After the Headmaster of the magical school Ilvermorny visited Ophelia she had gotten herself busy. She gained a drive to become better, often sitting in the kitchen talking more with the maids and cooks.
She also intensified her training with Rowan, she now wanted it to be more demanding.
And now, on Christmas eve. She woke up to heavy snowfall, and she felt happy.
Fila stood up from her bed, hastily making sure the covers are made before going to her wardrobe. She stood in front of it for some time before deciding what to wear.
She never really had once during these months cared for what she wore, but she felt different today and wanted to.
Pondering over the choices she picked the dark green sweater shirt and matching joggers that Elsbeth had bought. It matched the whole green of Christmas she thought as she looked in the mirror.
The door to her room opened and she stepped out, a maid walked past just as she exited and greeted her. "Good morning, Fila." The maid said.
"Good morning, Manda." She responded back with a smile.
Fila continued down the corridor, the sound of her steps soft against the stone floor. The mansion felt different this morning. Not quieter, but gentler. As if it had softened overnight along with the falling snow.
She could smell baking long before she reached the kitchens. Warm bread, spices, something sweet that reminded her faintly of oranges. The doors were already open, steam curling into the hallway as voices overlapped inside.
"Careful with that," one of the cooks said, laughing. "You will spill it everywhere."
Fila stepped inside without hesitation.
A few heads turned, then smiles followed. Someone made space for her near the counter, sliding a stool closer with their foot.
"Morning," one of the cooks said. "You are up early."
Fila watched them work, content to simply be there. She asked small questions. How long the bread needed. Why the dough was folded that way. She listened to stories about past holidays at the mansion, about decorations that had once been far too extravagant, about years when things had been quieter.
No one treated her like glass anymore.
After breakfast, she went outside.
The snowfall was heavy now, thick flakes drifting down steadily, clinging to her sweater and hair. She did not rush to brush them away. She walked slowly through the garden, leaving clear footprints behind her, the sound of snow beneath her boots sharp and satisfying.
She arrived at her mothers grave, "merry Christmas mom!" she said while brushing the snow of the stone. She sat there for a while talking about the breakfast and morning, what book she had reed and more.
Later that morning, Rowan met her in the practice courtyard. Snow had been cleared from the center, leaving a wide circle of packed earth surrounded by white.
"You sure about this today?" he asked.
Fila nodded, wand already in her hand. "Yes. I want to try something harder."
Rowan looked at her, he was a little unsure but since she wanted to, he wouldn't protest. "alright, lets see the blasting curse we used last week."
Fila held up he wand, she breathed calmly, he breath turned to steam as the cold collided with her warm breath.
Then her wand lit up fast and a blue spell shot out from her wand, the spell flew fast and hit the wall with a loud bang. the spell made a dent in the wall, small rocks and debris fell from the wall.
Elsbeth who was standing to the side wrote something down and Rowan was still looking at the impact on the wall.
"Was that good?" Fila asked. This made Rowan finally look away from the wall.
He smiled brightly. "It was better than good, that was amazing."
Filas face beamed at the praise she had gotten. "Was it really amazing?" she asked, her excitement could barley be hidden.
Elsbeth cut in, "most kids your age are still learning the protection spell, and the way you casted confringo makes most adults look pathetic." She said while walking close to the center. "You did AMAZING" she said while pulling Fila into a hug.
Fila laughed, but also blushed by the high praise.
"I practiced that one a lot," she admitted. "In my room. Just the movements and the focus. Not the spell itself."
Rowan chuckled. "I suspected as much."
They did not train much longer after that. Rowan called it before fatigue could creep in, the way he always did.
By midday, the mansion was alive in a way it had not been in months.
Garlands hung along the stair rails. Candles glowed in alcoves. Someone had placed small enchanted lights in the windows, drifting slowly like trapped fireflies. Fila helped where she could, handing ornaments to the maids, holding ladders steady, listening to laughter echo through halls that once felt too large.
At one point, she found herself standing in the great hall, staring up at the tree.
It was taller than she remembered from previous years, or maybe she had simply been smaller then. The ornaments were mismatched. Old glass baubles. Wooden carvings. A few magical ones that shifted color when touched. None of it was perfect, and that made it feel right.
