The Chronicles of Blood and Fire (HP Fanfic)

By the time reinforcements arrived, the battle was long over.

The forest clearing bore its scars—scorched trees, shattered wards, blood splattered against stones. Two Aurors were injured, one of them gravely. And Caelum Sanguine was gone.

Mad-Eye Moody oversaw the operation, barking orders as he examined the wreckage. Amelia Bones and the surviving Auror were rushed to St. Mungo's under heavy protection. The remaining squad scoured the area, collecting fragments of spells, blood samples, wand traces—anything they could salvage.

A small group of attackers had been captured, stunned or bound during the chaos. They were taken into custody for questioning. But even as they were dragged away, they spoke no word—only wore the same blank, hollow expression.

Moody scowled as he watched them go.

"I've seen that look before, these poor bastards don't even know they've been turned into puppets."

His magical eye swiveled toward the treeline, scanning beyond the visible.

"And I'll bet my wand this won't be the last of it."

…

Amelia's room at St. Mungo's was dimly lit. She sat propped up on a bed, her left shoulder heavily bandaged. Despite the pain potion in her veins, her eyes were sharp and unrelenting when Moody entered.

"They got him," she said simply.

Moody gave a grim nod. "They did."

He tossed a charmed scroll onto the table beside her. "Preliminary results. Tracking spells faded too quickly. They used portkeys, multiple redundancies, and cursed terrain. The trail's gone cold."

"And the attackers?" she asked.

Moody crossed his arms. "The wizards were hired muscle. Most linked to the Rosier family through shell organizations. As for the vampires—no doubt about it. Romanian signature. Possibly Vortelan."

Amelia's jaw tightened. "So they've made contact."

"We're hitting every Rosier compound on record," Moody continued, his voice rough. "But I doubt we'll find anything. They're deep into hiding now. Must've known this would make them enemies of the entire Wizengamot. There's no coming back from this."

Amelia's gaze drifted to the window. "Adrian Rosier. The way he... detonated. That wasn't just a curse. That was blood magic, sealed deep. We screened him before Azkaban, and still we missed it."

Moody didn't answer at first.

Then Amelia added, almost to herself, "What if the rest of them are under the same curse?"

…

Far from St. Mungo's, hidden beneath an ancient Rosier estate shielded by layered enchantments, the Head of the Rosier family listened in silence.

"They've begun sweeping," the messenger reported. "We've lost all surface assets. The Caelum boy is secured in the ritual chamber."

Septimus Rosier stood still, facing a portrait of his ancestors, shadows drawn across his lined face.

"It's too late now," he murmured. "There's no path left to redemption. We should never have allied with the Vortelans. My son—Adrian—ended up a pawn. Bait. That's all he was."

He turned from the portrait, his voice resolute now. "We see this through. Or the Rosier name dies with us."

…

The chamber was cold, carved deep into bedrock and sealed with spellwork older than the Statute of Secrecy.

Caelum sat in the center of a massive ritual circle etched with bloodlike ink. Shackles bound his wrists, connected to glowing runes that pulsed faintly. The symbols were unfamiliar—some twisted, some ancient, others moving like living veins on stone.

He tested the chains. No use.

From the darkness, footsteps echoed.

Lucian Vortelan stepped into the light—tall, composed, and perfectly calm. His eyes gleamed crimson with a faint golden ring around the iris, as if lit from within.

"It took considerable effort to acquire you," Lucian said smoothly. "Normally, no one notices when a child or two go missing. But you… you required a sacrifice. One of my own bound servants."

He tilted his head. "A waste, but necessary."

Caelum looked up and smirked, despite the pain in his shoulders. "You're welcome."

Lucian chuckled lightly and began walking the perimeter of the circle. "You must already have an idea why you're here."

Caelum's expression darkened. "I'm a Varnak Seed. You want to extract my bloodline."

"Ah, so Adrian did manage to say something after all," Lucian replied. "Yes. Precisely. But it's more than that."

He raised his hand. A flame flickered into being—unlike Caelum own fire, Luxardent, but something distorted. Red-white and seething, it twisted like molten plasma barely held in check, thrashing with wild, unstable heat. It bore the essence of Varnak fire, yet without its balance—raw and vicious, like an imitation born from stolen blood.

"I don't want to simply extract it. I want to consume it."

Lucian's voice remained calm, reverent even. "You see, the others before you were diluted. Some useful, some not. But you—your bloodline is pure. Even before your second awakening in the forest, your potential far outshone the others. If I had known…"

His eyes narrowed.

"If I had known, I would've taken you straight to Romania instead of dumping you in that forest six years ago."

Caelum's heart froze.

Six years ago. The Forbidden Forest. It was him.

Lucian stepped into the circle.

And Caelum could do nothing but stare.