The return from Nurmengard was far gentler than Fila had expected, though perhaps that had less to do with the portkey and more to do with the curious lightness settling in her chest. The familiar pull released them into the British Ministry's atrium, where movement and conversation flowed in steady currents, officials striding across polished floors, parchment stacks gliding obediently at their sides. For a brief moment the transition between places felt almost disorienting, not because of the magic, but because of how quickly the quiet mountain stillness had been replaced by the hum of ordinary wizarding life.
Fila adjusted her satchel and steadied herself without difficulty. Rowan watched her closely, his expression composed but thoughtful, while Elsbeth's gaze lingered with its usual sharp awareness. Neither spoke immediately. There was something unspoken yet settled between the three of them, an agreement to allow the experience to land before dissecting it.
"Well," Elsbeth said at last as they began walking, "that went differently than I anticipated."
Fila glanced sideways. "Better or worse?"
Elsbeth considered. "Better."
Rowan nodded once in quiet agreement.
They moved through the Ministry with unhurried steps, the earlier curious glances now replaced by polite indifference. Whatever interest had briefly stirred at the sight of a young Grindelwald seemed to have dissolved back into paperwork and deadlines. Portkey formalities were completed with efficient ease, and not long after, the trio found themselves standing once more on the manor's gravel drive, summer air greeting them with familiar warmth.
Home.
The manor stood calm and unchanged, pale stone glowing softly beneath the afternoon light. Somewhere within, the quiet rhythm of daily life continued: distant footsteps, the muted clatter of preparation, the subtle, comforting sounds of a place that did not concern itself with history or consequence.
Fila stepped inside first.
The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and fresh linen, grounding in its familiarity. She slipped off her outer robes with an absent motion, her mind still drifting somewhere between conversation and reflection.
But only ones she returned to her room she realised, she totally forgot to ask anything about magic. Or maybe she thought that it wasn't important at the time. there were things she wanted to know more.
Fila sank into the armchair beside the tall glass, one leg folding beneath her as she leaned back. The garden outside stretched in warm, familiar green, leaves shifting gently in the afternoon breeze. Everything looked peaceful, settled, entirely unconcerned with the fact that she had just spent hours speaking with one of the most infamous wizards in history and somehow neglected the subject of magic.
She exhaled through her nose.
"That was stupid."
The book now laid in her lap open, and word had already formed.
'So you didn't ask him the things you had been so curious about?'
She shock her head.
'well it wasn't really needed, it was only so you would get a head start in understanding it. but you could also just understand it yourself.'
"So I didn't even need to ask him about it." great the book just wanted me to visit my grandpa. And I didn't blame it, it opened my eyes for something I thought I would hate for the rest of my life. But ended up enjoying.
The book gave some more answers and its plan on how Fila should move on forward with her training. In short, she needed to focus on this new blue thread she sees, and try figuring out how to use it in raw power. Its like learning magic all over again, but x times harder.
As fila sat still with the book in her lap, she looked out towards the orange backyard, covered by the afternoon sun.
The book had already written a plan on how she would train for a couple of weeks. First was to manage to find the blue thread of magic on purpose, all the time. last time she saw it was basically just a gift randomly found. But it was also a step towards learning it.
Step two was about controlling it, letting it shape around her, or just moving it. the step was simple, if she could do the first step well then it would be simple, otherwise no.
Third and final step, use it.
"I suppose that sounds simple when you are not the one doing it," Fila murmured.
The book did not dignify that with an answer.
Her gaze drifted back to the garden as she thought through the first step. Finding the blue thread deliberately. Every time. Not waiting for coincidence, not relying on those rare moments when perception seemed to align effortlessly. The memory of the first discovery returned to her easily. sitting beneath the old tree, patience worn thin, attention wandering just enough for something unexpected to slip into view.
Fila closed the book gently and set it aside on the small table, pushing herself upright. The decision formed quietly, without ceremony. Thinking would only carry her so far. The book's first lesson had been clear enough on that point.
Understanding required practice.
Practice required doing.
