The new information that Fila had to put inside her little brain proved difficult. Just a few weeks ago she found out she had been the daughter of a Black as well. And now she finds out that she had Rosier blood as well.
The two sat in silence on the balcony now. The hug had lasted longer than nay hug Fila had ever experienced. But it all felt so, real.
Vinda watched her quietly, her teacup held delicately in her hands. The tears had been wiped away, and her legendary, poised composure was back, but the look in her eyes whenever they landed on Fila remained fiercely protective and endlessly soft.
"I know it is a great deal to carry, Ophelia," Vinda said softly, breaking the silence as she looked out over the glowing Parisian streets. "To discover so much of who you are in such a short amount of time. You do not have to figure it all out tonight."
Fila looked down at the dark liquid in her cup, watching her own reflection ripple. "I just always thought I was... Alone. Just a girl, with a grandfather stuck in that old tower. Now I have all these names, all these histories." She looked up at Vinda, offering a tired but genuine smile. "But I'm glad you're one of them."
Vinda wiped a tear that had began falling again.
"You aren't alone little one. Im here now." She said with a warm smile.
Fila let out a breath she felt like she had been holding since she arrived in Europe. The constant weight in her chest, the persistent feeling of being an anchorless ship in a stormy sea, eased just a fraction. Hearing those words from someone as formidable as Vinda Rosier made them feel like an unbreakable vow.
"Thank you, Grandmother," Fila said, testing out the word again. It felt less foreign this time, fitting a little better in her mouth.
Vinda's smile grew, radiant and soft in the candlelight of the balcony. She reached out and gave Fila's hand another gentle squeeze before letting go to lift her teacup.
"I think that is enough heavy revelations for one night," Vinda suggested, her voice returning to its smooth, controlled cadence, though the warmth remained. "We have a few weeks ahead of us, Ophelia. There will be plenty of time for stories and training. For tonight, let us simply enjoy the view and the quiet."
Fila nodded in agreement, leaning back in her chair and turning her gaze to the city below. The blue streetlamps of Paris continued to flicker, casting their dreamlike glow over the late night crowds.
They sat together in a comfortable, shared silence, watching the magical world go by. Fila still had a mountain of questions about the Blacks, the Rosiers, and her own mother, but for the first time in her life, she wasn't in a hurry to find the answers. She wasn't alone anymore.
The ceiling looked wired compared to the wooden beams of Nurmengard. She had woken up in one of the rooms in the Roser manor.
After talking a lot more yesterday they had gone home late. She hadn't slept this well in a long time. Only when she were in school did she ever feel this home.
Fila stretched her arms toward the high, ornate ceiling, taking a moment to appreciate the sheer comfort of the bed. After the drafty, cold stone walls of Nurmengard, waking up in a room that smelled faintly of vanilla and fresh linens felt like absolute luxury.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet sinking into a thick, plush rug. Stepping over to the window, she pulled back the heavy drapes. Bright, warm morning sunlight flooded the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Below her, the bustling sounds of a waking Paris floated up from the streets.
After quickly getting dressed in one of her new outfits from Madame Aura, Fila made her way down the grand marble staircase, guided by the rich, buttery scent of baking pastries.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs she was met by a little house elf.
"Good morning Miss Ophelia." The house elf said politely.
The little creature bowed so low its long, pointed ears swept against the polished marble floor. It was wearing a tiny, impeccably clean towel draped like a toga, secured with a shiny silver button bearing the Rosier family crest.
Unlike some of the miserable, nervous house elves Fila had read about or seen in books, this one looked well fed and spoke with a bright, cheerful cadence.
"Good morning," Fila said, offering a warm smile. She still wasn't entirely used to being waited on by magical creatures, but she was determined to be polite. "The house smells incredible."
"Mistress Vinda is waiting for you in the conservatory for breakfast, Miss! I am Mipsy, and I is making the fresh croissants and pain au chocolat for you this morning!" the elf squeaked happily, gesturing with a small hand toward a pair of frosted glass doors down the hall.
"Thank you, Mipsy. I'm looking forward to them," Fila smiled, her stomach letting out a small, eager rumble at the mention of chocolate.
