The medical wing of Castelobruxo smelled of strange herbs, sweet resins, and something floral that almost masked the iron tang of blood. Fila sat on the edge of a narrow cot, staring at the stone floor. Her black vest and white shirt had been cut away, leaving her in bandages and a thin healing gown. The left side of her body throbbed despite the potions they'd forced down her throat, the cracked ribs, the jagged cuts across her thigh and collarbone. The healers had done excellent work, but some pain refused to leave.
She welcomed it.
Every pulse of discomfort was a reminder of what she had done.
Fila closed her eyes and saw Beatriz's face again.
Not the warm, reassuring smile from the stands before the duel. Not the soft-eyed girl who made her feel almost human. Instead, she saw the version from the very end — standing at the railing, tears cutting clean lines down her cheeks, staring at Fila like she was looking at a stranger. Like she was looking at him.
Ophelia Grindelwald.
Fila's hands tightened on the edge of the cot until her knuckles went white.
"I had to win," she whispered to the empty room. "I had to."
The words tasted like ash.
She had gone into that ring angry for Marcus, yes. But somewhere between the first blood and the final scream, it had stopped being about Marcus. It had become about the dark room. About the flayed man on the wall. About proving, to herself, to the crowd, to the name she carried, that she wasn't weak. That she wasn't pretending.
And all it had cost her was the look on Beatriz's face.
A soft knock at the door made her flinch. A Castelobruxo healer stepped in, checked the bandages on her arm without speaking much, and left another vial of Pain-Relief Potion on the bedside table. The woman's eyes lingered on Fila for a second too long, wary, almost fearful—before she hurried out.
Fila didn't blame her.
She looked down at her bandaged arm. Underneath, the skin was still raw. She remembered the way Lara had screamed when the roots impaled her. The wet, gurgling sound of her final yield.
Fila pressed the heels of her palms into her eyesockets, the blindfold laid by her side.
She would have done the same to me, a cold voice whispered in the back of her mind. You saw what she did to Marcus. You saw Yumi smiling.
But that wasn't the point. The point was how good it had felt to stop holding back. How natural it had been to let the roots answer her rage. How easily the curses had rolled off her tongue once she stopped apologizing.
The door opened again.
This time it was June. Her best friend looked pale, eyes red-rimmed from crying. Miles stood behind her, quiet and tense.
Fila quickly put on her blindfold again.
"Fila…" June started, then stopped. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Fila's shoulders anyway, careful of the injuries. "You're okay. That's what matters right now."
Fila didn't hug her back at first. When she finally did, it was stiff.
"Did you see her face?" Fila asked quietly, voice rasping worse than usual.
June pulled back. She didn't need to ask who.
Miles shifted uncomfortably by the door. "You went pretty far, Ophelia. A lot of people are talking. Some of the Castelobruxo students are furious. The professors… they're not saying much, but it's not good."
Fila stared at the floor again.
She kept seeing Beatriz's trembling hands in that dark room. The version Ophelia had conjured. The real version in the stands. They overlapped until she couldn't tell which was which anymore.
"I didn't want to hurt her," Fila whispered. "Not Lara. Not really. I just… I saw Marcus under that rock. I saw Yumi smiling. And then something inside me just… snapped. And once it started, I didn't want to stop."
June sat beside her on the cot. "You're not him, Fila. You're not your grandfather."
"Aren't I? I made the ring bleed. I enjoyed it, June. For a few seconds, I really enjoyed it." She hitched, "And the face of Bea… my heart burst when I saw her June an.. and… she wont forgive me I saw it." She started to cry, harder than she had ever.
Fila's shoulders shook as the tears came harder than they ever had in front of anyone. Not the quiet, controlled tears she allowed herself in dark rooms or empty corridors — these were raw, ugly sobs that tore out of her chest and made her cracked ribs scream in protest. She hunched forward, blindfold already damp, pressing her face into her hands.
"I saw her, June," she choked out between gasps. "She looked at me like I was a monster. Like I was him. And the worst part is… maybe she's right."
June pulled her closer, stroking her hair with trembling hands. "Shh. Breathe, Fila. Just breathe."
Miles stood awkwardly by the door, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but clearly unwilling to leave. He eventually stepped closer and put a hesitant hand on Fila's uninjured shoulder.
"You protected your teammate," he said quietly. "You won. That's what champions are supposed to do. It just… got intense."
