The doors sounded solid when Fila knocked on them. the knocks echoed even to the outside of the manor.
Fila stood perfectly still, her hand dropping back to her side, though her fingers remained inches from the Black Walnut wand tucked into her sleeve.
'The whole valley probably heard that,' she thought, a spark of defiance flickering in her chest.
The silence that followed was even heavier than before. For a few long seconds, nothing happened. The manor loomed over her, its windows like sightless eyes, cold and indifferent. Fila found herself counting her own heartbeats, the steady rhythm a stark contrast to the stagnant air of the estate.
Then, the sound of heavy iron bolts sliding back reached her ears—a slow, mechanical grinding that spoke of a house built to keep the world out.
The massive doors creaked as they parted, revealing the vast, cavernous entrance hall. The transition from the gray morning light to the interior was like stepping into a different century. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax, expensive incense, and wet stone.
Narcissa Malfoy was there, standing at the center of the black marble floor. She was alone, framed by the towering shadows of the vaulted ceiling. Her emerald robes were so dark they looked black in the dim light of the silver chandeliers.
Fila stepped over the threshold, her boots clicking sharply. She didn't wait to be invited.
'It's even colder in here than it was outside,' Fila realized, her gaze sweeping over the portraits of scowling Black and Malfoy ancestors lining the walls.
"You have a very determined knock, Ophelia," Narcissa said, her voice light and melodic. "It's a refreshing change from the usual hesitant scratching we get at these doors."
Fila felt the tension in her neck ease just a fraction. "I didn't want to stand in the fog any longer than necessary, Aunt Narcissa. It's a bit damp out there."
"Quite right," Narcissa agreed, a faint, genuine-looking smile touching her lips. "London weather is rarely cooperative. Come, let's go to the morning room. It's the only place in this house where the sun actually manages to reach the floorboards."
As they walked, Fila's eyes darted around. She'd expected to feel a crushing weight of "Dark Magic," but instead, it just felt... old. And very, very wealthy. She spotted a silver-framed photograph on a side table, a younger Narcissa laughing with two other girls.
The morning room was actually quite cozy. The windows were massive, looking out over a garden where the white peacocks were currently picking at the grass. A silver tea service sat on a low table, the steam rising in lazy curls. It was all very civilized, which almost made Fila forget that she had a wand hidden up her sleeve.
"Sit, please," Narcissa said, gesturing to a plush, cream-colored armchair. She began to pour the tea with practiced ease. "Sugar? Regulus always took three. He had a terrible sweet tooth, much to our mother's annoyance."
Fila sat down, surprised by the mundane detail. "Three? I usually take two. I suppose I missed out on the extra spoonful."
Narcissa chuckled softly, handing her a delicate porcelain cup. "You have his hair, I quess you got your mothers eyes. But you have a certain... spark. A bit more fire than he had at your age. Regulus was always the quiet one, the one who listened when everyone else was shouting."
Fila was growing bored of everyone telling her she got that or this from her mother and father, she was pretty sure she had heard people say she has both eyes now.
She leaned back, her gaze turning nostalgic as she looked out at the garden.
"When I hear that Regulus had a daughter, I could barley believe it. I didn't think he had any time to even meet someone, or even would like to meet someone." She said as she looked back at Ophelia. "But I quess he found a rather interesting girl."
Fila took a careful sip of her tea, the warmth of the porcelain seeping into her palms. 'the blandest tea ever, was this made from grass?' she thought.
Fila kept her face a mask of polite interest, though internally she was questioning the culinary standards of Malfoy Manor.
'The blandest tea ever,' she thought, the lukewarm liquid sliding down her throat. 'Was this steeped in actual grass? I've had better brews from a chipped mug at the apothecary.'
She set the porcelain cup back onto its saucer with a delicate click, deciding that one sip was more than enough for the sake of etiquette. She wasn't here for the refreshments, anyway.
"Lets change topic. How is school at Ilvermorny?" She asked.
Fila smile."I…" but before she could continue two others entered the room.
The soft, polite atmosphere of the morning room shattered as the heavy doors swung open with a synchronized precision that felt far more like a performance than a simple entrance.
Fila's hand instinctively twitched toward the wand in her sleeve. She didn't draw it—that would be a social disaster—but the hum of the Black Walnut wood against her skin was a necessary comfort.
Two figures stepped into the pale light.