She crossed the room and slipped into lighter robes, movements easy and unhurried. The manor air shifted slightly as she descended the staircase, distant sounds of household rhythm drifting through corridors: porcelain placed on wood, a door closing softly, muted voices exchanging ordinary conversation. Rowan's low tone echoed faintly from somewhere deeper within, Elsbeth's sharper cadence weaving through it. Everything continued exactly as it always did.
Outside, the warmth greeted her immediately.
The grass bent gently beneath her steps as she made her way toward the far corner of the grounds. The old tree stood waiting, vast and steady, its leaves whispering softly in the breeze. Fila lowered herself to the ground with practiced familiarity, legs crossing, palms resting loosely atop her knees.
She closed her eyes.
The imagine in front of her exploded.
Blue, blue and more blue.
Blue layered upon blue, threads crossing and curving in luminous strands that filled her awareness completely. The garden, the tree, the distant manor all dissolved into a vast, flowing weave. It was not overwhelming in the sense of chaos, but in scale, as if someone had pulled back a curtain she hadn't realized was there.
Fila's breath caught.
"Oh."
The threads moved with quiet fluidity, some thin as hair, others wide and ribbonlike, drifting in calm, intersecting paths. The deep blue current she had discovered weeks ago no longer stood alone. It was part of something far larger, a network of color and motion stretching beyond anything she had yet seen.
For a brief second, instinct urged her to pull back.
But she didn't.
Her mind focused on one of the threads, and pulled on it slightly. It reacted, not in a harsh way. More like it wanted to be pulled.
She tried again this time pulling it closer.
There was a responsiveness to it she hadn't anticipated. Not passive, not reluctant. The thread seemed to adjust itself around her focus, narrowing when her attention sharpened, softening when her thoughts loosened. It did not behave like the structured magic she was used to, where will imposed direction. This felt closer to cooperation, as though the current required agreement rather than command.
She tested that impression.
Instead of pulling, she gently nudged.
The thread curved sideways.
"Interesting…"
Encouraged, Fila guided the strand in a slow loop, watching how it traced the shape with liquid grace. Nearby threads shifted subtly, making space as if this rearrangement belonged to the natural order of things. No snapping tension, no unstable flicker. Just quiet motion.
The next thing she wanted to try was emotion and intent. The two big reasons magic works the way they do is through intent.
Fila started thinking about things making her angry and scared. And she stubbled into a memory she tried to forget. When someone took advantage of her on Valentine, leaving her there to look like an idiot who would fall for anything.
The memory made her blood boil, she had already sworn to beat the one responsible for it.
"If I ever get my hands on that…" she noticed it. she had lost focus on the threads. And they were screaming red, violently twitching and going all over the place.
Fila's breath hitched.
The shift was so abrupt it nearly tore her concentration apart.
The threads were no longer fluid.
They were agitated.
The vibration rolled through her perception, a chaotic hum that set her teeth on edge. The deep blue strand she had been holding moments earlier jerked violently, its steady glow drowned beneath the sudden surge of scarlet currents.
Fila instinctively recoiled.
Her focus shattered completely.
Eyes flew open.
The garden slammed back into view, sunlight, leaves, breeze. Yet the calmness of it clashed sharply with the echo still ringing through her chest. Her heart pounded hard enough to feel uncomfortable, fingers curling into the grass beside her.
For a second she simply sat there, breathing.
"What was that…"
She closed her eyes again, more cautiously this time.
The threads returned, though not with the same violent intensity.
"No sudden experiments," she murmured.
Instead of grabbing for the strand, she observed how it moved, how it held its shape independent of the emotional turbulence she had triggered earlier. The contrast was clear now. When her thoughts scattered, the weave followed. When her focus aligned, so did the threads.
Magic mirrored the mind.
But this magic magnified it.
Cautiously, Fila reached again, guiding rather than pulling. The blue strand curved smoothly toward her awareness, responsive without the sharp vibration from before. She traced a small arc, then another, confirming stability before attempting anything more.
Better.
After almost 2 hours of this she finally returned to her room. Her trials had been a huge success, sure she didn't know how she would even complete the third step of using it. but she understood that it would take time.