Pushing open the glass doors, Fila stepped into a massive, sunlit conservatory that looked like a slice of a tropical jungle trapped in the heart of Paris. Exotic plants with broad, shimmering leaves climbed the glass walls, and vibrant flowers of every color imaginable bloomed in neat, floating pots.
Vinda sat at a white wrought iron table in the center of the greenery, dressed in a sharp, tailored daytime robe of deep navy blue. She was sipping a cup of coffee and looking over the pages of a French wizarding newspaper. When she heard Fila's boots clicking against the tiled floor, she looked up, a genuine, soft smile immediately gracing her features.
"Good morning, Little Leaf," Vinda said, setting the paper aside. "I trust you slept well? You look much more rested than you did yesterday."
Fila pulled out a chair and sat opposite her grandmother. "I did. Better than I have in a long while, actually. This place is beautiful."
"It is your home now too, Ophelia. Never forget that," Vinda replied warmly. With a gentle flick of her finger, a plate piled high with Mipsy's warm, flaky pastries floated over to settle in front of Fila. "Now, eat up. We have somethings to do today."
Fila sat down, stuffing her mouth with delicious Croissants. "That elf has magical hands. These are delicious."
Vinda laughed a little. "She's been with the family longer than anyone else. She knows every pebble in the whole manor and is, as you said. Very good at baking."
Fila swallowed her bite of croissant and nodded in absolute agreement, already reaching for a pain au chocolat. After weeks of eating sparse, functional meals in a frozen prison, this felt like an absolute dream.
Vinda watched her with an amused, affectionate glint in her eyes. She waited until Fila had slowed down just enough to actually breathe before speaking up again.
"Now that you are thoroughly fed," Vinda began, leaning forward slightly on the wrought iron table, "I have a meeting with the minister of magic, and you will shadow the meeting."
Fila let out a breath of air as she just heard the most absurd thing she ever had heard. "I will do what now?"
Vinda's smile did not waver. In fact, it took on a sharp, amused edge that Fila was quickly learning meant her grandmother was about to teach her something incredibly valuable.
"You will shadow the meeting," Vinda repeated calmly, setting her coffee cup down with a delicate click. "You will sit in the room, drink your tea, look exceptionally elegant in your new clothes, and say absolutely nothing."
Fila swallowed hard, the delicious piece of pain au chocolat suddenly feeling like a heavy rock in her stomach. "But Vinda... the Minister of Magic? I am just a student! And a Grindelwald! If he realizes who I am..."
"He will know who you are because I will tell him." She said. "I don't see a reason for you to hide behind the faults of your grandfather anymore. Its time you started appearing more and made that headmaster of yours regret ever trying to make you silence yourself."
"You're going to tell him?" Fila whispered, setting the pastry back down on her plate. "Just like that? You're going to walk into the office of the French Minister of Magic and say 'Here is Grindelwald's granddaughter'?"
Vinda's expression grew fiercely, resolutely calm. "Precisely. The British Ministry and your headmaster want you kept in a box, Ophelia. They want you isolated, feeling like a monster to be hidden away or a ticking bomb they need to defuse. That is how they control you. If you control the narrative, you control them."
She leaned in, her eyes glinting with a sharp, calculated brilliance.
"The French Minister, Maximillian, is terrified of looking weak. If I introduce you as my granddaughter and the heir to the Grindelwald legacy, and he accepts you under his roof, it sends a massive, silent message across the channel. It tells the British that France does not fear your name. It makes them look small, paranoid, and petty for how they treated you at school. We aren't hiding, Little Leaf. We are making an entrance."
Fila felt a shiver run down her spine that was equal parts sheer terror and a fierce, burning thrill. Her grandfather's relentless lessons about power and winning a room clicked firmly into place.
"He's going to choke on his tea," Fila said, a slow, nervous but genuine smile starting to spread across her face.
Vinda let out a soft, delighted laugh and reached out to tap Fila's chin. "Let him choke. It builds character."
Pov Minister of magic.
I paced the length of the grand reception room, the heavy soles of my dragon hide shoes clicking rhythmically against the polished marble. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the heavy velvet of the drapes.