Leading the way was a man who could only be Lucius Malfoy. He was tall, with platinum-blonde hair, but his was pulled back. He carried a silver-topped cane that clicked rhythmically against the floor, and his pale eyes swept over the room with a cold, calculating gaze that made Fila feel like a specimen under a microscope.
Trailing just a step behind him was a boy a couple years younger than Fila. He was a carbon copy of his father, from the pointed chin to the slightly arrogant tilt of his head. He wore high-quality black robes that looked stiff and brand new, his silver-blonde hair slicked back without a single strand out of place.
"Narcissa," Lucius said, his voice a smooth, icy drawl that carried an immense amount of unearned authority. "I wasn't aware we were receiving guests this early in the day."
He came to a stop beside his wife, his gaze finally settling on Fila. He didn't smile. Instead, he looked at her with a mix of intense curiosity and a strange, guarded suspicion.
"And this," Lucius continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, "must be the long-lost daughter of Regulus. The girl who has been the talk of the Ministry's travel department for weeks."
Fila stood up and extended her hand. Her head held high with a confident stance. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Malfoy. I'm Ophelia Rosier Grindelwald."
Fila's voice was as cool and clear as mountain water, carrying a weight that seemed to catch Lucius Malfoy off guard. She didn't use the name "Black"—she led with the two names that carried the most formidable shadows in the wizarding world.
Lucius's gaze dropped to her extended hand. He didn't take it immediately. He spent a calculated three seconds letting his eyes linger on the intricate carving of her Black Walnut wand peeking from her sleeve, then tracked up to the unwavering intensity in her mismatched eyes.
'He's trying to weigh me,' Fila thought, her hand remaining perfectly still in the air. 'Like a piece of silver he's not sure is genuine. How tedious.'
Beside his father, Draco's smirk faltered. He looked at Fila's hand, then at his father's face, sensing a shift in the power dynamic he hadn't expected. The name Grindelwald had a way of sucking the oxygen out of a room, even a room as grand as this one.
Finally, Lucius reached out. His grip was firm and dry, his long fingers cold against her skin. He bowed his head a fraction of an inch, a gesture of respect he clearly didn't give to many.
"The pleasure is ours, Miss Grindelwald," Lucius said, his drawl losing a bit of its sharpness. "Your arrival in England has been... anticipated. The Rosier blood is unmistakable, but I see the Grindelwald steel has not skipped a generation."
He released her hand and gestured toward Draco. "This is my son, Draco. He will be starting his first year at Hogwarts shortly."
Lucius's voice held a rare note of genuine intrigue. He retreated a step, leaning slightly on his cane as he watched Fila with the practiced eye of a man who had spent his life navigating the most dangerous social circles in Europe.
Draco, however, looked less like a polished aristocrat and more like a boy who had just realized the "American cousin" was significantly more formidable than the stories had suggested. He puffed out his chest slightly, trying to reclaim some of the authority he usually commanded in this house.
"First year," Draco repeated, his voice hitching just a fraction. "Though I've already mastered most of the introductory charms. My father says I'll be top of my house in no time."
Fila sat back down, smoothing the dark fabric of her robes. She caught Narcissa's eye for a fleeting second—the woman was watching the interaction with a silent, almost guarded pride.
"A first year," Fila mused, her voice soft but carrying clearly through the large room. "That is quite a leap. I remember my first year at Ilvermorny. It's a time for... making impressions."
She looked Draco up and down, her mismatched eyes lingering on his pristine robes.
'He's so small,' she thought. 'Like a fledgling bird trying to look like a hawk because his father told him he had to.'
"You'll find Hogwarts is quite different from your American school, Miss Grindelwald," Lucius said, finally taking the seat opposite her. He signaled to a house-elf who had appeared silently in the corner to bring a fresh pot of tea, presumably one that didn't taste like lawn clippings. "Tradition runs deeper here. Ancestry isn't just a point of pride; it is a map of one's destiny. Your father understood that, eventually."
The mention of Regulus brought the conversation back to the heavy center of why she was there. Lucius watched her reaction carefully, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the silver snake-head of his cane.
"Is that why you came to see us?" Lucius asked, his eyes narrowing. "To find your father's map? Or are you looking to draw one of your own using your grandfather's... ink?"
Fila didn't flinch at the mention of her grandfather. She reached for the new cup of tea, which smelled infinitely better, and took a slow, measured sip.
