Learning to walk and function without a pair of eyes proved as difficult as it sounds.
Walking became almost like an obstacle course that never ended. Her flower gave her sight yes, but they only saw her. Meaning that she didn't she things from her but from the flowers point of view.
She was basically playing a game while trying to control herself. So what is the solution? Of course to her flower on her, in the pocket, or even behind her ear. That way it would almost become her real eyes again.
The transition from playing a third person game with her own body to something resembling true sight was a grueling process of trial and error. Placing a small, resilient blue blossom behind her ear changed everything. It wasn't perfect; the perspective was slightly higher and more lateral than her old eyes, and the world was filtered through a soft, bioluminescent hue of sapphire and violet.
Each flower gave a different view, some only seeing contrast while others had these hues and even short or long vision. Trees for example had the best vision, they could see almost as a human, but she couldn't carry a huge oak around.
So her panthers, Hugin and Munin. Had tree vision.
Which made her able to see what they saw when they were out of the ground.
But one thing she found out was that magical plants were different, they didn't have standard vision. They saw thing that were 'magical'. If she looked at a wizard or witch with these she would see their magic.
Their magic depended on the person. Vinda for example had a dark green magic, and Evan had a lighter green. Even Mipsy had a light yellow.
The "magical flower sight" was a kaleidoscope of magical signatures that made the world feel more like an abstract painting than a physical space. It was disorienting at first, seeing a person not as a face or a silhouette, but as a swirling, nebulous cloud of intent and power.
Would this be helpful? Very much no. but it was cool to see what color someone's magic is. Making her feel very witch like.
Fila even had a dark blue color, much like her eyes were.
The doctor looked confused when he did his checks on her like he had everyday since she came back. But he didn't ask why she was tilting her head while looking at him.
"You are in much better health. I would even say you could return to school on time. but I advise you think that through as the mental strain might be a lot on you right now." He said.
The doctor's magic was a dull, rhythmic brown, like tilled earth. It was a stable, comforting color, but to Fila, it felt agonizingly slow. She tracked the movement of his hands not by the light reflecting off his skin, but by the way his brown aura pulsed with the effort of casting diagnostic charms.
"Okay doc," she answered simply.
The doctor sighed, the brown of his magic flickering with a hint of gray, exhaustion. He packed his silver instruments away, his movements hesitant as he avoided looking directly at the dark fabric covering her eyes.
She clicked her tongue as he walked out of the room. "Did you hear him. He thinks I might go insane if I meet too many people." Fila said with a hint of joke to her two panthers sitting on either side of the bed.
She turned to her panther, "You guys aren't very good talkers."
Fila made her way down the stairs slowly. The addition of her flower sight had made walking around a bit easier, but still a challenge.
Vinda sat in the living room reading the newspaper.
"Ah, Fila. There is a letter for you." She said when Fila entered the room.
Fila took a seat and held the letter in her hands. She opened the envelope and took her flower from behind her ear. She held in over the letter. It couldn't only be described as an odd thing to see. And even seeing herself from the flower in the vase on the table made her question herself.
"Its from Dumbledore." Fila said, he finally responded. "He said that they could meet, but he cant leave the uk."
Did she want to meet him just to meet? No absolutely not, she would rather just stay home. But the curiosity in her burned for answer about why this Harry Potter had been viewed in her dream. She wanted to know why he was special.
But not leaving the Uk? Not even for a girl who got tortured? Come on cruel old bastard.
"Then we go to him, I would like to visit Diagon alley anyway." Vinda said with a smile.
The mention of Diagon alley pulled a memory back into Fila's mind, a fond one where she and Theo browsed the different stores without a care in the world.
But something pulled harder, harder than that fond memory.
Than it hit her, she stood up and walked up to her room. Vinda looked up startled by the girls sudden movement, thinking she was about to fall or something.
Fila walked up the stairs again to her room. And the door swung open. And there she saw it. The Black walnut wand.
The very wand she had made in her dream. But now this wasn't a dream. Fila pinched herself, thinking she needed to wake up.
She had looked at the wand just a couple of days ago but didn't think much of it until now. "How are you here?" she asked the wand, thinking it would jus respond.
Fila sat down on the bed, facing the nightstand where the wand rested peacefully.
She picked it up and held it in her hand. It felt just like it had in her dream, she twirled it and made a book from her bookshelf float towards her with the natural ease like always.
As she dismissed the spell, the book flopped down on the floor with a thud. "You shouldn't exist," Fila whispered, her voice trembling for the first time since she'd stood up from the bed. "I made you out of thin air and desperation. You were part of a dream!"