Elsbeth appeared beside her. "You look happy," she said gently.
Fila nodded. "I am."
Dinner was loud and warm and full.
Long tables were set, food passed freely, voices overlapping. Fila sat between Rowan and Marta, listening more than she spoke, but when she did speak, her words came easily. Someone made a joke about burnt pastries from years ago. Someone else teased Rowan about his overly cautious teaching style. Fila laughed openly, without covering her mouth or looking away.
As the evening wore on, the noise softened into something gentler.
Plates were cleared. Chairs were pushed back. Someone began humming near the far end of the hall, a tune slow and familiar. Candles burned lower, their light warm against the stone walls. Fila lingered at the table longer than she needed to, elbows resting against the wood, listening to conversations drift around her without trying to follow any single one.
At some point, Marta leaned closer. "You did well today," she said quietly, as if it were a small secret.
Fila looked at her, surprised. "With the spell?"
"With all of it," Marta replied, smiling.
That stayed with her.
Later, Elsbeth gathered everyone near the great tree. No ceremony. No announcement. Just a quiet understanding that it was time. Small parcels appeared, passed from hand to hand. Some were wrapped carefully. Others plainly. Some had names written neatly. Others did not need them.
Fila had not expected anything.
She stood near the edge at first, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, watching. When Elsbeth turned toward her with a small box in hand, she froze.
"For you," Elsbeth said simply.
Fila accepted it slowly. The wrapping was dark green, tied with silver string. She did not open it right away. She looked up instead.
"You did not have to," she said.
Elsbeth tilted her head. "I wanted to."
Fila nodded, then carefully untied the string. Inside was a thick scarf, deep green with subtle stitching along the edges. Warm. Soft. Practical.
She pressed it lightly between her fingers.
"I love it," she said, voice quiet but certain.
Rowan cleared his throat from nearby. "Mine is not as elegant," he said, handing her a much smaller parcel. Inside was a slim leather bound notebook, its pages blank.
"For notes," he added. "Or thoughts. Or whatever you decide belongs there."
Fila smiled at him, really smiled. "Thank you."
She wrapped the scarf around her neck immediately, even though the hall was warm.
When the gathering began to thin, she slipped away again. This time, she went outside.
The snow had slowed to a gentle fall. The world felt hushed, wrapped in white. She walked the familiar path through the garden, boots crunching softly, breath steady.
At her mother's grave, she brushed away the fresh snow and sat down beside it.
"I had a good day," she said quietly. "I think you would have liked it."
She told her about the kitchen. About the spell. About the tree and the scarf and how people laughed like the world had not once broken apart.
"I am still scared sometimes," she admitted. "But it does not control me anymore."
The wind stirred the branches above her. Snow slipped free and fell softly around the stone.
When she returned inside, the mansion was settling into sleep. Lights dimmed. Footsteps faded. She went to her room, hung the scarf carefully over the back of her chair, and sat on her bed.
She took out the acceptance letter once more.
This time, she broke the seal.
She did not read every word. Not yet. She only let herself hold the truth of it. That there was a future waiting. One she had chosen.
Outside, bells chimed softly in the distance.
Fila lay back against her pillows, eyes closed, warmth curling in her chest.
And with her eyes now closed the days passed, turning into weeks and weeks turned into months.
In early march, the snow was beginning to melt away. Only snow piles and shaded areas still had snow.
"Wingardium Leviosa" Fila said waving her wand. And with it a big rock was lifted into the air. She focused on holding it up for as long a possible.
Rowan looked on. "good keep it up" he said, he was holding a timer counting the minutes and seconds.
After a bit, the rock came down with a thud into the ground.
Fila, who was now breathing rapidly looked towards Rowan waiting for him to tell her the time. "4 minutes and 28 seconds, a new record." He said while writing the time down.
Elsbeth clapped her hands from the back.
"Finally!" Fila screamed out, and as she did, she also sat down into the wet grass. "Do I get that cake now?" she asked while laying down on the grass.
She had been promised a cake if she could break her previous record by atleast 30 seconds. Which she did, and not just 30 seconds but 50.