"Intense?" Fila laughed through the tears, the sound broken and bitter. "I impaled her, Miles. I held on her until she was choking on her own blood. And I liked it. For a moment I felt free. Then I looked up and saw Bea's face and everything shattered."
The silence that followed was only broken by Fila's uneven breathing.
She wiped at her blindfold uselessly. "She's too good for this. Too good for me. I keep telling myself I can keep the darkness locked away, that I can be the version she smiles at. But every time something real happens, every time I get pushed… it comes out. And now she's seen it. She's seen all of it."
A long, heavy pause.
The door creaked open again.
Beatriz stood there, framed in the doorway, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles pale.
Bea's gaze found Fila immediately. For a second, something complicated flickered across her face, fear, sadness, worry, and something softer that refused to die completely.
"Fila…" she whispered.
Fila froze. The sight of her made fresh tears spill from beneath the blindfold. She looked away, ashamed, shoulders curling inward as if trying to make herself smaller.
"I'm sorry," Fila rasped, voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry you had to see that. You shouldn't have… I didn't want you to see what I really am."
Beatriz took a hesitant step into the room. Then another. June gently pulled away to give her space, though she stayed close.
Bea stopped right in front of Fila's cot. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and took one of Fila's bandaged hands in both of hers. Her fingers were warm, trembling slightly, but they didn't pull away.
"I was scared," Beatriz admitted, voice thick with emotion. "Not just for Lara. For you. I saw what that darkness does to you, Fila. How it eats you. And I… I didn't know how to help."
Fila let out a shaky breath, still unable to look directly at her.
"I don't know if I can be fixed, Bea. I keep trying. I keep pretending I'm just Ophelia Grindelwald, Ilvermorny champion, your… whatever I am to you. But maybe the monster is the real me. Maybe the rest is just a mask."
Beatriz squeezed her hand tighter.
"Then we'll fight the monster together," she said softly, though her voice wavered. "I won't run away just because it's ugly. But you have to let me in, Fila. No more hiding behind 'I'm sorry for what I'm about to do.' No more locking me out of the dark parts. If you keep feeding that side alone… one day it might not let you come back."
Fila finally lifted her head. Even through the blindfold, she could feel the weight of Beatriz's gaze.
"I don't deserve you," she whispered.
"Maybe not yet," Bea replied with the ghost of a sad smile. "But I'm still here. And I'm not leaving unless you tell me to."
The tears came again, quieter this time. Fila leaned forward and rested her forehead against Bea's shoulder, careful of her injuries. Beatriz wrapped her arms around her gently, holding her as if she might break.
In the back of Fila's mind, Ophelia was silent.
For now.
Outside the medical wing, the whispers had already begun. Rumors about the "Butcher of the Jungle." About how Grindelwald's granddaughter had finally shown her teeth.
But in that small room, for a little while, there was only the sound of quiet breathing and the fragile hope that warmth could still hold back the dark.
Fila laid cuddled in the arms of Bea, everyone else had gone out.
Fila let herself sink deeper into Beatriz's arms, her bandaged body curled against the Brazilian girl like a wounded animal seeking shelter. The cot was narrow, but neither of them cared. For the first time since the barrier had dropped, the constant roar of violence in her chest had quieted to a low hum.
Bea's fingers moved slowly through Fila's hair, gentle scratches at her scalp that sent small shivers down her spine. The unfamiliar melody she hummed was soft and low, almost like a lullaby, carrying the faint rhythm of something tropical — warm nights and slow rivers. It wrapped around Fila's jagged edges and made them feel, for a moment, less sharp.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Fila's breathing eventually evened out, though the occasional hiccup of leftover tears still shook her. Her blindfold was damp against Bea's shoulder, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. Not yet.
"Did June tell you who got drawn in into the next duel?" Bea asked, she seemed to hesitate a little when she said it, as if she didn't know if it was the right time and place.
Ophelia shook her head, but didn't answer.
Bea didn't say anything, not directly. Maybe considering how to say this in a good way.
"Itsuki and You." she dropped.
Fila stiffened in Bea's arms. The calm that had finally begun to settle over her shattered like thin ice.
"Itsuki?" she repeated, voice low and rough. She pulled back just enough to face Beatriz, even though the blindfold hid her eyes. "Yumi's Itsuki?"
Bea nodded slowly, her fingers still tangled gently in Fila's hair. "They drew the names while you were being treated. The next match will be held when you have been fully treated."
Fila let out a slow, shaky breath. Of course. The universe had a cruel sense of humor.