"I still say this is a mistake, Maximillian," Jean Pierre, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, muttered from his perch by the window. He was nervously twisting his signet ring. "Giving Vinda Rosier a private audience on such short notice. Do you have any idea the kind of message that sends to the British?"
"It sends the message that France makes its own decisions, Jean Pierre," I countered, though my voice sounded a bit more strained than I would have liked. I stopped in front of a massive, gilded mirror to adjust the collar of my robes. "We cannot look like we are trembling in our boots at the mere mention of her name."
"It is not just a name, Minister," Lisette, my Senior Undersecretary, let out a sharp, scoffing laugh from where she stood looking over a stack of files. "It is the Rosier family. Vinda has been pulling strings in the background for decades. If she is demanding a meeting now, out of nowhere, you know exactly what she's doing. She's flexing her muscles."
"She is a citizen of high standing," I said firmly, though the knot in my stomach was growing by the second. "And I will not disrespect the Noble House of Rosier by making her wait in the lobby like a common petitioner. Now, both of you, look composed. She will be here any second."
Just as the words left my lips, the heavy double doors at the end of the room swung open with a smooth, silent grace.
Vinda Rosier glided into the room, her silver headed walking stick clicking softly on the floor. That was expected.
What was not expected was the young girl walking in perfect lockstep right beside her.
Jean Pierre actually let out a small, audible gasp, and I felt the air leave my own lungs. We had only prepared for Vinda. Who on earth was this child?
The girl looked incredibly young, yet she walked with a quiet, terrifyingly steady confidence. She was wearing a breathtaking gray velvet coat and a sharp, deep blue tunic that perfectly matched her eyes. And those eyes... they were scanning the room. She was assessing us before we could even process her presence.
"Maximillian," Vinda purred, her smooth voice pulling me out of my trance as she came to a stop before my desk. "I am glad to see you are ready for me."
"Of course, Vinda," I said, forcing a calm, diplomatic smile onto my face as I gestured to the chairs. I looked at the mystery girl, trying to place her features. "And who is this lovely young lady you have brought along? A new apprentice?"
Vinda's eyes glinted with a sharp, calculated brilliance. She placed a gentle, possessive hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Maximillian, let me introduce you to Ophelia," Vinda said, her voice dripping with a dangerous, proud warmth. "She is my granddaughter. And the direct heir to Gellert Grindelwald."
Behind me, I heard the sound of Lisette dropping her entire stack of files. Jean Pierre looked like he had been hit with a freezing charm.
I stood there, my mouth opening and closing soundlessly, looking from Vinda's intensely satisfied expression to the young girl who was now staring directly at me with unshakeable poise.
Pov Ophelia.
Fila kept her posture perfectly straight, letting a small, polite smile touch her lips. She didn't let the amusement she felt at Lisette's dropped files show on her face. Instead, she dipped her head in a graceful, measured nod toward the stunned Minister.
"Thank you for having us on such short notice, Minister," Fila said, her voice steady and calm. "I have heard so much about your dedication to preserving French wizarding culture. It is an absolute honor to finally meet you."
Her tone was warm and dripping with high society charm, mirroring the lessons she had watched Vinda display just hours before.
Maximillian blinked rapidly, the pure panic in his eyes giving way to a profound, confused whiplash. He looked at Vinda, then back at Fila, completely thrown off balance by the fact that the heir to a dark wizard was being perfectly polite and praising his leadership.
"Yes... well," Maximillian cleared his throat loudly, straightening his robes with shaking hands. "The honor is mine, Mademoiselle Grindelwald. Welcome to Paris. Please, both of you, do sit down."
Vinda gave Fila a swift, approving look that made Fila's chest swell with pride. They glided over to the plush velvet chairs in front of the desk, moving in perfect sync.
Jean Pierre and Lisette remained frozen in the background, staring at Fila as if she might pull out a wand and duel them all at any second. Fila ignored them entirely, sitting gracefully and folding her hands in her lap, ready to watch her grandmother work.
Vinda leaned back in her plush velvet chair, resting her hands on the silver head of her walking stick. She looked at Maximillian with a calm, unbothered expression that made it clear she was the one in control of the room.