She laid down with a sense of accomplishment. Her talk with her grandfather, her magic feeling new and exciting.
Her resentment toward him had all but disappeared, she understood now that mother wanted this. she didn't want him to come and bring his life upon her world that she built with her daughter. She wanted Ophelia to live in a life without having to worry about big wars or constant worry of being killed.
Gellert respected her decision even if he wanted something else.
The next weeks were filled with a constant training schedule.
Everything from potions to martial art with Rowan, and even etiquette to behave like a more Nobel person. Etiquette lessons unfolded within the sunlit sitting room, where Fila practiced everything from formal greetings to conversational pacing, posture, and controlled expression. Elsbeth's instruction was precise but never harsh, her corrections delivered with measured clarity. She demonstrated how small shifts in stance altered perception, how tone could soften disagreement or sharpen authority, how stillness itself could command attention. Fila listened carefully, absorbing not only the mechanics but the subtle psychology beneath them. There was an elegance to Elsbeth's world, a quiet power in restraint and awareness that Fila had begun to appreciate rather than resist.
Evenings offered the closest thing to freedom.
During these evenings she would go outside and focus on her magic training. Not only the new magic, but also her beloved flowers. Making trees move and flower to become dangerous weapons against someone in her way.
She would enter 2nd grade at Ilvermorny this September. That would mean a lot of new things, but the thing she was excited for. Duels. so of course she needed to sharpen her skills considerably. Most students only knew about her flower from flashy tricks in the common room, none really knew she could use them against another wizard or witch.
Trees could be used to form walls, cover. Stems from flowers? A knife or spear. Roots to bind the target. Poisons flower? A toxic bloom beneath an enemy's step could decide everything.. A really dark idea but in life or death, one had to do what one could.
The end of august came quicker than she would have wanted. A lot of things still to do.
She was sitting in the garden again, the thread now shaped around her whole arm like a sleeve. She wasn't thinking much, just doing. Less thinking more action so to say.
They seemed to listen better that way.
She waved her arm around, the threads stayed.
"How do I use this…"
She suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Fast. But she didn't stop her training, it was probably Elsbeth coming to check up on her again. wait again?
"Fila what are you doing?!" Elsbeth voice carried panic, worried scream almost.
She didn't open her eyes. "I'm training, trying to do something." She simply replied.
"open you eyes Fila!"
Her eyes opened slowly, she saw her hand stretched out like she left it. but in the air in front of her. The tree that she always trained under. Was lifted from its seat inside the ground. Roots torn up from the ground.
For a moment Fila simply stared.
The tree hovered several feet above the garden, its vast roots hanging loose, clumps of soil still clinging stubbornly as though unsure whether to fall or remain. Leaves trembled softly, branches swaying in a slow, disoriented motion. It was not violent, not explosive, but undeniably wrong in a way that made the entire scene feel strangely suspended between action and consequence.
Fila's arm remained extended.
Wrapped in that translucent blue sleeve.
"Oh," she said faintly.
Elsbeth reached her in three quick strides, fingers closing firmly around Fila's wrist. "Lower it. Now."
Fila blinked. "I didn't…"
"Fila."
The sharpness in Elsbeth's tone cut cleanly through the haze of surprise. Not anger. Not fear. Command.
Instinctively, Fila focused.
Not on the tree.
On the thread.
The blue current tightened slightly around her arm as her concentration aligned, its texture shifting from loose fluidity into something steadier, more deliberate. She exhaled slowly, guiding the strand inward rather than outward, adjusting intent with cautious precision.
The tree responded at once.
Descending.
Not dropping, but lowering with controlled reluctance, roots settling back into the torn earth with a heavy, uneven rustle. Soil shifted, grass bent, smaller plants flattening briefly beneath the weight before springing back. The final contact landed with a dull, grounding thud.
Silence followed.
Fila looked at the tree now seated in the ground, she helped its roots to get in place again. before she stood.
"I did it… I FINALLY DID IT!" she screamed out in celebration.