Itsuki. She had watched him during the opening ceremonies and a few training sessions, tall, quiet, precise. His magic felt like winter steel: cold, sharp, and impossibly disciplined. If Yumi had been ice, Itsuki was the blade forged in it. He wouldn't break easily. He wouldn't scream the way Lara had.
"That's really annoying." Fila pouted.
"I'll have to kill him," she whispered before she could stop herself.
Bea's hand froze mid-stroke.
"Fila…"
"I'm serious." Fila's voice cracked. "If I hold back, he'll destroy me. You saw what Yumi did to Marcus. Itsuki is worse. He's their ace."
Thinking like this wasnt totally wrong and even Bea had to admit that. Yumi hadn't hesitated to almost crush a man to death for a win, and if Itsuki followed that tone, well it could end in a blood bath.
She buried her face deeper into the crook of Bea's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her — warm skin, faint traces of tropical flowers and parchment. It grounded her, but only barely.
"I don't want you to watch," Fila said quietly. "I don't want you to see me like that again."
Beatriz was silent for a long moment. Her arms tightened around Fila's shoulders, careful of the bandages.
"I'm going to watch," she said finally, voice gentle but firm. "Because if you're going to fight that darkness, I want to be there to pull you back. You don't have to do this alone anymore. Not the fighting. Not the aftermath."
Fila laughed bitterly, the sound muffled against Bea's shoulder.
"You say that now. But what if I go too far? What if I enjoy it again? What if I put him in the medical wing looking worse than Lara? Or worse…" Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "What if I don't stop when he yields?"
Bea pulled back slightly and cupped Fila's face with both hands, thumbs gently brushing along her jaw just beneath the blindfold.
"Then I'll scream your name until you hear me," she whispered. "I'll remind you who you are. The girl who gets excited about ugly jungle stages. The girl who talks too fast about roots and shadows. The girl who blushes when I call her 'amor'."
Fila's breath hitched.
"You make it sound so simple."
"It's not simple," Bea admitted, voice trembling just a little. "It's terrifying. But I meant what I said. I choose you. All of you. Even the parts that scare me. Even the parts that scare you."
And in a sudden motion, Bea pulled her even closer.
And two lips met.
It wasn't soft or hesitant like Fila had imagined it might be in her quieter moments. Bea kissed her with a desperate kind of tenderness, as if she could pour every ounce of warmth she possessed straight into Fila's broken places. Her hands cradled Fila's face with careful reverence, thumbs tracing the edge of the blindfold while her lips moved slowly, deliberately, like she was trying to memorize the moment.
Fila froze for half a second — then melted.
A broken sound escaped her throat as she kissed back, one bandaged hand fisting weakly in the front of Bea's shirt. The taste of salt from tears lingered between them, but beneath it was something sweeter. Something alive. For the first time since stepping out of that jungle ring, the cold voice in the back of her mind went completely silent.
When they finally parted, both of them were breathing harder. Bea rested her forehead against Fila's, their noses brushing.
"I've wanted to do that since the day we met," Bea whispered, voice shaky with emotion. "I just… I was scared I'd scare you away."
Fila let out a wet, disbelieving laugh.
"You're scared of scaring me?" She shook her head, blindfold brushing against Bea's skin. "After everything you just saw me do… you still want this? You still want me?"
Bea answered by kissing her again, slower this time, deeper, a quiet promise pressed into her lips. When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I want all of you, Ophelia Grindelwald. The girl who makes my heart race when she talks about roots like they're old friends. The girl who cries in my arms because she's terrified of what she's capable of." Bea's thumb gently wiped away a fresh tear that had slipped beneath the blindfold. "And yes… even the terrifying parts. Because they're part of you. And I'm not running."
Bea's words hung in the quiet air between them like a spell more powerful than any Fila had ever cast.
Fila's breath trembled. She reached up with her good hand and gently touched the side of Bea's face, fingertips tracing the dried tear tracks on her cheek as if she still couldn't quite believe she was allowed to do this.
"You're insane," Fila whispered, but there was no bite in it, only exhausted wonder. "Completely insane."
"Maybe," Bea replied, smiling softly. She leaned in and kissed Fila again, slower, sweeter, taking her time like they had all the hours in the world. When she pulled back, her voice was barely audible. "But I'm your kind of insane."
Fila let out a shaky laugh that turned into something closer to a sob. She pressed her forehead harder against Bea's, their breaths mingling.
