Felling the warm humid air of a greenhouse felt surprisingly better than just the outside air of a jungle. This place at least had some charms that had a controlled heat, making it feel cool and warm at the same time.
Making a wreath with only magic would be extremely hard for most. Sadly or happily, fila isn't counted in that most category as she just finished making herself one with just magic.
A beautiful Wreath, with white and dark blue flowers intertwined with thin, living vines that pulsed faintly with her own magic.
The flowers changed location around the Wreath from time to time, making it feel almost alive on its own.
But it wasn't for her. As she had felt the curiosity of a little girl who had been spying on her since she came here.
Fila stood up from her seating on the floor and walked towards the door.
The little girl had blond hair, freckles and a couple of very light green eyes. She looked a bit afraid when Ophelia stood before her. But as she felt the little weight of the wreath on her head she felt, happy.
Fila smiled and walked into the school after giving the wreath to the girl.
To be honest she hadn't made that wreath for anything, she just wanted to see if she could do something else with it. like putting on a cooling charm or something. The charm wasn't hard to do, but it just didn't feel right for the wreath.
So instead she made a charm that would keep away water from the wearer. Making rain a distant problem.
A charm like that wasn't anything new in the wizarding world, everyone could do it with enough training. But putting it on a living wreath might have been a first.
The last duel had finished as predicted, with a win for the Japanese. Making Ophelia the sole point giver for the whole team.
Did it feel frustrating? Yes. No because she thought bad about her team, they did all they could. But the fact that she had to wait between each duel to even have a chance to be drawn for the next duel was a special kind of torture she didn't appreciate.
Having something to do while waiting became a sport in itself, learning new magic tricks, playing with Hugin and Munin in the jungle while keeping the little devil protectors away.
She didn't attend the classes anymore here. after feeling like she just repeated things she already knew if felt boring.
Sadly the wizard she didn't want to get noticed by had in fact noticed her being bored.
"Ophelia, maybe you should start studying for something on your own?" Headmaster Fontaine said.
They had settled at a small table in the garden area around the school. Filled with water fountains and different plants growing.
Fila adjusted her dark green blindfold, the sweat had made them slip more often.
"Yes but what?" Fila asked as she took a small treat from the table. "I already know most of the standard curriculum here. The advanced stuff is… fine, but it feels like I'm just repeating things I figured out on my own during the duels."
Fontaine leaned back in his chair, watching her with that familiar mix of fondness and quiet concern. The garden fountains bubbled softly around them, and colorful birds flitted between the flowering vines overhead.
"what about learning more about your ancient magic?" he asked.
Fila however was tried of hearing this, "There isn't anything about it, and our little book doesn't tell me much anyway. She just tells me to find out by myself." She said with a sulk.
Fontaine found this a little funny, "Maybe you should." He said bluntly as he began, "Have you really explored all possibilities with your magic?"
Fila looked away from the exotic flowers, "You mean like casting lightning bolts? The book told me about it. but I didn't feel it, I more of a flower girl if you haven't noticed."
She tapped the table, growing increasingly more impatient. She needed things to do, or atleast something to learn but knowing where to begin in the vast ocean of magic is rather difficulty.
"Have you considered getting better with your potions?" he asked with a sly smile, knowing well that Fila wasn't the sharpest tool with her potion making.
Hearing the mocking in his voice made her look at him with an annoyed look. "Don't you dare…"
"I hear that Theodore at home has grown very, very good with his skills. Even brewing a fifth year potion." He said.
Fila stood up abruptly. "OH yeah? Well I'm going to show you a potion" she said and walked of into the corridors.
The headmaster laughed softly as his goal had been achieved. The girl needed motivation in form of contest, or a race for something. Stressing her to become better had been proven to be the best way for Fila to help her.
The potion chamber of the school looked very typical. Desks with equipment, shelves with ingredients and books.
Fila in all manners wasn't very good at potions, she had never really found it exciting as casting a hex or charm on someone. But to say that potions or alchemy wasn't important would be to lie. For example, Nicolas Flamel the legendary creator of the sorcerer's stone. Granting endless life and many more secrets.
Would she ever make something like that? Most likely not since patience wasn't a strong suit of her. Time is just better spent in every other way.
*Clunk* a big cauldron hit the table with a confident sound that echoed in the chamber.
"Alright." She said while putting her arms on her hips. "This shouldn't be too hard."
"Alright," she muttered, cracking her knuckles. "Wiggenweld Potion. Healing. Simple. Theodore can do this in his sleep? I'll make one strong enough to wake the dead."
She started confidently.