"Maximillian, we both know the political climate across the channel is quite... volatile," Vinda began, her smooth voice carrying an edge of steel. "The British Ministry is chasing shadows, looking for scapegoats to cover their own incompetence. I will not have my granddaughter dragged into their petty, paranoid squabbles."
Maximillian swallowed hard, leaning forward on his desk. "Vinda, you must understand, harboring the heir to... well, to him... it places the French Ministry in a very precarious position with the International Confederation of Wizards."
"Only if you allow the British to dictate your policies, Minister," Vinda countered sharply. She gestured elegantly toward Fila. "Ophelia is a Rosier by blood and is staying under my roof as my guest. I expect the French Ministry to grant her official Citizen ship and full diplomatic protection from any overreaching foreign officials who might try to pester or extradite her. It would look quite bad for French sovereignty if you let the British bully a young girl on our soil, wouldn't it?"
Maximillian's eyes flickered nervously toward Jean Pierre and Lisette in the background. Vinda had just checkmated him. If he refused, he looked weak and subservient to the British. If he agreed, he was officially protecting Fila.
He looked at Fila, who simply offered him another polite, serene smile.
"Very well," Maximillian sighed, rubbing his temples. "I will have my office draw up the official citizenship papers by this afternoon. She will have full protection under the French Ministry."
Vinda smiled, a slow, triumphant look. "I knew you were a man of great reason, Maximillian. I will send the ministry another donation of thirty thousand galleons." She said with a smile as she stood.
Fila stood up with her and gave a look to the minister. Who had by now changed his face from worry to happy, most likely from the big donation soon coming. And most certainly some of it goes to his pocket.
As they walked out of the room, and the doors closed behind them. Fila looked at her grandmother. "Did I just become a French citizen in ten minutes?"
Vinda looked at her clock on her wrist, "I would say around fifteen, they were cranky today." She looked at her and smiled.
"But worth every single second," Vinda said, her heels clicking in a sharp, victorious rhythm against the ministry's marble floors.
She slowed her pace just slightly, slanting a look full of intense pride toward Fila. "You handled that beautifully, Ophelia. Your grandfather taught you to be fierce, but today you learned that a soft, polite word can paralyze a politician faster than any curse. You left Maximillian with absolutely no ground to stand on."
Fila couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. The rush of adrenaline from the meeting was still humming in her veins. She looked down at the floor, processing how fast her entire world was shifting.
"I still can't believe it," Fila admitted, shaking her head. "I went from being locked in a dark room at school to being a protected citizen of France because of a conversation over tea and a bribe."
"A donation, Little Leaf," Vinda corrected with a conspiratorial wink. "We call them donations in high society. And never underestimate the power of a Rosier signature. You are no longer just a target for the British Ministry to push around. You have a country standing behind you now."
They stepped out of the grand Ministry doors and into the crisp, sunlit Parisian air. The blue streetlamps from the night before were dormant, replaced by the bustling energy of a city in full swing.
"Now," Vinda said, stopping at the top of the stone steps and turning to face her granddaughter fully. "We have secured your safety, and we have rattled the cage of the French government. I would say we have earned a proper celebration. What do you say to a trip to the finest dueling salon in the city? I want to see exactly what Gellert has been teaching you, and I think it's time I showed you how a Rosier fights."
Fila looked confused. "I'm a dueling you? then I would like to concede." Fighting against one of the most feared people in Grindelwalds circle was a hard pass for Fila.
Vinda let out a short scoff. "No. you are going against my son. He spends most of his time there."
Fila stopped. Did she just hear that wrong. "I have an uncle?"
The shock hit Fila harder than any physical spell could have. She stood completely rooted to the top step of the Ministry, staring at Vinda.
Black blood. Rosier blood. A grandmother who was an elite magical operative. And now, out of thin air, an uncle.
"Yes, Ophelia," Vinda said, her amusement returning at the look of pure, unadulterated shock on Fila's face. "You have an uncle. My son, Evan. He manages a good deal of the family's more... active interests here in Paris."