Her voice rang across the garden with bright, unrestrained triumph, the kind of joy that refused moderation. The earlier tension dissolved instantly, replaced by something lighter, almost contagious. Fila laughed as she moved toward the tree, dropping to her knees without hesitation, fingers already brushing through the disturbed soil. The roots, still unsettled from their brief and very unnatural flight, shifted faintly beneath her touch as she guided them back into place with practiced botanical ease. There was nothing forceful in the motion, only gentle encouragement, a quiet coaxing that felt more like reassurance than repair.
Elsbeth watched, the last traces of alarm fading into a mixture of disbelief and reluctant amusement. "You nearly redecorated the entire estate," she said, though the sharpness had left her tone.
Fila looked over at a rock and focused. Her mind was set on lifting the rock.
The rock tore out of the ground with forceful speed. almost ripped out by a big hand. Fila felt the threads, and she waved around her arm and the rock hovering followed her movements.
The smile on her face now reached her ears. She released the grip and the rock feel hard into the ground.
Fila stared at the impact point.
Then at her hand.
Then back at the rock.
And laughed.
Not the polite laugh Elsbeth expected. Not restrained, not embarrassed. It was bright, breathless, edged with disbelief and exhilaration, the sound of someone who had just crossed an invisible line and knew it.
"Did you see that?" she asked, turning sharply.
Elsbeth, who had indeed seen it, crossed her arms slowly. "Yes."
"I didn't even struggle!"
"That," Elsbeth replied evenly, "was also quite obvious."
She reached out her hand again, the feeling of having the threads felt normal now. As if she was already used to it. she picked up more things around the garden. A small frog, a pebble, a spider and some flowers.
The feeling of success didn't disperse, she felt proud of herself. After weeks of training, she did it.
After a couple of hours she finally calmed down. She needed to sit down for a long time before she even could breath normally again. Adrenaline was kicking throughout her whole body at that point.
The book was now resting in her lap again.
Ink flowed across the open page without hesitation.
'Overexertion paired with exhilaration is a predictable combination.'
Fila huffed a tired laugh. "You could just say well done."
A pause.
Then:
'Well done.'
Her smile came easily, softer now, no longer charged with the electric thrill that had carried her through the last hours. Muscles she hadn't realized were tense began to loosen, fatigue creeping in beneath the satisfaction.
"I did it," she murmured, almost to herself.
'You did.'
Fila traced absent patterns in the grass beside her. "It didn't feel like normal magic."
'Because it is not.' The book wrote then stopped. But it had more to say. 'its called ancient magic. Magic lost to time and innovations, its simply forgotten. Only a very select few over the course of a thousand year can wield it.'
Ink continued.
'Magic that predates structured spellcraft, incantations, and wanded channeling.'
Fila frowned slightly. "So… before spells?"
'Before spells as you know them.'
Her gaze drifted toward her wand lying beside her.
"And yet I just lifted a tree without it."
'Correct.'
Fila picked up the wand, turning it slowly between her fingers. "Then what exactly is this for?"
'Focus. Amplification. Stability.'
She tilted her head. "But not necessity?"
'wandless casting is still a thing, but casting without a wand make the spells chaotic. And only well trained wizards can use it well.'
Wandless magic wasn't unheard of, there are schools not even using wands for their students. But it wasn't simple. A wand is used to focus the spell, almost like a laser pointer. Used to focus on a point instead the whole hand.
"can I do more with this magic?" Fila asked, already dying to dive deeper into this unknown world of magic.
'Ophelia, haven't you realised it yet?'
The book wrote this line as if there was something she should have figured out about her magic. But what is there to just realised she just learnt to use it.
'the way you use plants, grow plants, use them as a weapon, shield and other. Do you really think that can be done by just anyone? You have been using the magic from the start without realizing it.'
Fila sat back and thought it through. The plants, making the tree hover, the blue thread. And then it hit her. The magic felt the same, just a different intent.
She stood and took her wand and pointed towards a book in one of the bookshelves. She thought about how she used to do when a flower grow towards her. And sure enough, with a woosh the book flew into her hand.
"Omg ive been using it from the very start…" she stood stunned, but then thought back at when she screamed at Theo, "Is that also?"
She looked sharply back at the book laying on the table. And a word was already formed in bold letters.
'YES'