The Beginning of school was slowly but surely coming closer.
Fila didn't feel nervous or pressured anymore, she was looking forward to it. spending most of her days with relaxing and reading up on the material she would read in her first year. Being ahead wouldn't hurt.
She didn't stop training either, but she did relax some with it. not doing it as much. She felt that she would like to learn some at school and not do everything at home, but she still wanted to train more martial arts with rowan.
Slowly improving and not throwing baby punches anymore.
Elsbeth made a point of stealing Fila away for quieter lessons. Tea in the sitting room while discussing magical theory. Walks through the grounds while explaining the histories of old spells and older mistakes. Sometimes they cooked together, Elsbeth patient as Fila learned how easily a distracted flick of magic could ruin an entire dish. Those were some of Fila's favorite moments. They felt normal. Comfortable. Like something she could carry with her wherever she went.
There were fun days too, days with no lessons at all. Rowan taught her how to swim properly in the lake beyond the trees, laughing when she splashed him on purpose. The maids introduced her to games played in the kitchens that involved enchanted spoons and too much flour. One afternoon she convinced Elsbeth to let her enchant paper birds that raced each other through the halls, much to the irritation of the house staff and the delight of everyone else.
Evenings often ended with her curled up somewhere unexpected. On the roof, watching stars appear one by one. In the library, buried under books she definitely did not need yet. On the steps outside the mansion, shoes kicked off, wand resting loosely in her hand as fireflies drifted past. She wrote in the notebook Rowan had given her, not just spells or notes, but thoughts. Things she wanted to remember. Things she was afraid she might forget.
Fila also made sure to take some time to just relax and spend some time for herself, without books and spells. Just laying on a blanket in the grass next to her mothers' grave, talking with her for hours.
But inside the mansion in the meeting room where the headmaster Fontaine had visited. Rowan and Elsbeth sat on the couches and on the table laid a fine written letter.
"How do we tell her about this?" Elsbeth said as she looked at the letter.
The clock in the room ticked and it was the only thing making sounds in the room. Rowan sat silent.
The letter was from her Grandfather, Grindelwald.
Rowan scanned the words on the letter, "He isn't forcing her to visit, so we could just tell her that she doesn't even need to go."
They sat in silence for a while, both thinking about how to approach this.
But Elsbeth knew that she had to let Fila decide herself, she had already made very big steps. and she wanted to do more.
She took the letter from the table and stood. Rowan looked confused but saw what she was doing. Together they walked out into the garden, Fila was making flowers bloom by the fountain.
"Fila, could we talk a little about something?" Elsbeth asked carefully.
Fila turned to look at the two and saw the serious expressions, she then looked down at what Elsbeth was holding and knew that she was about to decide something important.
She stretched out her arm and wanted to take the letter without saying anything.
Elsbeth did not pull the letter away. She watched Fila's hand close around it, watched the way her fingers tightened just slightly before relaxing again, as if she were reminding herself to breathe. Rowan stayed a step back, arms folded loosely, giving her space without leaving.
Fila did not open the letter right away. She stood there by the fountain, the water still rippling faintly from the spell she had been shaping moments earlier, flowers half opened around the stone basin as if frozen between states. For a long second she simply held the parchment, feeling its weight, its presence. Then she lowered herself onto the edge of the fountain and finally broke the seal.
She read slowly. Not because the words were difficult, but because she wanted to understand them fully. The letter was careful. Formal in places. Almost gentle in others. There was no demand written there, no summons disguised as kindness. Only an acknowledgment. Of her existence. Of distance. Of time lost. He wrote that he was aware of her upcoming start at Ilvermorny. That he did not wish to disrupt her life or her choices. That if she ever wanted to speak, to ask questions, to understand where she came from, the possibility existed. Nothing more.
When she finished, she folded the letter neatly and held it in both hands, resting them in her lap. Her expression was unreadable at first, not guarded, just thoughtful, as if she were sorting something fragile inside herself.