"I think," Fila said, setting the cup down with a precise click, "that I am quite capable of doing both. But one cannot build a future without understanding the foundation it's sitting on. You and my father were close, weren't you, Mr. Malfoy? You were both part of the same... circles."
The air in the room grew still. Draco looked between his father and Fila, sensing that the conversation had moved into waters far deeper than school scores or broom models.
Ophelia had fired to biggest shot in the room, and it wasn't just a bullet. But a whole cannonball. Everyone knew the hidden meaning behind it, the question no was how he would take it.
A smile grew on Fila's lips. She liked it.
The silence that followed was heavy, pressing against the ears like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. Narcissa's teacup remained suspended halfway to her lips, and even young Draco seemed to hold his breath, his eyes darting between the silver snake-head of his father's cane and the calm, challenging smile on his cousin's face.
Lucius Malfoy did not look away. He didn't blink. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but a grim acknowledgement of the trap she had just laid. He was used to being the one holding the magnifying glass, not the one under it.
"Circles," Lucius repeated, the word sliding off his tongue like silk over a blade. "A poetic way to describe a whirlwind, Miss Grindelwald. Your father and I were indeed... contemporaries. We shared a vision of what this world ought to be. A world where names like ours weren't just footnotes, but the very ink the laws were written in."
He leaned forward slightly, the light from the tall windows catching the cold silver of his signet ring.
"Regulus was a man of great conviction," Lucius continued, his voice dropping to a confidential, velvet register. "But conviction without the stomach for its consequences is a tragic thing. He found himself standing at the edge of a precipice, and rather than flying, he chose to vanish. Some called it a betrayal. I always preferred to think of it as a lapse in... endurance."
Fila's smile didn't falter, but it sharpened. She could hear the subtle dig, the implication that her father had been weak.
'You're testing me,' she thought, the Black Walnut wand warming against her skin. 'You want to see if I'll bite, or if I'll crumble like you think he did.'
"Endurance is easy when the path is straight, Mr. Malfoy," Fila countered, her tone light, almost conversational. "It takes a different kind of strength to realize the path has turned into a dead end and have the courage to walk away. My grandfather always said that the most dangerous person in the room isn't the one with the biggest wand, but the one who has nothing left to lose."
Lucius's eyes flared with a sudden, sharp interest. He hadn't expected her to throw his own ideology back at him with a Grindelwald twist.
"A dangerous sentiment," Lucius murmured. "One that usually leads to a very short, very loud life. I trust you aren't planning on being quite that... explosive during your stay in Britain?"
Fila was actually loving this, the adrenaline pumping in her blood made her feel, invincible.
"Let me ask you something." Her eyes suddenly turned almost grim. "Did you know about the plot to silence me forever, when a death eater slipped into school and used the cruciatus curse on me?" she scanned the three of them, looking for a slight reaction. She really hoped her aunt wasn't involved.
Narcissa's teacup hit the saucer with a sharp, porcelain clack. The blood drained from her face so quickly she looked like one of the marble statues in the foyer. "A plot?" she whispered, her voice genuine in its horror. "Ophelia, I... I knew there was an accident, a sickness that kept you asleep, but a curse? At school?"
She turned a frantic, questioning look toward her husband, her hand trembling slightly as it reached for the edge of the table.
Lucius, however, remained a fortress of practiced indifference. His grip on his cane tightened just enough for the silver to creak, but his expression stayed as smooth as a frozen lake. He didn't look shocked; he looked annoyed that the conversation had moved to a topic so unrefined.
"A tragic occurrence," Lucius drawled, though his eyes were sharp and predatory. "The wizarding world is full of radicals who act without sanction. To suggest that I, or anyone in this room, would have a hand in harming a child of our own blood is... a bold accusation, Miss Grindelwald. Even for you."
Draco sat perfectly still, his eyes wide. This wasn't the kind of "game" he was used to. He looked at Fila with a new kind of fear, not because of her name, but because she was talking about the Cruciatus Curse as if it were a common weather report.
'Narcissa didn't know,' Fila realized, noting the way her aunt's breathing had become shallow. 'But Lucius? He isn't denying the plot exists. He's just denying the invitation.'
Fila didn't like these people, all that grandpa had told her about the blatant arrogance and just awful personalities seemed very true now.
Fila's eyes stopped on Narcissa who seemed almost apologetic, maybe she wasn't involved. But she knew the things that they could do, and she probably felt guilty about that, to some sickened degree.