First attempt:
She measured the ingredients with aggressive precision — too aggressive. The salamander blood went in too quickly, and the mixture immediately turned a violent shade of purple instead of the proper turquoise. When she stirred counterclockwise as instructed, the cauldron belched a cloud of acrid smoke that made her cough violently.
"...Okay. Minor setback."
Second attempt:
She was more careful this time. Or at least she tried to be. The fluxweed was slightly over-dried, and when she added the ginger root, the potion hissed like an angry cat and started climbing the sides of the cauldron like it was trying to escape.
Fila panicked and blasted it with a freezing charm. The potion solidified into a lumpy, foul-smelling block of purple ice.
She stared at it.
"...This is why I prefer hexes."
Third attempt:
Now she was annoyed. She threw the ingredients in with more force than necessary. The potion bubbled aggressively, turned a sickly greenish-brown, and emitted a smell that could only be described as "rotten eggs mixed with regret."
She ladled a small amount into a test vial and dropped a tiny piece of frog skin into it as a standard test for healing potency.
The frog skin didn't heal.
It dissolved.
Violently.
With a wet squelch and a puff of toxic green smoke.
Fila stared at the empty vial, then at the remains of what had been a perfectly healthy test frog earlier.
"...Oh no." Fila said while looking at the remains of the frog. Just a puddle of green slime now.
A small funeral was held, Fila pour the liquid frog into a vial and poured it out of a window while holding a small salute.
"Your sacrifice wont be forgotten." She said while pouring it out, but quickly got back to work.
The talking book, which she had brought with her, glowed softly on the desk nearby. New words appeared: 'Perhaps stick to combat magic, dear. Your talent lies in creation through destruction, not delicate restoration.'
Fila groaned and dropped her head onto the table with a thud.
Fontaine was going to laugh at her for weeks.
Later That Evening
Fila returned to the garden table where Fontaine was still sitting, now with a fresh pot of tea. He raised an eyebrow at her slightly singed robes and the faint smell of failed potion clinging to her.
"How did it go?" he asked innocently.
Fila sat down heavily, crossed her arms, and glared at him.
"I killed a frog. With healing potion."
Fontaine tried, and failed to hide his smile behind his teacup.
"Progress is progress," he said, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.
Fila groaned again and stole one of his biscuits.
"I hate potions."
"But you're going to keep trying, aren't you?"
She didn't answer. But the determined glint in her posture said enough.
The problem wasn't about what ingredients to use or what to stir or heat. The problem laid in instructions, she didn't like how they wrote them. Since being a child she had used the simple method of 'freeballing' everything and somehow it had worked out wonderfully, except in potions.
If things had been written by her, everything would be dumped into that pot directly and stirred a little, and boom. Done.
Fila had retreated to her room at Castelobruxo, with the borrowed potion book in her hands. And the self writing book laying just beside her, she had hoped it would help more.
'You just need to go step by step. Add one thing, stir or add another, set timer. Its really not that hard.' The book wrote, not helping with the frustration Ophelia felt right now.
"If its so fucking easy why doesn't everyone do it?" Fila countered.
'Everyone cant do the same thing, and just like you. not everyone has the patience for it.'
Fila gave an annoyed look towards the book. She could feel the competition being built in her mind again. "I can do it, its just… why is it so… boring." She was going to say something else but couldn't put her emotion to words.
The book flipped a page, and a drawing started forming on it. 'this is how potion work for wizards and witches. Certain conditions has to be met to acquire the desired effect. If you cut or crush an ingredient it will have different properties. And in what way you cut, chape or size has a big role in the recipe.'
Fila watched for an hour, the book tried to explain that everything could be done different. Even better by not following recipes. For example, a wiggenweld potion, a healing potion but could easily be turned into poison by just cutting ingredients wrong as Fila had discovered herself. Rip Frog.
Fila stared at the book's drawing, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The illustration showed different stages of ingredient preparation — chopping, crushing, slicing at specific angles — each one changing the final effect of the potion in subtle but critical ways.
"So basically," she muttered, "I've been treating potions like combat spells. Throw everything in and hope it works. And instead of healing… I made frog soup."
The book's pages fluttered, almost like it was sighing.
'Precisely. Your magic is intuitive and powerful, Ophelia. That is a strength in battle. But potions are like architecture. One misplaced brick and the whole tower collapses. Or in your case… dissolves.'
Fila groaned and flopped backward onto her bed, staring at the wooden ceiling of the carriage.
"I hate this. I really, really hate this. Why can't I just feel the magic and make it work? Like with the wreath. Or the flowers."
'Because healing is delicate,' the book wrote patiently. 'Destruction is easy. Creation, true creation requires understanding. You are learning to be one person. This is part of that.'