"I've never had anyone look at me like this after seeing what I can do," she admitted. "Not really. People either fear the name or want to use it. But you… you see the whole mess and you still stay."
"Because I see you," Bea said simply. Her fingers returned to Fila's hair, stroking gently. "Not just Grindelwald's granddaughter. Not just the terrifying duelist who made the jungle bleed. I see the girl who gets excited about broken terrain and ancient trees. The girl who cares enough about Marcus to lose control when he's hurt. The girl who's trying so hard to be better than the blood in her veins."
Fila stayed silent for a long moment, just breathing her in. The pain in her ribs and arm had dulled to a distant throb thanks to the potions, but the ache in her chest felt different now, warmer, almost hopeful.
"Isnt it weird… like all this after just a week of knowing each other?" Fila asked.
Bea Gave a slight scoff, "So what? It feels like I've known you for longer. And who cares? Lets get to know each other even better while knowing each other."
To Fila that didn't sound bad, sure a little crazy maybe. but is it any different from talking with each other for three months of even a year?
Fila let the words settle over her like a warm blanket. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of her mouth for the first time since the duel.
"Yeah… I guess you're right," she murmured, her voice still raspy but softer now. "Time feels fake when it's like this. One week with you feels heavier than years with anyone else."
Bea's fingers never stopped their gentle movement through her hair. She hummed in quiet agreement, the same soft melody from earlier returning for a few bars before fading again.
"Feels like the universe threw us together on purpose," Bea whispered. "A Brazilian girl who believes too much in people and a girl carrying the heaviest last name in the wizarding world. Sounds like the start of a very stupid, very beautiful story."
Fila huffed a quiet laugh that made her ribs protest, but she didn't care. She tilted her head up slightly, blindfold brushing against Bea's chin.
"I like stupid stories," she said.
They stayed wrapped around each other in comfortable silence for a while. The potions were finally pulling Fila deeper into sleep, but she fought it just a little longer, wanting to stay in this moment — warm arms, soft breathing, the faint scent of tropical flowers and healing herbs.
Bea eventually shifted them both carefully so they could lie down properly on the narrow cot. She pulled Fila against her chest, one arm securely around her waist, careful not to press on any wounds.
"Sleep, amor," Bea whispered against her temple. "Tomorrow is tomorrow. Tonight you're safe. Tonight you're just mine."
Fila's eyelids grew heavier beneath the blindfold. The last thing she felt before drifting off was Bea pressing one more gentle kiss to her forehead and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
The next morning, Fila didn't find her Brazilian beauty beside her.
She sat up and found a note beside her bed telling her that she would come back after helping the Castelobruxo champions.
But she wouldn't get to wait for so long, because before stood Fontaine.
"Good morning Ophelia, hope you could get some sleep. But I don't think the sleep is an issue with good company." He said, and had this slight smirk like a mother asking for details after a first date.
Fila didn't humor his question, "Did you come here to tell me I went bat shit crazy yesterday?"
He actually laughed, which made Fila confused. She thought he came here to tell her how stupid she is.
"No no. you won, and you didn't break any rules. But, I came here to invite you for tea with the present headmasters." He said with a smile.
"What?" Fila just let out, "With, ALL of them?"
Fontaine's smirk widened, clearly enjoying her discomfort far too much.
"Precisely. Apparently yesterday's… performance made quite the impression. They want to speak with you before the next duel. Neutral ground, tea and biscuits, the whole civilized affair." He tilted his head. "Though I imagine 'civilized' might be a stretch after what the jungle looked like when you finished with it."
Fila exhaled sharply through her nose and swung her legs over the side of the cot, wincing as her cracked ribs protested. The bandages pulled tight across her burns and cuts.
"Great. A tea party with the people who probably want to expel me, congratulate me, or study me like a cursed artifact." She ran a hand through her messy hair. "Did they say what they actually want?"
Fontaine shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "Official line is to discuss the 'integrity of the tournament' and your… unique dueling style. Unofficial line?" His expression softened just a fraction. "Some of them are scared of you, Ophelia. Others are impressed. A few are wondering if yesterday was the real you finally showing up."
Fila's jaw tightened.
"And what do you think?"
Fontaine was quiet for a moment, watching her with that sharp, professor-like gaze.
"I think you're a seventeen-year-old girl carrying more weight than most adults could handle. And I think yesterday you let some of that weight off in the worst possible way." He pushed off the doorframe. "But I also think you won. Brutally, yes. But you won. Now the question is whether you can control what you unleashed."