Obviously that dream wasn't just a dream, was it a message of a different reality. Well maybe but she herself, or some part of her, her magic told her it was just a dream. The thinking even made her head spin as she dove deeper into the complexity of the whole situation.
"Alright you know, I don't care." She said as she laid the wand down on her bed. But she hesitated. And for a moment she just stood there, and it didn't take long for her to reach for the wand again.
*Poof*
She wasn't in her room anymore. The feeling about where she were right now felt familiar. She smell, the warmth, and the beautiful feeling of the open fields.
"You think too much Ophelia," the familiar voice said.
A small tug hit her lips as she turned to the voice. Her eyes worked again because she had come back to her little dream where she had been talking to her magic.
"Well yeah, I'm confused. That's what you do when your confused." Fila answer back.
The other Fila stood just a couple meters away from her. She looked just like she had that time they talked. In the bloody with dress, with messy hair and that bloody piece of cloth over her eyes.
"You didn't make the wand Fila, you called for it." she began and the Fila sat down. "And your magic needed that wand. So it reached out and took it from the so called 'dream'" she said.
Fila sat down next to the other version of herself. The stark contrast of the two. One wore the clothes she had been tortured in, and the other a deep blue dress with a white carefully made cloth also covering her eyes. But the other looked put together while the other still felt destroyed.
The fields were warm, a golden breeze tossing the heads of the sunflowers in a lazy, rhythmic dance. It was quiet here, but not the suffocating quiet of the manor, it was the peaceful kind, like the lull after a long storm.
Fila adjusted her dress, feeling the soft grass beneath her. She looked at the other version of herself. It was like looking into a strange, warped mirror. One girl was a survivor picking up the pieces, and the other was the raw, untamed magic that had kept her heart beating in the dark.
"You called for it," the other Fila repeated, leaning back on her elbows and tilting her chin up to the dream-sun. She looked remarkably relaxed for someone wearing a dress that had seen better, and much bloodier, days. "Think of it like a very aggressive form of grocery shopping. You were starving for a weapon, so your magic reached out and grabbed the best thing on the shelf. It just happened to be on a shelf that didn't technically exist yet."
Fila let out a dry, small laugh, picking a blade of grass and twirling it between her fingers. "So I've basically committed inter-dimensional theft? Great. I'm sure that'll go over well if I ever have to explain it to a Ministry official."
"Who's going to tell them?" The other girl shrugged, a casual movement that made the indigo stains on her blindfold shift. "It's yours. It has your heartbeat in it. Besides, you looked so cool holding it in the dream. It would have been a waste to leave it there."
Fila smiled, a real one that didn't feel quite so heavy. "It is a nice wand. Much better than the ones they try to give you at the shops. But why the boy? Why Harry Potter?"
The other Fila rolled her side to face her, resting her head on her hand. She looked like she was about to spill a secret during a sleepover. "Honestly? Because he's a mess, Fila. His magic is like a tangled ball of yarn. But he's the same kind of 'miracle' you are. I think our magic just wanted to see if he was as annoying in person as he was in the stories."
She reached out and poked Fila's shoulder, a light, playful gesture.
"Don't stress the 'how' so much. You're going to London! You get to see if the ice cream is actually better than our dream-version, and you get to find out if Dumbledore's beard is really as long as people say. Just... try not to let Hugin eat any of the locals, okay? It's bad manners for a first visit."
Fila chuckled, the sound bright and clear in the open field. "I'll try. But no promises if they're rude."
Poof.
Fila opened her eyes, or rather, her awareness snapped back to the dark silk covering them. She was back in her room, the Black Walnut wand still warm in her hand. She felt lighter, the complexity of the "how" fading into the background.
The day after she stood outside the door of a ministry room in Britain.
Vinda had followed her to Britain, but much to her grandmothers disappointment she wanted to talk with him alone. Even after Vinda said she didn't trust him.
'Yeah, I know,' Fila had thought when she thought back to the conversation between Vinda and Albus in her dream.
The door opened with a steady swing. Inside stood a long table in the middle of the room. At one end sat Dumbledore, and to his right sat the minister of Britain.
The room was thick with the scent of aged parchment, lemon drops, and a heavy, suffocating layer of political boredom. Fila stepped inside, her oak cane clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. Behind her ear, the small blue blossom pulsed, washing the room in its signature sapphire hue.
She didn't need tree-vision to find them. The magical signatures in the room were practically screaming.