"Flowers…" Fila sat up slowly, "I can change flowers. And if they are part of ingredients, I could change the properties of them… or am I totally lost in thinking this?" she asked the book.
If for example a Fluxweed, used in many potions like the poly-juice potion. She could change something in the weed to maybe be stronger, or last longer. She already knew she could change the flowers, everything from color to hardness or even to make them explode. So changing some DNA shouldn't be too hard…
'It could work, I don't know every thing about ancient magic. I never tried doing something like that, but I think its worth trying.' The book finally answered back on a blank page.
Fila's lips curved into a small, determined smile.
"Good. Then I'll be careful."
She stood up, grabbed the borrowed potion book and headed back to the potion chamber. This time she wasn't angry or competitive. She was curious.
Her cauldron still stood untouched where she had left it. with grace she made the required ingredients float towards her. The most important part, dittany leaves.
Holding on in her hand she could feel that familiar pull that every flower had, almost waiting for her to do something with them.
Every flower is different, some just smile at her, others are angry. And than there are the strange one that ask her questions and talk to her, not in literal sense but in a flower kind of way. The dittany leaves in her hand wanted to be attached to its stem again. Sadly she couldn't, since they were about to become potion mixture.
"Shhh, its okay. But I need your help now little one." She said softly. Her intention flooded out and mixed with her magic. Just like any other spell, intention could make it stronger or weaker.
The potion shifted with a soft, almost musical hiss. The grayish-brown sludge transformed into a vibrant emerald green that shimmered with tiny flecks of silver, like starlight caught in liquid leaves. The smell changed too — no longer harsh or chemical, but clean, fresh, like stepping into a sunlit forest after rain.
Fila held her breath.
She ladled a small amount into a test vial, her hand steady despite the excitement buzzing under her skin. A piece of frog skin, carefully prepared earlier was dropped in.
This time, it didn't dissolve.
The frog skin absorbed the potion, the edges knitting together visibly, growing stronger, healthier, with a faint healthy glow that slowly faded. The regeneration was noticeably faster and cleaner than any standard Wiggenweld she had seen.
Fila stared at the vial for several long seconds.
Then a slow, genuine smile spread across her face.
"I did it," she whispered. "I actually did it."
'See, that ancient magic can be use din other ways, sure its still flowers but we can work on that.'
Fila didn't read it, she was too busy hugging the frog. Thanking it for not dying and turning into a green goo.
Fila laughed a short, breathless sound of pure delight. She carefully bottled the successful potion, labeling it with neat handwriting for once.
She tried it again with a second batch, making small adjustments to the Dittany Leaves' structure. One batch turned out even stronger. Another was slightly too potent and made the test material glow a little too brightly (she made a mental note to dilute it next time).
Fila returned to the garden table where Fontaine was waiting with tea and a knowing smile. She placed three successful vials in front of him with a quiet clink.
"I didn't follow the recipe exactly," she said, trying (and failing) to sound casual. "I changed the Dittany Leaves. Made them… more alive. Stronger. The potion works better now."
Fontaine picked up one of the vials, holding it up to the light. The emerald liquid shimmered beautifully.
"This is remarkable, Ophelia," he said, genuine awe in his voice. "But you still need to work on your potion knowledge, not every potion will use your little flowers."
She realized the book had snitched to the headmaster already as she saw the sister book laying beside Fontaine on the table. She waved her hand dissmisivly, "Yeah yeah for another day."
She plopped down into a chair by the table.
And a calm silence crept on them, only the sound of the vast amazon echoed around.
"Who is going to duel next, I forgot." Fila asked.
Fontaine looked at her confused. But a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips. "You didn't hear yet?"
Fila looked up to the headmaster. "Don't tell me its me again." she said, a annoyed feeling started to grow in her stomach.
But the headmaster laughed, "No, its Rin against Beatriz. A truly exciting match." He looked at her trying to scan if she would have some sort of reaction. "What's your opinion on the two against each other?"
Beatriz, the words didn't strike as much annoyance as it maybe should, maybe because Ophelia had grown more now. Its part of the game, maybe Fila would also go to such lengths to achieve victory someday.
"It think," she started, thinking about the two. Beatriz had her lighting magic. A difficult magic to meet head on, And Rin still a bit of a mystery. "I think they are both going to lose against me." She said with a smile that seemed way to confident. But the confidence had a certain weight behind it.
And Fontaine knew that. Ophelia could only be described as a natural in the field. Much like her grandfather and grandmother, she thought steps ahead of anyone. Thinking of losing and winning at the same time while dodging spells left and right.
He chuckled. "Maybe so."