Fila didn't answer right away. She reached for the fresh set of clothes someone had left for her, simple Ilvermorny black and white — and began changing behind the privacy screen the healers had set up.
"Bea left a note," she said, changing the subject. "Said she was helping the Castelobruxo champions. Is Lara…?"
"Alive," Fontaine confirmed. "Badly hurt. She'll be in the wing for a while, but she'll recover. Physically, at least."
Fila's hands stilled on the buttons of her shirt.
"Good," she muttered.
Fontaine waited until she stepped out from behind the screen, now dressed and looking more like herself again, even if she moved stiffly.
"Tea is in thirty minutes in the Headmistress's private atrium. Try not to threaten anyone." He gave her that annoying smirk again. "And try not to blush too hard if they ask about your overnight guest."
"Shut up, Fontaine."
He laughed as he left the room.
The atrium was beautiful in that overwhelming Castelobruxo way, living vines climbing marble pillars, a glass ceiling that let in dappled sunlight, and a long table set with delicate teacups and plates of pastries. It felt far too peaceful for the conversation that was about to happen.
When Fila entered, the four headmasters were already seated.
Headmistress Benedita Dourado looked composed but tired. Professor Dumbledore. sat ramrod straight, her expression unreadable. The Durmstrang headmaster, a tall, severe man with a thick gray beard named Igor Karkaroff, watched her with sharp, calculating eyes. And lasty the Headmaster of Mahoutokoro, Norihiko Senju a rather short man with bold head, and a white short beard.
Fila stood at the entrance for a moment, taking in the four headmasters seated around the elegant table. The peaceful beauty of the atrium felt almost mocking after the blood-soaked jungle the day before.
Headmistress Dourado gestured to the empty chair with a tight, polite smile.
"Miss Grindelwald. Please, join us."
Fila moved forward and sat. She could feel their eyes on her like wands raised for inspection. Dumbledore's gaze was the heaviest — twinkling with that familiar, dangerous curiosity. Karkaroff looked openly appraising, almost appreciative. Senju from Mahoutokoro simply watched with calm, unreadable intensity.
Dourado poured her a cup of tea with steady hands.
"We will be direct," she began. "Yesterday's duel has caused… significant discussion among the staff and delegations. While you did not technically violate any rules, the level of force used has raised concerns."
Fila accepted the teacup but didn't drink. Her bandaged fingers tightened slightly around the delicate porcelain.
"Yumi was not holding back," she said evenly. "She nearly crushed Marcus under a boulder the size of a hippogriff. I responded in kind."
Karkaroff let out a low grunt of amusement. "A proper response. Durmstrang students respect strength. Your… efficiency was impressive."
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles.
"Efficiency, yes. But also something else." His voice was mild, yet it cut straight through the pleasantries. "We all saw the shift, Ophelia. The moment the… restraint slipped. The roots, the sheer savagery. That was not merely efficiency."
Fila met his gaze without flinching.
"I won."
Senju spoke for the first time, his voice calm and measured. "Mahoutokoro teaches balance. Magic is not just power, but harmony. What we witnessed yesterday was… disharmony. A storm unleashed."
Fila set her teacup down with a soft clink.
"With all due respect, Headmaster Senju, harmony is easy when no one is trying to break your ribs and smile about it. Marcus is still in a bed because Yumi thought crushing him was acceptable. I made sure Lara understood the same rules apply to her."
The room became quiet after that, only broken by the tinkling of tea cups and birds chirping from the open windows.
And than something unexpected happened. "Ophelia, would you like to come visit Durmstrang?"
The voice had come from the old and worn looking Igor Karkaroff.
Karkaroff's words landed like a Blasting Curse in the middle of the atrium.
Fila froze, teacup halfway to her lips. The other headmasters turned toward the Durmstrang leader with varying degrees of surprise.
Dourado's eyebrows rose sharply. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with sudden interest. Senju remained impassive, though his fingers tightened slightly around his cup.
Karkaroff leaned back in his chair, his thick gray beard shifting as he gave Fila a measured look. There was no warmth in it, only calculation.
"You heard correctly," he said, voice rough like gravel under boots. "Durmstrang would welcome you for a visit. After the tournament, of course. We have… resources for students with exceptional talent. And exceptional blood."
The implication was clear. He wasn't just inviting Ophelia Grindelwald. He was inviting Grindelwald.
Fila set her teacup down carefully, afraid she might crack it.
"Why?" she asked bluntly.