The silence was broken up by… Fila laughing. "My apologize, these days one can never be too certain with everything going around."
She leaned back, the effortless grace of her posture mocking the stiff, defensive lines of Lucius's frame.
'Look at them,' she thought, a cold, detached amusement blossoming in her chest. 'Grandfather was right. They wrap themselves in silk and silver to hide the fact that they're terrified of anything they can't buy or bully.'
She looked at Narcissa, whose face was still a shade of ghostly white. There was a flicker of something almost like pity in Fila's mind, Narcissa lived in a beautiful cage, surrounded by men who traded in the very darkness that had almost snuffed out Fila's life.
"I'm sure you understand, Mr. Malfoy," Fila continued, tilting her head. "A girl in my position has to be... thorough. It would be quite a shame if I spent my time in Britain looking over my shoulder at the wrong people."
Lucius's jaw remained tight, but he forced a short, stilted nod. He didn't like the laughter. It suggested that Fila wasn't just powerful, she was unpredictable.
"Thoroughness is a virtue," Lucius conceded, his voice returning to its icy drawl, though he didn't lean back. He remained poised to strike, or perhaps to flee. "Though I suggest you direct your... thoroughness... toward the enemies who actually show their faces. You'll find that in this country, those who go looking for monsters often find them."
"Oh, I'm not looking for monsters, Lucius," Fila said, standing up with a sudden, fluid motion that made Draco flinch. She smoothed her robes, her Black Walnut wand hummed against her arm, satisfied. "I'm just making sure the monsters know who I am. It saves so much time on introductions later."
She turned toward Narcissa, her expression softening just enough to be noticeable. "Thank you for the tea, Aunt Narcissa. The stories about Regulus were... enlightening. I think I've seen enough of the manor for one day."
Narcissa stood as well, her movements shaky. "Of course, Ophelia. You... you are always welcome. Please, remember that."
Fila didn't wait for a house-elf to escort her. She began to walk toward the door, her boots clicking a steady, defiant rhythm on the marble. As she reached the threshold, she paused and looked back over her shoulder at Lucius, who was still standing by the table like a statue of cold spite.
But she turned before going out into the hallway. "And good luck in school Draco. That boy Harry Potter sure does seem interesting."
The name hung in the air like a localized frost.
Lucius Malfoy's eyes snapped to his son, his face contorting into something far more dangerous than mere annoyance. Mentioning Harry Potter in this house was not just a social faux pas; it was a reminder of the night the Malfoys' world had come crashing down, and the reason Lucius spent so much time groveling at the Ministry to maintain his standing.
Draco looked like he had swallowed a lemon. The awe he had felt for Fila moments ago was instantly replaced by a sharp, stinging jealousy. He had been hearing about the "Boy Who Lived" since he was in the cradle, and to have his formidable older cousin mention him with such casual interest was a blow to his ego he wasn't prepared for.
"Interesting?" Draco spat, his voice cracking slightly. "He's a half blood who got lucky. There is nothing interesting about him, Ophelia. He probably doesn't even know which end of a wand to hold."
Fila didn't bother to correct him. She didn't mention the sparks she'd seen in the wand shop or the way the air had hummed when she and Harry were near each other. She simply let her gaze linger on Draco for a second longer, a look of pity that was far more insulting than any shout, and then she turned and walked out.
The heavy oak doors seemed to pulse as she moved through the entrance hall. The scowling portraits of her ancestors felt like they were shrinking away from her, the "Grindelwald steel" in her blood making the very stone of the manor feel unwelcoming.
She stepped out onto the gravel driveway, and the London fog rushed to meet her, cool and damp against her flushed skin.
'That was for the tea, Lucius,' she thought, a dark, satisfied thrill running through her. 'And for thinking I'm as easy to read as my father was.'
One thing she had gotten out of this, the Malfoys or the Malfoy. Knew about the attempt on her life, how much did he know or had been involved. That she did not know yet.
Did it matter? No and yes, by now she had already decided to make every single attempt on her life feel like a war. But would that war include the whole Malfoy family, well that was to be decided.
The carriage lurched forward, the wheels crunching over the gravel as Malfoy Manor faded into the gray, clinging mist behind her. Fila sat back against the velvet cushions, her heart still thrumming with a steady, rhythmic heat.
She looked out of the window, seeing that depressing manor fade away with distance really felt good. And the person who took its place in her mind, Theo.