To her left, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was a frantic, vibrating mess of lime-green and muddy orange. His magic felt thin, like cheap fabric stretched too far, fluttering with every anxious breath he took. But Dumbledore... Dumbledore was a different story entirely.
Theo had lost the bet. Dumbledore's magic wasn't purple or sparkling; it was a blinding, multifaceted orange. It really reminded her of a raging fire.
"Miss Rosier Grindelwald," Dumbledore said, his voice as smooth and warm as the honey in her morning tea. "It is a profound relief to see you on your feet. Your resilience is... well, it is quite remarkable."
Fila smiled. "Thank you Professor. Is that the right way to call you?" she actually didn't know, since he wasn't her headmaster. But he was still a professor.
"Professor will do perfectly," Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying that same warm, honeyed tone, though the fiery orange of his magic seemed to flicker with a sudden, sharp curiosity as he observed her. "Though some prefer Headmaster, or simply Albus, if they are feeling particularly bold."
Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat, his lime-green magic fluttering nervously. "Yes, well, quite. Miss Rosier, I must say, the British Ministry was deeply distressed by the... events in France. Truly. We are glad you have chosen to visit us, though under such circumstances."
Fila didn't bother looking in Fudge's direction. Through the sapphire-tinted view of the blossom behind her ear, she watched Dumbledore. The man was a lighthouse of blazing, golden-orange fire, but beneath that warmth, there was a core of something incredibly still and incredibly cold. It was a fascinating contrast.
"I'm sure you were distressed, Minister," Fila said, her voice smooth but carrying that jagged, rasping edge that made Fudge flinch. "It's always distressing when a pureblood heir is nearly turned into fertilizer because of a lack of oversight. But as I told my grandmother, I'm not here for the sympathy. I'm here for the business and just talk about a certain topic."
Fila walked to a chair not to far from Albus but not very close either. About two chair away from him.
"I want to make a donation to Hogwarts, as the heir of Grindelwald."
The silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the soft, rhythmic ticking of Fudge's pocket watch. The Minister's magic, already a mess of lime and muddy orange, practically curdled. He looked like he was trying to swallow a lemon whole.
Dumbledore, however, didn't flinch. The fiery orange of his aura didn't flare in anger; instead, it deepened, swirling with a complexity that made Fila's "flower sight" thrum. He leaned back, his long, thin fingers interlacing over his chest.
"You want to do this as a message." Dumbledore finally said. "A message to the Dark wizards and to everyone that the Grindelwald name doesn't follow in the footsteps of the past. Am I understanding that correctly?"
Fila leaned her oak cane against the table, the thunderbird carving seeming to watch the two men.
"Yes and no. I'm not responsible for the crimes my grandfather committed. and I will not pay for them, but a message to show that there isn't a feud still going would make them think that." Fila explained, the message would send a lot of signals everywhere. To the locals and just day to day wizards would certainly think that its an apology, but the purebloods would see it as a big middle finger to them.
"I will make a donation of fifty thousand galleons, this would help the school a lot yes?" Fila said with a small smile.
Fudge actually made a sound like a dying squeaky toy. His lime-green magic spiked so sharply it practically flickered, a chaotic mess of greed and pure, unadulterated shock. Fifty thousand galleons wasn't just a donation; it was a political earthquake. It was enough to rebuild half a wing or fund an entire department for a decade.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, remained as still as a statue, though the fiery orange of his aura hummed with a newfound depth. He looked at Fila over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his eyes—though Fila could only sense them as intense points in the fire—boring into the dark silk of her blindfold.
"A truly... magnificent sum," Dumbledore murmured, his honeyed voice carrying a hint of genuine surprise. "Hogwarts has always relied on the generosity of its patrons, but a gift of this magnitude from a student, especially one from a rival school, is quite unprecedented."
"I want them to be used on improving the school, and to support students who doesn't rely on their pure blood dirty money." Fila said with a smile, already imagining what their faces would look like.
"A goal as noble as it is... provocative," Dumbledore said, his voice retaining that calm, honeyed resonance. "The scholarship funds at Hogwarts are always in need of reinforcement. To prioritize talent and character over lineage is a principle I have long championed, though I suspect your phrasing will cause quite the stir in certain circles."
"Let them stir, Professor," Fila rasped, her thumb tracing the thunderbird carving on her cane. "I find that people only whisper in the dark when they're afraid of the light. I'm just giving them a very expensive reason to keep their mouths shut."