"Evan Rosier?" Fila repeated the name slowly, her brain working overtime to file this new piece of information into her rapidly expanding family tree. "And he's at a dueling salon right now?"
"He practically lives there," Vinda replied, beginning to descend the stone steps. She didn't look back to see if Fila was following; she simply knew she would be. "He is quite talented with a wand, though he lacks a bit of the finesse your grandfather excels in. He favors a more... direct approach."
Fila scrambled to catch up, her boots clicking double time against the stone to match Vinda's elegant strides. The nervousness of the morning's political theater was instantly replaced by a different kind of anxiety. Meeting a politician was one thing. Meeting a blood relative who was a trained Rosier duelist was something else entirely.
"Does he know about me?" Fila asked, pulling her gray coat a little tighter as a breeze swept through the Parisian street. "Does he know who I am?"
"He knows I went to Nurmengard to fetch my granddaughter," Vinda said smoothly, turning a corner onto a quieter, tree lined boulevard. "He knows you are a Grindelwald. Beyond that, he is eager to see if you have the spine to match the names you carry."
Vinda stopped in front of a pair of heavy, black lacquered doors with no sign or markings on them. She turned to Fila, her dark eyes glittering with that fierce, protective pride.
"He will not go easy on you just because you are family, Little Leaf. In this family, we prove our worth on the floor. Are you ready?"
The words seemed to collide in her mind, all these new things she had not known her entire life. All of the sudden she had a grandmother, uncles, and even a family in Britain. Or calling them family might stretch it, she didn't even know anything about them. and most of them sat in prison anyway.
Fila stared at the black lacquered doors for a long moment, processing the sheer weight of everything she had learned in the span of just twenty-four hours.
She wasn't just Ophelia anymore, a girl with a heavy burden and an infamous grandfather locked away in a tower. She was a Black by her father, a Rosier and a Grindelwald by her mother, and the heiress to Gellert Grindelwald. She had an entire lineage of formidable, terrifying, and brilliant wizards running through her veins.
But as Vinda said, in this family, names didn't mean anything if you couldn't back them up with power.
Fila reached into her coat and wrapped her fingers around the handle of her wand. The familiar, comforting buzz of her own magic surged up her arm, calming the storm of anxious thoughts in her brain. She took a deep, steadying breath and looked up at her grandmother.
"I'm ready," Fila said, her voice dropping the polite, high society lilt and replacing it with the sharp, unwavering focus Gellert had drilled into her at Nurmengard.
Vinda's smile shifted from warm to something brilliantly predatory. "That's my girl."
She pushed open the heavy black doors, leading Fila into the dim, moody atmosphere of the dueling salon. The air smelled of ozone, burnt parchment, and expensive cologne. At the center of the room was a raised, rectangular dueling platform illuminated by floating white candles.
Standing on the platform was a tall man in his late forties with sharp, aristocratically handsome features and dark hair styled to perfection. He was firing off a series of rapid, non-verbal red sparks at a practice dummy, his movements aggressive and terrifyingly fast.
He stopped mid-cast as the doors opened, his intense gaze snapping toward them.
"Mother," the man called out, his voice smooth but carrying a rough edge as he lowered his wand. He looked at Vinda, and then his eyes slid over to land directly on Fila, narrowing in pure curiosity. "And I assume this is the little flower from Nurmengard?"
Fila did not hesitate. The time for polite smiles and high society charm had served its purpose at the Ministry, but here, in this room that smelled of ozone and raw magic, it was time for a different set of lessons.
She unbuttoned her gray velvet coat and let it slide off her shoulders, draping it over a nearby chair. Her deep blue tunic allowed her arms full freedom of movement. Without saying a single word, she reached out and pulled her wand from its sleeve holster. The wood felt warm and alive in her hand.
With a measured, steady stride, Fila walked right up the steps and onto the raised dueling platform. She stopped exactly ten paces away from her uncle.
Evan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sharp, amused smirk. He did not move from his relaxed stance, but his grip on his own wand tightened just a fraction. "Straight to business then? I like that. No wasting time on pleasantries."