"You will get it for dinner." Rowan said as he finally but down his little book that he wrote down everything in.
Fila groaned, not wanting to wait for a couple of hours.
Since Christmas there had been a boom in development for Fila. Both in personality and magic. She had almost become a little too outgoing and a bit of a troublemaker. And in the magic department she had almost surpassed even the high expectations she had set on herself.
The goal was to be as prepared for first year school as possible, now she was over prepared.
According to Rowan I would have a what's called cakewalk in class.
In the middle of January she had also started learning more potions and herbology, not much but a steady amount.
And on top of that, after learning that Rowan did martial arts she had begged him to teach her, so now twice a week they have martial arts lessons in the basement. It wasn't going at all well but she was slowly getting the hang of it, she could throw a few punches at least. Rowan called it baby punches but nevertheless.
The basement itself was nothing special. Stone walls. A wide open floor cleared of storage long ago. A few mats laid out where Rowan said they mattered most. The air always smelled faintly of dust and old stone, cool even as spring crept closer outside.
"Again," Rowan said, standing across from her with his hands loosely raised.
Fila wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve and squared her stance the way he had shown her. Feet planted. Shoulders relaxed. Eyes up.
She threw a punch.
It was better than the first week. Faster. More controlled. Still not impressive.
Rowan stepped aside easily and caught her wrist mid motion. "You are thinking too much," he said. "Stop planning the hit. Just hit."
"That is easy for you to say," Fila muttered, pulling her arm free. "You have been doing this forever."
"And you have been doing magic forever," Rowan replied calmly. "Yet you still practice."
She huffed but reset her stance.
This time she did not think. She moved.
Her fist connected lightly with his shoulder before he could fully step away.
Rowan blinked, then smiled. "There. That was not a baby punch."
Fila's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
She grinned and nearly tripped over her own feet stepping back.
By the time April arrived, the grounds were no longer white. Mud replaced snow. Green pushed stubbornly through the soil. Fila spent more time outside now, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back carelessly as she moved from one lesson to the next.
And on one day in April, she was woken up by a singing choir in her room.
"Happy birthday dear Ophelia!" they all sang in unison.
Elsbeth stood at the front of the small crowd, hands clasped together, smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at. Behind her were Rowan, Marta, Manda, two of the cooks, and a handful of other familiar faces from the mansion. Someone was holding a small enchanted candle that flickered gold instead of flame.
Fila blinked. Once. Twice.
"What," she said faintly.
"Happy birthday," Elsbeth said gently.
For a moment, Fila did not move at all. Her mind scrambled, trying to catch up. Birthday. April. She knew the date. Of course she did. She had just never expected anyone else to remember it.
Marta stepped forward and set something on the bedside table. A small cake. Simple. Chocolate, by the smell of it, with white frosting and a careful attempt at piping her name along the edge.
Fila looked at the cake. Then at the people. Her throat felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"I have not had a birthday like this," she admitted softly.
Elsbeth sat down on the edge of the bed. "Then this one can be your first."
Someone urged her to blow out the candle. She hesitated, then leaned forward and did so. The golden flame vanished with a soft chime instead of smoke.
Applause followed. Gentle. Unforced.
She laughed then. A short sound at first, surprised, before it settled into something real.
Breakfast was different that morning. Louder. Slower. There were gifts this time too. Nothing extravagant. A new quill that never dulled. A scarf lighter than the winter one but light blue matching her eyes. A book on advanced charms with notes already written in the margins from Elsbeth.
Fila accepted each one carefully, thanking them all, cheeks warm.
Afterward, she slipped outside alone.
The air smelled like wet earth and new grass. The last traces of snow clung stubbornly to shaded corners, but spring had clearly won. Birds called from the trees. Somewhere, water dripped steadily as ice finally gave up.
She walked to her mother's grave and sat down in the grass beside it.
"It is my birthday," she said quietly. "I think I am doing alright."
She rested her palm against the stone, grounding herself in its cool solidity.
"I wish you were here," she added. "But I think you would like who I am becoming."
A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, warm and gentle.
When she stood to leave, she did so without looking back.