'Goddammit Theo, making me think about you in this time'
Thinking about him really helped her calm down, and Fila didn't like it. now she would have a red face again and get all warm and fuzzy.
Instead she took out some paper and started writing about what happened to her grandmother, she didn't write to Gellert since she would tell him anyway.
She sealed the letter with a sharp press of her thumb, feeling a sense of finality. The mystery of her father wasn't solved, but the board was set.
When the carriage finally pulled up to the Carter manor, Fila didn't wait for the door to be opened. She hopped out, the damp air hitting her face, and saw a figure standing by the stables.
Theo was there, Rose gripped in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other. He looked up, his face breaking into a look of such pure, unadulterated relief that Fila felt that "funny little flip" in her chest all over again. He dropped the cloth and started toward her, his pace quick and urgent.
"You're back," he said, his voice a bit rough. He stopped just a foot away, his eyes scanning her for any signs of the "monsters" she'd gone to visit. "You're actually back. And you're not... cursed. Or crying."
Fila offered him a small, triumphant smile, though her cheeks were definitely starting to pink up. "I'm not crying, Theo. In fact, I think I'm the only one who left that house feeling better than when I entered."
Theo let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders finally dropping from their defensive hunch. "God, Fila. I've been staring at the clock for three hours. I was about ten minutes away from actually flying over there."
"I know," she said softly. "And that's exactly why I was able to handle them."
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the playful glint returned to his eyes, though it was softer now. "So? Did you kick ass?"
Fila laughed, a light, genuine sound. "I think I might have accidentally started a very polite, very expensive war. But yes, Sir Carter. I kicked ass."
The library was a far cry from the cold, museum-like halls of Malfoy Manor. Here, the air smelled of honey-vanilla tobacco from Tiberius's pipe and the worn leather of books that were actually meant to be read.
Fila sprawled out on the oversized velvet sofa, her boots kicked off and a bowl of enchanted, self-popping corn floating between her and Theo. Theo was currently buried in his Quidditch manual, but he was holding it upside down—a clear sign he was far more interested in her story than the "Wronski Feint."
"So, let me get this straight," Theo said, peeking over the top of his book. "You looked Lucius Malfoy—the man who literally owns half the Ministry—in the eye and told him his tea tasted like a swamp?"
"I didn't say it, Theo," Fila giggled, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. "I just looked at the cup like it had personally insulted my ancestors. Which, to be fair, it had. It was a crime against water."
Theo caught the popcorn in his mouth with a triumphant grin. "And Draco? Did he cry? Tell me he cried at least a little bit."
"No, but he looked like a confused ferret when I mentioned Harry Potter," Fila said, leaning her head back against the cushions. "It was like I'd set off a dungbomb in a perfume shop. The silence was... magnificent."
"You're a menace, Ophelia," Theo chuckled, finally tossing his book aside. He shifted closer, his shoulder brushing hers. "Mentioning the Boy Who Lived in Malfoy Manor is like bringing a cat to a kneazle fight. Bold. Completely unnecessary. I love it."
Fila felt that familiar warmth creeping up her neck, but this time, under the soft glow of the library lamps, she didn't try to fight it. "He was so arrogant, Theo. Acting like being a first year was the equivalent of being a war general. I told him good luck and to try not to get cursed."
"A bit rich coming from the girl who woke up from a five months nap and immediately started throwing forests around," Theo teased, nudging her.
"Hey! I've been awake for months now," she countered, sticking her tongue out. "And for your information, my 'nap' was very restorative. It gave me the patience to deal with your ego."
"Ouch. My heart, Fila. Truly," Theo clutched his chest, sliding dramatically down the sofa until his head was resting near her knees. "I spend my whole summer making sure you're fed, trained, and entertained, and this is the thanks I get? Slander?"
Fila looked down at him, her fingers twitching with the urge to mess up his perfectly messy hair. "You got a custom broom out of it, Sir Carter. I think we're even."
"Rose is worth it," he admitted, looking up at her with a soft, playful glint in his dark eyes. "But I think I'd prefer the 'nap' if it meant I didn't have to worry about you starting a blood feud before we even get back to school."
"No promises," Fila whispered, her voice dropping into a comfortable, easy tone.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of soft laughter and lighthearted bickering. They moved from talking about the Malfoys to debating whether the Hogwarts Express served better pumpkin pasties than the Ilvermorny cafeteria, and eventually, the conversation drifted into a comfortable silence.
