After leaving the meeting with the scariest and most relaxed group on the face of the earth, Fila made her way towards the great hall. Something she wanted to know needed to be studied. If she would go to Durmstrang in the future, she would need to know more and not just words from a headmaster.
Aleksei Kozlov, the guy who sat beside her during the second duel. If she could talk with him. Than she would get all the info she needed. Maybe even getting closer to the other visitors. But she needed to be quick they would leave tomorrow.
The Great Hall of Castelobruxo was alive with students from all schools taking a late lunch or early dinner before the upcoming duel. Flags from different schools hung between the vines and glowing flowers that decorated the massive space. Fila scanned the tables with purpose, her ribs still aching with every step.
It didn't take long.
Aleksei Kozlov sat with a group of older Durmstrang students near the far wall. He was easy to spot, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with that same serious, tactical expression he'd worn when they first spoke. The moment she found him, he looked up as if he'd felt her gaze. He gave a small, acknowledging nod.
Fila walked over.
The table quieted slightly as she approached. A few of the older Durmstrang students sized her up openly, some with curiosity, others with clear wariness after what they'd seen her do to Lara.
"Grindelwald," Aleksei greeted, voice low and steady. He motioned to the empty seat across from him. "Sit."
She did. The others at the table slowly resumed their conversations, though they kept glancing over.
"I don't have much time," Fila said quietly. "Karkaroff offered me a visit. Maybe an exchange. I want to know what it's really like. Not the speech they give outsiders."
Aleksei studied her for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Then he leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table.
"Durmstrang is not Ilvermorny," he said bluntly. "We train for war, not games. The winters are brutal. The lessons are harder. Some students don't make it through the first year. But if you survive… you become strong. Really strong. No one will look at you like a fragile thing that might break. They will test you every day."
He paused, then added more quietly, "Your name carries weight there. Some will respect it. Some will want to break you because of it. A few… will want to use you. You'll have to decide who you are quickly."
Fila absorbed every word, her bandaged fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table.
"And if I want to let loose, even harder than what I did yesterday?" She asked, the table gained a wired tension. Or could it be excitement.
Aleksei's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes.
"They would teach you to aim it. Whether that's better or worse than what you have now… that's for you to decide." He leaned back. "Itsuki is my friend. He is very good. He will not hold back. If you fight him the way you fought Lara, one of you may not walk out."
Fila met his gaze steadily.
"I know."
Aleksei gave the smallest hint of a smile, more like a acknowledgment of shared understanding.
"You're not what I expected when I first heard the name Grindelwald. That's… interesting."
Fila raised an eyebrow under her blindfold. In these sort of moments she wished that she still had her eyes left so that holding eye contact would feel more natural. Instead of looking at them through flowers.
"What did you think than?" She asked and leaned against the table.
Aleksei leaned back slightly, studying her with that same calm, appraising look he'd had when they first spoke about the jungle ring. The tension around the table hadn't fully eased, but no one interrupted.
"I thought you'd be… colder," he said honestly. "More like the stories. Arrogant. Cruel. Always looking down on everyone else because of the name. Or at least someone who enjoyed the fear it causes."
He paused, then added with a small shrug, "Instead I met a girl who gets excited about roots and shadows like they're old friends. Someone who cried after nearly killing another champion because she scared the girl she likes. That's not what the name usually brings to mind."
Fila let out a short, dry laugh that pulled painfully at her cracked ribs.
"Disappointed?"
"No," Aleksei replied, surprisingly sincere. "Relieved, maybe. The world already has enough monsters who enjoy what they are. It's more interesting when the monster is still fighting itself."
One of the older Durmstrang boys at the table snorted quietly, but Aleksei shot him a look that silenced him instantly.
That said more than anything to her, this Aleksei is probably really good. Getting someone to shut up just by looking at them isn't easily done.
"What year are you in?" Fila asked.
"Fourth" he answered quickly.
"Do you think I would enjoy Durmstrang?"
Aleksei looked at her for a moment, really looked at her. "I think, if your are tired of being told to be more gentle. Than you would thrive there."
Something tight and ugly twisted in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was relief or fear.
Aleksei watched her reaction carefully, like he was reading terrain before a fight. The rest of the Durmstrang table had gone back to their food, but the tension around them hadn't fully disappeared.
"I'm not tired of being gentle," Fila said quietly. "I'm tired of pretending I don't have claws when people try to hurt what I care about."
Aleksei gave a slow nod, as if that answer told him more than she'd meant to reveal.
"Then Durmstrang would sharpen those claws," he said. "But be careful what you ask for. Once they're sharp, it's hard to stop using them. Even when you don't need to."
Fila didn't reply right away. She traced a finger along the edge of the table, feeling the rough grain of the wood.
Before the silence could stretch too long, a warm hand slid into hers. Bea had appeared at her side without making a sound, her presence immediately softening the sharp edges of the conversation.
"Amor," Bea said gently, squeezing her hand. "You need to eat something before tonight. You're still healing."
Aleksei's gaze moved between them again. There was no judgment in it, only quiet observation.
Fila gave him a small nod. "Thanks for being honest, Kozlov. I mean it."
"Anytime," he replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Try not to kill Itsuki too badly. He's annoying, but he's useful in a fight."
Fila managed a tired smirk as she stood up with Bea. As they walked away from the Durmstrang table, Bea stayed close, thumb gently stroking the back of Fila's bandaged hand.
Bea looked back at the Durmstrang table, and then back to Fila. "What was that about?"
They both sat down at the snake tribe table. "I was in a meeting…" Fila explained everything about the meeting, the idea of exchanging her for a couple months or even longer if she wanted it.