Fila didn't take the bait to trade banter. Instead, she brought her wand up to her chest in a crisp, formal dueling salute, just as Gellert had taught her, before dropping into a low, balanced stance. Her eyes locked onto his, mimicking the intense, unblinking focus that had made her grandfather the most feared wizard in the world.
Evan's smirk widened into a genuine, eager grin. He returned the salute with a swift flick of his wrist.
"Let us see what the Old Man taught you in that tower, Little flower," Evan said.
In the blink of an eye, Evan snapped his wrist. A brilliant, non verbal flash of purple light erupted from his wand, streaking across the platform directly toward Fila's chest.
Fila's mind went icy calm. Evan's purple spell was blindingly fast, faster than anything she had faced at Nurmengard. Her grandfather's voice echoed in her head: Do not meet force with force if you can find the space.
She didn't freeze, and she didn't try to raise a shield, knowing his raw power might shatter it. Instead, just as the spell was about to make contact, Fila executed a graceful, fluid pivot, spinning on the ball of her right foot. The purple streak roared past her shoulder, missing her by mere inches.
Fila didn't pause. Utilizing the momentum of her spin, she brought her wand arm around. "Expelliarmus!" she cried, the disarming charm exploding from her wand, aimed right at Evan's exposed side.
Evan's eyes widened in genuine surprise. He hadn't expected the sheer speed and elegance of her movement. But the Rosier dueling style wasn't just aggressive; it was incredibly resilient.
Just as her red spell was about to hit him, Evan performed a partial Apparition. He vanished in a swirl of black smoke, reappearing two feet to his right. Fila's spell shot into the empty air where he had been standing.
Fila gasped, trying to adjust her stance, but she was a fraction of a second too late.
Evan reappeared, dropping low to the ground. Before Fila could even register his new position, he snapped his wrist upward.
"Rictusempra!" Evan bellowed.
A powerful flash of silver light erupted from his wand. Fila didn't have the space to dodge a second time, and her balance was still skewed from the spin. The silver bolt hit her square in the chest.
The impact lifted her right off her feet. She went flying backward, her back colliding with the edge of the dueling platform before she tumbled down the steps onto the padded floor below. Her wand clattered across the stone, sliding to a stop right in front of Vinda's waiting boots.
Fila gasped for air, the air totally knocked out of her lungs. Her head spun from the impact and the fall. It was the first time she had been beaten on the platform in weeks, and the sting of defeat was sharper than the physical ache in her shoulders.
Above her, Evan stood at the edge of the platform, looking down. He wasn't smirking anymore. His expression was one of genuine respect.
"Incredible," Evan said, his voice smooth and carrying that rough, appreciative edge. "The Grindelwald Pivot. I have only seen Gellert himself pull that off. You nearly had me, Little flower."
He jumped down from the platform, landing beside her, and offered her his hand.
Fila looked at his hand, then up at her uncle's face. She didn't accept the help right away. She didn't want him to think she needed to be babied after a single fall.
Fila stared at Evan's hand for a beat, processing the dizzying ache in her shoulder and the sharp sting of losing. Then, she let out a slow, measured breath, letting the frustration go.
She reached up and took his hand, allowing him to haul her back to her feet with effortless strength.
"The partial Apparition..." Fila said, dusting off her deep blue tunic and looking up at him with a look of pure, intense curiosity. "I've read about it, but I've never seen anyone do it that fast in a duel. You vanished and attacked before I could even reset my feet. You have to show me how you did that."
Evan's grin returned, wide and genuine. He looked over at Vinda, who had walked over to pick up Fila's wand from the floor.
"She has the spine, Mother," Evan called out proudly. "And she's a fast learner. Most students would be pouting on the floor or demanding a rematch they aren't ready for. She wants to dissect the strategy."
Vinda stepped forward, holding out Fila's wand. There was a look of immense, quiet satisfaction in her dark eyes. "Of course she does, Evan. She carries your blood, and his training. She knows that a loss is simply a lesson in disguise."
Fila took her wand back, feeling its comforting warmth return to her hand. She looked from her grandmother to her uncle, realizing that for the first time in her life, she wasn't being treated like a dangerous secret or a fragile child. She was being treated like a Rosier.