"Not now, but later, don't respond to it. let him realize it himself" Fila said as she gave the letter back to Elsbeth.
Both Rowan and Elsbeth was analyzing her to see how she took it, but saw nothing out of place. Sure she looked a bit gloomy now, but they were expecting a full breakdown.
"alright." Elsbeth said as she turned to leave.
Rowan stood still in the same place, he lingered for a bit before taking his leave.
Fila sat still on the grass, she wanted to cry. But she knew that if she did she would most likely go back in her progress. She held on steadily, and after a moment she returned to her flowers.
A tear fell down from her eye, but she wipe it of with her sleeve instantly.
Fila stayed by the fountain long after Rowan and Elsbeth had gone back inside. The garden had grown quieter, the late afternoon light softening as clouds drifted lazily across the sky. The flowers she had coaxed into bloom trembled slightly in the breeze, petals brushing against one another with a faint whisper. She focused on that sound, on the steady trickle of water, on the grounding presence of the stone beneath her fingers.
She breathed in slowly, then out again, the way she had been taught. Once. Twice. The tight feeling in her chest did not disappear, but it loosened enough that she could sit with it instead of fighting it. She let herself feel the weight of what she had just read without letting it tip her over the edge. That alone felt like a victory.
Eventually, she raised her wand again. The magic answered immediately, gentle and responsive. The flowers finished opening, colors deepening into rich blues and soft golds. One vine curled a little too enthusiastically, and she laughed quietly under her breath as she guided it back into place. The sound surprised her. It was small, but it was real.
When the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the lawn, Fila finally stood and brushed the grass from her clothes. Her eyes were a little red, but her posture was steady. She took one last look at the fountain, then turned toward the mansion.
Inside, life continued as it always did. Someone laughed in the distance. Dishes clinked faintly from the kitchens. The house wrapped around her with familiar warmth. She paused in the hallway, resting her forehead briefly against the cool stone wall, then straightened and kept going.
That evening, she joined Rowan for martial training as planned. She moved slower than usual, more deliberate, but she did not miss a step. Rowan noticed, of course, but he did not comment. He simply adjusted the pace to match hers, correcting her stance with a quiet word here and there, grounding her without prying.
Later, curled up in her room, Fila opened her notebook. She did not write about spells or school or even the letter. Instead, she wrote about the flowers by the fountain. About how they had opened even when her hands were shaking. About how she could feel two truths at once and still stand upright.
When she closed the notebook, the heaviness had softened into something manageable. Not gone. Just quieter.
Outside her window, the garden lay peaceful under the evening sky, and Fila let herself believe that waiting was not the same as running away. Sometimes, it was simply choosing the right moment to take the next step. And after making her wait with her mother, he could very well wait for a bit himself.
Long away from the United States of America.
There was a tall gray tower, deep in the Austrian mountain range.
And inside it sat a old man at the end of a long table alone.
The rooms were dirty, filthy. Filled with spider webs and dust.
But the man, or Grindelwald. Didn't care about it.
In front of him on the table laid a letter, addressed to him from Elsbeth. The contents of the letter detailed the interaction that happened in response to his letter.
The candle at the center of the long table flickered, its flame struggling against the cold that crept through the stone walls, but he did not notice.
He smiled.
"She is going to be a fine witch." He said out to himself. As he held the letter over the candle, letting it burn to ash. The fire faded slowly as it ate up the paper, but from the ashes a lone name remained, Gellert blew some of the ash away. He smirked, "Ophelia" the sole thing that survived the fire was her name.
Outside the narrow windows, the mountains stood unmoving, ancient and indifferent. Nurmengard had been built to isolate him from the world, but in moments like this, it felt less like a prison and more like a reminder. Time passed. Lives continued beyond these walls. And somewhere far from stone and iron, a girl was growing into herself without his hand guiding the shape of her future.