"Are you nervous about the tournament coming up?" Theo finally said.
Fila who had almost fallen asleep opened her eyes. "No, but I'm looking forward to see what our dear headmaster has hidden in his sleeve." He didn't want Ophelia to win, so surely he would have to do something to stop her, Right?
Theo cracked a walnut between his palms and gave her half. "Maybe he has changed his mind." He said.
Fila gave him a glare, as if saying that both of them knew damn well that he would be the last person to change his mind.
"You don't think I will win anyways?" she said and stood up, she paced slowly until she stood right in front of him as he sat on the couch. She leaned down to get to his eye level. "Say that I wont win to my face, sir Carter."
Theo didn't flinch. Instead, he let his head rest back against the cushion, looking up at her with that maddeningly calm, lopsided grin. The lamplight caught the gold in his eyes, making the playful glint there seem almost predatory—but in the softest way possible.
He didn't say anything for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between them until the only sound was the distant crackle of the dying fire. He took a slow bite of his half of the walnut, never breaking eye contact.
"You want me to say it?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, humored rumble. "Alright. Ophelia Rosier Grindelwald, I think you're a terrifyingly talented witch with a wand that can literally summon spring storms and a temper that would make a Hungarian Horntail think twice."
He leaned forward just an inch, closing the small gap she had created by leaning down.
"But I also know that our dear headmaster is a man who plays with loaded dice," Theo continued, his expression shifting from teasing to something fiercely protective. "So no, I won't say you won't win. I'll say that if you don't, it's because the game was rigged from the start. And if that happens, I'll be the one helping you flip the table."
Fila felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and for once, it wasn't because she was annoyed. It was that "Grindelwald steel" meeting something equally strong in him.
"That was a very long way of avoiding the question, Sir Carter," she whispered, her gaze flickering down to his lips for a split second before she snapped her eyes back to his.
Theo laughed, a soft, breathless sound. He reached up, his fingers grazing the fabric of her sleeve right where her wand was hidden. "Fine. You want it straight? You're going to win. You're going to walk into that arena, make everyone else look like they're playing with twigs, and the headmaster is going to have to swallow his own tongue while he hands you the trophy."
He paused, his thumb tracing a small circle over her wrist.
"But fila, you need to wake up now." Theo said.
Fila looked at him confused. "What?"
He didn't say anything for a short while. "this isn't real fila, this had all just been a dream."
The library, which had felt so solid and warm just moments ago, began to warp and bleed at the edges. The smell of honey-vanilla tobacco and toasted walnuts curdled into something stagnant and metallic. Fila tried to pull back, to demand what kind of sick joke Theo was playing, but his hand on her wrist didn't feel like skin anymore. It felt like cold, rusted iron.
"What are you talking about?" she whispered, her voice cracking as the shadows in the corners of the room began to stretch and writhe like living things.
"You've been gone a long time, Ophelia," Theo said, but his voice was changing, losing its boyish charm and becoming a hollow, rasping echo. His face began to pale, his features smoothing over like melting wax until his amber eyes were just dark, empty sockets. "They're waiting for you. Back in the dark."
The soft velvet sofa beneath her disintegrated into jagged, freezing stone. The warmth of the fire died instantly, replaced by a damp, bone-chilling draft that carried the scent of copper and decay.
"No," Fila gasped, reaching for her wand, but her sleeve was empty. Her arm felt heavy, slick with something hot and viscous.
"Wake up," the thing that looked like Theo commanded, its jaw unhinging unnaturally. "Wake up before they take the rest of you."
The library walls collapsed inward, dissolving into the grime-streaked stone of a windowless cellar. The transition was a violent, sickening whiplash.
Fila's eyes snapped open, not to the golden glow of the Carter estate, but to a flickering, sickly green light.
A scream died in her throat, coming out as a wet, bubbling wheeze. She was upright, but not sitting comfortably. Her wrists were bolted to the arms of a heavy wooden chair, the iron biting deep into skin that had been rubbed raw to the bone. Her body didn't feel like hers anymore; it was a map of fire and ice, humming with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse.
"There she is," a voice sneered from the shadows, followed by the slow, rhythmic clink-clink of metal instruments hitting a tray. "The little princess finally decided to join us again. Did you enjoy your nap, Rosier or is it Grindelwald?" the man gave a sickly laughter.