"Come back up on the platform," Evan said, turning and leaping back up onto the stage with catlike agility. He motioned for her to follow. "I won't teach you full Apparition in one afternoon, Little flower. But I can certainly teach you how to shift your weight and manipulate the space between your opponent's spells. Let's see if we can't get you moving a little faster."
Fila didn't need to be told twice. She climbed back up the steps and took her position, dropping into her low, balanced stance once more. The ache in her shoulder was forgotten, replaced by a fierce, burning eagerness to learn.
What followed was a series of painful lessons in dueling she would never had received from Professor Hale. Or as Fila described it, an ass beating in disguise.
"Alright, you did good little flower. you managed to win once out of sixteen times. Not bad for your age." Evan smiled as he sat beside Fila on one of the benches.
Their interactions didn't feel awkward even if this had been their first time meeting, the dueling had helped with first time meeting awkwardness. Fila still didn't feel like this actually is her uncle. It all felt so unreal and fast.
"You seem to be in deep thought, what an I say to help?" Vinda said as she sat on a armchair in front of Fila.
Fila still catching her breath, she didn't know where to start.
"Im going to ask the heavy things first." She began with. "If grandpa got locked up in that prison. What punishment did you get?"
The room suddenly grew still, the humming energy of the practice duel fading away to leave a heavy silence in its wake. Evan's easy grin vanished, and he looked over at his mother with a sudden, tense seriousness.
Vinda did not flinch. She set her teacup down on the small side table with a soft, perfectly controlled click. Her dark eyes remained fixed on Fila, filled with that same fierce, protective warmth, but a shadow of old steel passed over her features.
"A fair question, Ophelia," Vinda said, her voice smooth and measured. "The short answer is... none. At least, not from the law."
Fila blinked, looking between her uncle and her grandmother. "None? But you were right there beside him. The British Ministry, the International Confederation... they just let you walk away?"
"They didn't let me walk away," Vinda corrected softly, a faint, cold smile touching her lips. "I made it incredibly difficult for them to do anything else. When your grandfather fell at the hands of Dumbledore, his entire movement fractured. The wizarding world was exhausted. They wanted peace, not a series of endless, messy trials that would drag on for years and reveal just how many high society families had supported him."
Vinda leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on her walking stick.
"The Rosier family was old, wealthy, and deeply entrenched in the French Ministry. I was not a soldier on a battlefield, Ophelia. I was a strategist. I burned the ledgers, buried the secrets, and made myself indispensable to the new administration. They couldn't prove my direct involvement in his most... aggressive campaigns without tearing down half of the pureblood infrastructure of Europe. So, we came to an understanding. I stepped back from public life, and they looked the other way."
Evan let out a soft, dry laugh from beside Fila. "They were terrified of her, Little Flower. They still are. They knew that putting Vinda Rosier in a cage would only cause more problems than it solved."
Fila processed this, the image of her grandmother shifting yet again. She wasn't just a survivor of a fallen regime; she was a master of the political game that kept her standing when everyone else fell.
"But there is always a punishment, Ophelia," Vinda continued, her voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register. She reached out and placed her hand over Fila's. "My punishment was losing the world we tried to build. It was watching the man I respected most locked in a tower, and having to hide my daughter—your mother—away from the world to keep her safe from the people who couldn't touch me. My punishment was the silence of the last twenty years."
She gave Fila's hand a gentle squeeze. "Until now."
Fila looked down at their joined hands. The weight of the histories, the names, and the secrets felt massive, but for the first time, she felt like she had the strength to carry them.
She asked question after question, "How do you know so much about the black family? Or at least grandpa knew a lot. So I assume you have something to do with that."
Vinda nodded. She was impressed with Ophelias ability so see the picture. "Yes, I am directly involved with gathering information. An since you are a black, we needed to know what had happened to the family. We had to dig deep, even capturing some former dark wizards to get information."
A bunch of spies and trickery is the answer. The sole thing that can beat anyone, information. Having a spy network even after your downfall could prove extremely useful.
But what picture did this paint in Ophelias mind?
A very clear one. That her living relatives, at least the French one. Cared for her deeply.