Fila clapped her hands. "Now for less boring talk." She turned to Dumbledore. Her dark green blindfold sticking making Dumbledore remember the things they had done to her. "I want to know more about a certain boy, you know who im talking about."
Dumbledore looked at fudge. "Could you give us the room, I think this conversation is going to be difficult."
Fudge nodded and stood up, he walked out with careful steps. only turning to look at Fila ones before he walked out of the doors.
Fila leaned back. "I saw him in a dream, my magic seemed to think he was important. I want to know why."
The golden-orange fire of Dumbledore's magic seemed to draw inward, becoming dense and focused. He didn't immediately answer. Instead, he reached for a small silver bowl on the table, the metallic clink of his spoon against the porcelain echoing in the now-quiet room.
"Dreams are a fickle thing, Ophelia," Dumbledore began, his voice dropping an octave. "But for a witch of your... specific lineage, and given the circumstances under which your magic was forced to defend itself, a dream is rarely just a dream. Harry Potter is, in many ways, a boy defined by a moment he cannot remember. Much like you are now being defined by moments you wish you could forget."
Fila tilted her head, her sapphire-tinted vision tracking the way the fiery magic around him rippled. "He survived a killing curse. I survived a cellar and several cruciatus curses. My magic reached out and found him because it recognized the scent of the ancient magic on him. But that doesn't explain why he is the one the world is obsessed with."
Dumbledore sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a century. "The world is obsessed with legends, and Harry was made into one before he could speak. He is special because he was loved by a mother who gave her life to shield him, creating a protection that even the darkest magic could not penetrate. But I suspect your magic didn't find him because of his fame."
Fila didn't know what she thought about what he was telling her, and she didn't really believe it either.
"My ancient magic reacted to him, and told me he was important to something. But I never got the answer as to what he is important." Fila said.
Dumbledore paused, his silver spoon hovering for a fraction of a second over the bowl. The fiery orange of his magic settled, turning into a deep, contemplative amber that pulsed slowly, like embers in a hearth. He looked at Fila, and for a moment, the "Professor" mask slipped, revealing the weary architect of a world he was still trying to hold together.
"To be important is often a burden, Ophelia, as I suspect you are beginning to learn," Dumbledore said softly. "Harry is important because he is a living testament to a choice. The magic that saved him, that ancient, sacrificial protection, did not just save his life. It tethered him to a destiny that is still unfolding. He is the focal point of a shadow that has not yet finished its work in this world."
There is something he isn't telling her, and she could tell he wasn't going to either. He didn't even seem surprised when she told him about ancient magic. This would most likely raise several questions from anyone else.
Fila knew this fox infront of her wasn't just a random wizard, he was one of the best in history. And most likely the strongest right now. He wasn't just strong but extremely smart, he knew the game of cat and mouse while being the dog.
Fila and Albus both sat in silence while scanning each other, one of them looking through the flower and the fox sizing her up seeing if she would carry the sword her grandfather had dropped.
"Harry is special, I cant tell you why. But in due time it will be revealed, not publicly, but through events." Dumbledore said calmly.
And there it was, the word she had waited for, 'events' he knew.
"Alright, I understand." Fila said. This was a simpler answer, given how this stubborn professor wasn't going to tell her why.
From this whole conversation, Fila had understood something about this old wizard. That being that he is smart and really boring. The whole talking in riddles thing seemed genially true.
"That wand you have is really interesting." He said out of the blue.
Fila felt her spine straighten at the question. He was strong no doubt, but to know her wand was something weird.
Fila smiled, trying to act normal. "Well of course its my wand." Shit I blew it, that didn't sound normal.
Dumbledore chuckled, and stood up. "I think out conversation is coming to its close, its been a pleasure to meet you. Ophelia Rosier Grindelwald."
"The pleasure was mine, Professor," Fila replied, her voice regaining its smooth, calculated poise. She stood as well, her oak cane sounding a sharp, final clack against the floor.
Behind her ear, the blue blossom tilted, capturing a final view of the room: the stagnant, lime-green residue of Fudge's anxiety by the door and the roaring, ancient amber of the man before her.
"One more thing professor." Fila said by the door. He turned to her. "What would it take to convince you to let my grandpa live with me in America?"
He stood still for sometime, Fila didn't know if he was actually thinking about it or just thinking about how stupid she was for even asking such question about Gellert Grindelwald.
"I might need some time to consider, but I don't see it as a impossibility if acceptable conditions are met. But that for another time." he said, he actually gave her a smile.
