after the Christmas holiday, please bring the boy to my office."

Snape gave a slow nod.

…

Back in the Slytherin Dungeons

Caelum sat by the common room hearth, the flicker of green fire reflecting in his eyes. He was quiet, as usual. Focused. Three months had passed since his midnight visit to Silas Avery—and true to his word, Silas had not spoken a word to him since. But the glare was always there. Cold. Wounded. Angry.

The rest of the school? Still a whispering tide. Still looks and second glances. But lately… a shift. His efforts to excel had not gone unnoticed. Recognition began to slip through the cracks—a nod in the corridor, a partner request in class, an awkward smile after a shared potion win.

They didn't see him as just a half-breed anymore. They were starting to see him as a brilliant student.

He was content with that.

Silas, Rosier… all of that could wait. The Avery and Rosier families could scheme all they liked. He was in Hogwarts now, and they could not touch him here. Not while he grew stronger every day. Not while he built the kind of power they could only manipulate through blood and gold.

And he would show them all that he had it.

…

Far from Hogwarts, behind wrought-iron gates and centuries-old enchantments, the Rosier residence sat nestled in the frost-bitten countryside—its grandeur faded but still imposing.

In a private study, the heads of two ancient families sat in quiet conference.

Septimus Rosier, thin and sharp-eyed, stood before the tall arched window, his silhouette framed by moonlight. Across from him, nursing a glass of firewhisky, sat Cassian Avery, broader in frame, with the heavy-lidded eyes of a man used to wearing the mask of civility.

Cassian exhaled softly. "I'm sorry, Septimus. It seems the boy is… resilient."

"The rumors, the whispers—none of it stuck," Cassian went on. "He walks those halls untouched and from what I've heard… the faculty is rather fond of him. Even Dumbledore keeps him close."

Septimus's fingers tightened behind his back. "Hogwarts," he murmured bitterly. "That school has protected many who should have faced reckoning." He turned, face drawn but resolute. "We will need another way, Cassian. We must act before he grows impatient.

"My son's failure to secure the boy has weakened my standing, and in this, I can only depend on you."

Cassian Avery swirled the amber liquid in his glass, thoughtful. "I'll see what can be done. Quietly. For both our sakes."

The two men shared a long, weighted silence. Outside, the wind moaned through the frozen hedgerows. The old alliances of pure-blood Britain held for now—but cracks were beginning to show.