Karkaroff's lips twitched in what might have been a smile.
"Because strength like yours is wasted on soft schools that teach you to apologize while you bleed. Durmstrang teaches you to wield it. To master it. You showed us yesterday that the fire is already in you. We could help you control the flames… or let them burn brighter."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Dumbledore spoke first, voice deceptively light. "An interesting offer, Igor. Though one might wonder if Durmstrang wishes to recruit talent… or collect legacies."
Karkaroff didn't deny it. He simply kept his eyes on Fila.
Dourado cleared her throat. "Miss Grindelwald is still an Ilvermorny champion. Any such visit would require proper discussion with her headmaster and guardians."
"I allow it, if Ophelia wants to." Fontaine had entered the room. "We could discuss an exchange program for a couple of months. I think it's a good idea for her to see different environments. And maybe taking it further in the future to include other schools." He sat down in the empty chair next to Ophelia.
Fontaine settled into the chair beside Fila with casual ease, as if he hadn't just walked into a room full of the most powerful educators in the wizarding world and casually thrown his support behind sending a Grindelwald to Durmstrang.
Dourado's teacup paused halfway to her lips. Karkaroff's expression shifted from calculated to mildly surprised. Even Dumbledore's twinkling eyes sharpened with interest.
"An exchange program?" Dourado repeated carefully. "You believe this is… appropriate, given recent events?"
Fontaine shrugged lightly, though his eyes were serious.
"Ophelia has raw talent that Ilvermorny can only nurture so far. Durmstrang has a… particular expertise in high-intensity magical combat. And yes, before anyone says it — I am fully aware of the risks. But I also know my student. Shielding her from every shadow won't make them disappear. It might only make them stronger when they finally break loose."
Fila glanced sideways at him. She hadn't expected Fontaine to back the idea so openly.
Karkaroff leaned forward, resting his heavy forearms on the table.
"The girl has the blood and the instinct. Durmstrang can give her discipline. Control. A place where power is not feared, but refined." His gaze locked onto Fila. "You would not have to apologize for winning, Ophelia."
The words hit harder than Fila wanted to admit.
Dumbledore's voice cut through the tension, light but edged.
"Durmstrang's definition of 'refined' has historically differed from the rest of us. One must be cautious not to trade one set of chains for another."
Senju remained quiet, observing everything with those calm, dark eyes.
Fila finally spoke, her voice low and steady.
"I haven't said yes."
All eyes turned to her.
She continued, "I have a duel against Itsuki, Headmaster Karkaroff. Let me survive that first. Then… I'll think about it."
Karkaroff gave a slow nod, almost respectful.
"Fair enough. The invitation remains open. Durmstrang does not extend it lightly."
"Speaking of said duel. Ophelia when would you feel well enough to begin?" Headmistress Dourado asked with gentle ease.
Ophelia couldn't believe what was happening right now. She had the most powerful headmasters in the world right in front of her. Talking about exchanging and of how she is powerful.
She stumbled on her words. "Um… two days?" she said hesitantly.
Headmistress Dourado gave a crisp nod, as if the matter was already settled.
"Two days, then. The duel against Itsuki will take place on Monday evening. That should give you sufficient time to recover and… prepare yourself."
The way she said "prepare yourself" carried weight. Everyone at the table understood what she really meant.
Fila simply inclined her head. "Understood."
The meeting dissolved quickly after that. Polite, tense farewells were exchanged. Karkaroff gave her one last appraising look before leaving. Senju offered a small, respectful bow. Dumbledore lingered a moment longer, eyes twinkling with that unreadable mixture of fondness and concern.
"Choose carefully, Ophelia," he murmured so only she could hear. "Power is a faithful servant but a terrible master."
Then he was gone too.
Fontaine walked with her out of the atrium, hands in his pockets.
"You handled that better than I expected," he said. "Most students would have either crumbled or started throwing curses by the end."
Fila gave a dry laugh that pulled at her ribs.
"I'm too tired to throw curses right now."
Fontaine stopped and turned to face her fully.
"Two days isn't much. Use it wisely. Train if your body allows it, but more importantly, rest. And talk to Beatriz. Don't carry this weight alone. You have people who care about you now. Don't make the same mistake your grandfather did."
Fila looked at him for a long moment.
"…Thank you, Professor."
He waved her off with a smirk. "Don't thank me yet. You still have to face Itsuki. Try not to turn the jungle into a slaughterhouse again. The groundskeepers are already complaining."