Fila had thought she would get the scolding of a lifetime right here. but he seemed rather calm, Albus and Gellert knew each other. And they were very close. But wounds of what Gellert did wont heal quickly, or maybe never. And letting him leave wouldn't just be a big thing for albus but also the wizarding world.
She nodded to him and finally left the room.
Vinda met her just outside, she didn't look too happy about her going in there with the old fox.
"He didn't bore you out or try to scam you with his riddles did he?" she asked as Fila approached her.
If she could she would roll her eyes at her grandmother. "No he didn't. Did you get the thing?"
Vinda nodded but than remembered that her granddaughter cant see that. "Yes I had someone get it, and even had it specially made as you said. It will arrive at the address tomorrow." Vinda said. Fila had given her a little request during the meeting with Dumbledore. "But who are you giving the broom to?"
Fila felt a mix of emotions as she remembered the broom. She had given it to him in her dream, and now she would in reality aswell, even going as far as to etch the name 'Rose' on it as he had named it.
"Its for Theo, Grandma." Fila said with a slight smile.
Fila looked at her pitiful granddaughter. Vinda knew what her granddaughter went through, she had somewhat told her. Not fully but she knew something happened between them in her dream, but that Theo actually sees someone.
"He already has several brooms, Ophelia," Vinda remarked, her dark green magic swirling with a playful, knowing undercurrent. "But I suppose a custom-etched Firebolt is a bit different than his usual collection."
Fila didn't need to see her grandmother's face to know she was being teased. She adjusted the blue blossom behind her ear, the sapphire-hued world sharpening as they moved toward the Ministry elevators.
"And the name 'Rose'?" Vinda pressed, her voice light. "A bit poetic for a boy like Theodore, isn't it?"
Fila didn't even answer that.
During the last few days of summer. Fila spent her time getting more used to being without eyes. Letting go of the cane was a big step. The cane had only been a balance helper for her, she didn't need it to walk.
Learning to become better at understanding the flower, and seeing better through them helped a lot, but she wanted to become better. If this would be a permanent blindness she wanted to be a master at it. master of dueling even when blind. Moving like she had eyes.
Would this be easy? No, but if it was easy everyone would be a master at it.
The French weather had shifted slightly, it still held the summer weather but winds were more frequent. and days were getting shorter.
Fila sat in the garden of the Rosier manor. Her chair made from vines and flowers, stood peacefully near the giant oak tree in the back of the manor. Her mind on everything at the same time. she had felt that the meeting with Dumbledore didn't give her what she wanted, but also did.
Knowing why Harry Potter is special would ease her mind a lot. All because her dream had showed him to be so important that she HAD to meet him. And just the lackluster amount of hints that Albus had given her made her a little frustrated. But she also knew that time would tell, Maybe she just has bad patience?
Vinda suddenly stood beside Fila, pulling her from her deep thoughts.
"Is everything ready for school start? And you travel back to America?" she asked gently while brushing she girls hair a little after the wind had blown it slightly.
Fila smiled. "Yes, everything is ready. Did Elsbeth and Rowan respond?"
"Yes, they will meet you at the portkey." Vinda said.
Her grandmother had been against Fila starting school already. She thought it was so close upon her accident. But fila didn't listen to any of that, being home had started to bore her out of her mind.
The thought of staying at the manor for another month, surrounded by the smell of healing potions and the heavy, silent pity of the portraits, was more terrifying to Fila than the prospect of navigating a crowded school hallway.
"I can't stay here, Grandmother," Fila said, her voice soft but firm, the indigo magic around her flickering like a steady flame. "The walls are starting to feel like the cellar. At least in the world, the air moves."
Vinda sighed, her dark green aura softening with a mix of resignation and pride. "I know. You were always a bird that refused the cage, even one made of gold and silk. Just... promise me you will use the panthers if the crowds become too much.."
"I will," Fila promised.
She didn't like seeing her grandmother worried or sad. But she needed to move a bit, go out and somewhere else. Being sat in one place all the time got really boring. But she had one more stop before she could go back to America.
*BOOM*
The double doors blew open with a thunderous back, not from an explosion. But a sudden force of energy released from a spell. She spell blew the hinges clean of making the doors crash down into the stone floor.
Gellert raised his eyes meeting the familiar person in the dust filled doorway.
"Did you really have to do this again?" he asked calmly.
Fila stepped onto the doors on the floor. she put her arms on her hips, standing proudly on them. "It's a tradition grandpa. And it's a damn good one."
Gellert looked at the hinges, last time she did this only one of the hinges had blown of. But then his eyes settled on the girl. The blindfold covering her eyes, the scars visible on her hands leading up on her arms. And even scars on her face.
His heart ached in a way it hadn't in a long time. he wanted to go hug the little one.
Gellert didn't wait for her to say another word. He stood up from his rickety wooden chair. He crossed the room in a quick stride and pulled her into a hug that smelled like old books and the cold mountain air.
"Im sorry that I still cause you pain even after so long." He said silently.
She didn't say much and just joined the embrace, she didn't know he could give hugs this warm. She wrapped her arms around him, sinking slowy more and more.
"Its not your fault. But it hurt like hell." She said, joking about her own trauma.
Gellert understood what she was doing, making light of her trauma and hurt. Trying to hold together the little she had I what could be called humanity.
"A Rosier to the end," Gellert murmured, his hand resting gently on the back of her head, careful of the blue blossom tucked behind her ear. "Using wit as a shield when the spells run dry. I suppose I can't complain; I taught you that move myself."
He pulled back slightly, looking down at her. To anyone else, his gaze might have been terrifying, but to Fila, through the sapphire filter of her flower-sight, he was just a soft-glowing anchor in a world that had become far too chaotic.
"You're heading to America, then? Back to that school with the long name?" he asked, leading her toward the small wooden table. He didn't hover, sensing her growing confidence in her own movements.
"Ilvermorny," Fila corrected, hopping onto the edge of the table rather than the stool. "And then to Japan for the Tournament. And i made a donation to Hogwarts. Fifty thousand galleons. Dumbledore looked like he'd swallowed a lemon drop the wrong way."
Gellert sat in his rickety chair, a genuine, cozy smirk playing on his lips. "Fifty thousand? Oh, Ophelia... you really are my granddaughter. There is no better way to haunt Albus than to be generous with the gold he thinks is cursed."
Gellert let go, but walked to a small box over the fireplace, but before he swirled his finger. Making the door settle back into place.
He took the box and held it in front of him for a short moment.
Then he turned to Ophelia. "This was something I had made for your mother, but she could never see it." he held the box towards her. "But don't open it yet, open it before the tournament."
Fila looked up at her grandpa after looking at the box. "Alright couldn't you have given this to me then? Im not going to be able to hold out for another month." She said with a hint of annoyance.
Gellert chuckled and patted her head.
"So much like your mother. Now go, you will need to rest a lot before school." He said as the door opened behind them.
In stepped a person she hadn't seen in a while.
Elsbeth put her hand over her mouth as she saw Ophelia for the first time since before summer. Rowan stood still as he saw her blindfold and countless scars. The two people who had trained her and almost raised her after her mothers death.
"Ophelia," Elsbeth said in a rasp voice as her tears started falling down on her chin. She ran into Ophelia giving her a warm hug. "How could they do this…"
Fila stiffened for a fraction of a second, the physical weight of Elsbeth's grief pressing against her.
"I'm still here, Elsbeth," Fila said, her voice sounding older and more tired than it had just moments ago with her grandfather. She didn't return the hug with the same desperation; her arms stayed somewhat loose, her fingers brushing the soft fabric of Elsbeth's robes. "They did what they did, but they didn't get to finish. That's what matters."
Rowan finally moved, his heavy boots thudding softly on the stone floor. He didn't join the hug. He simply placed a large, calloused hand on Fila's shoulder. His magic was warm, like a hearth fire that had been banked for the night, but she could feel the heat underneath.
"You've grown sharp, little bird," Rowan rumbled, his voice thick. "Like a blade tempered in a very bad fire."
Fila pulled back from Elsbeth, wiped a stray tear from the older woman's cheek with a silk-gloved thumb, and smirked. "Tempered or just burnt, Rowan? I haven't decided yet. But I've got a new wand and a fifty-thousand-galleon hole in the family vault, so I'd say I'm doing okay."
Elsbeth let out a watery laugh, stepping back and looking at the star-shard ring on Fila's finger, then at the gnarled Black Walnut wand tucked into her sleeve. "A Rosier through and through. Always counting the cost before the bodies are cold."
Gellert watching them smiled. "Take her home, she will need a lot of strength for her tournament."
Elsbeth and Rowan turned and walked towards the door, Fila turned to her grandpa. "I will try coming here for Christmas. And of course send you a news paper of my glorious victory."
Gellert Waved his hand, "Yeah, yeah. Miss big talk. Go now." He said with a smile.
The doors of the mountain prison closed with a big thud. Winds blew colder air now with summer almost being over.
Rowan and Elsbeth held a portkey towards her, "Lets go home." They both said.