She didn't say everything that Aleksei had told her, maybe best to not scare Bea too much, but holding it back still had some weight on it.
Bea listened quietly as they sat together at the snake table. Her hand never left Fila's, thumb still tracing gentle circles over the bandages as if trying to soothe the tension out of her.
When she finished, Bea was quiet for a long moment, staring down at their joined hands.
"…Durmstrang," she finally whispered. There was no anger in her voice, only a deep, worried ache. "They really want to take you there? After what they saw you do?"
Fila gave a tired nod. "Karkaroff made it sound like an honor. Like they could teach me how to use what I am instead of being ashamed of it."
Bea's grip tightened slightly.
"And what do you want?"
Fila let out a long breath, leaning her shoulder against Bea's.
"I don't know anymore. Part of me is so tired of people looking at me like I'm about to explode. Tired of apologizing for winning too hard. But another part…" She swallowed. "Another part is terrified that if I go somewhere like Durmstrang, I'll stop wanting to hold back at all. And then what happens when I come back to you?"
Bea turned to face her fully. She reached up and gently cupped Fila's cheek, thumb brushing just beneath the blindfold.
"Then I'll remind you every single day who you are to me," she said softly but fiercely. "Not the Butcher of the Jungle. Not Grindelwald's granddaughter. Just Fila. The girl who gets excited about ugly forest stages and talks too fast about roots. The girl who cried in my arms because she was scared of hurting me."
Fila's throat tightened. She leaned into the touch, letting Bea's warmth push back against the cold weight in her chest.
"I told them I'd think about it after," she murmured. "After Itsuki."
Bea nodded, though worry still lingered in her eyes. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Fila's lips, right there in the middle of the Great Hall, not caring who saw.
"Then focus on coming back to me," she whispered against her mouth. "The rest can wait. Durmstrang, the darkness, all of it… it can wait. And you come home to me."
Fila kissed her again, slower this time, letting the taste of Bea ground her. When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against Bea's.
"I love you," she said again, the words easier the second time.
Bea smiled, small and warm and heartbreakingly sincere.
"I love you too. Now eat something, amor. You're going to need your strength."
Saturdays in the middle of the Amazon jungle felt like a cruel joke. The air was thick, humid, and alive with sounds she still couldn't name. Being a Thunderbird meant she was supposed to crave adventure, but right now the only thing she craved was clarity.
So she did what any Thunderbird would do.
She went into the forest.
Not far — the faculty had strict rules after the last "incident" — but far enough that the noise of the school faded into the background. She wandered along a narrow path lined with massive roots and hanging vines, her ribs protesting with every step, but the pain felt almost welcome. It kept her sharp.
The deeper she went, the quieter her mind became. The dark room in her head stayed closed for once. No bloody blindfolds. No flayed man on the wall. Just the jungle breathing around her.
She stopped beside a small clearing where sunlight broke through the canopy in golden shafts. A cluster of strange, bioluminescent flowers glowed faintly even in daylight. Fila crouched down, ignoring the pull on her injuries, and brushed her fingers over one of the petals.
But something ugly and almost vomit inducing was happening just about one hundred meters into the forest, something she had hoped not to hear or feel.
Fila froze mid-motion, fingers still hovering over the glowing petal.
The voices drifted through the dense undergrowth, clear enough that the flowers she had unconsciously connected to carried every word.
"She uses plants, Itsuki. You are going to steamroll her if you freeze the ground early and keep the fight in open space," Beatriz said. Her voice was calm, clinical. "She relies on the terrain too much. Take that away and she panics. She'll start Apparating wildly. That's when you strike."
Itsuki's reply was cold, measured. "I know that already. Why are you doing this, Beatriz? Going this far just for some advantage?"
There was a pause. Then Bea's voice again, lower this time.
"Because I'm tired of being scared of her. You saw what she did to Lara. That wasn't a duel, that was a slaughter. If she loses control against you… I don't want to be the one standing closest when it happens."
Fila's world tilted.
The flowers beneath her fingers wilted instantly, turning black and crumbling to ash. Her breath caught in her throat like a blade. She didn't move. She couldn't. Every muscle in her body locked rigid as the words sank in like poison.
Bea. Her Bea. The girl who had held her while she cried. The girl who had kissed her like she was something worth saving. The girl who had promised to scream her name if the darkness took over.
Was feeding her weaknesses to the enemy.
Inside her mind, the dark room slammed open.
But this time she wasn't in her dark chamber, but Fila had stepped out of it. dressed in the blood soaked white dress and blindfold.
Fila didn't move, she just looked blankly in the direction of the two.
"Well, well," the bloody version of herself purred, voice wet and rasping. "Look who finally got stabbed in the back by her precious little sunbeam. How does it feel, Fila? To be loved so tenderly… and betrayed so easily?"
Fila stood just behind her. The chair right beside her.
Fila's hands shook. She couldn't speak.
"You let her in. You cried in her arms. You told her you loved her. And all this time she was whispering your weaknesses into the ear of the boy who's supposed to kill you." She laughed, low and ugly. "I told you. I warned you. Warmth like that doesn't belong to monsters. It was only ever a leash."
Fila's voice finally broke free, raw and cracked.
"…Why?"
Ophelia stopped right in front of her. Even without eyes, the bloody girl seemed to stare straight into her soul.
"Because deep down, she's scared of you. Just like everyone else. She wants the soft parts. The parts that blush and get excited about roots. But when the real you comes out, when the claws show, she runs to the enemy for comfort."
Ophelia leaned in close, until their foreheads almost touched. The smell of blood was overwhelming.
"So what are you going to do now, little Fila? Cry? Forgive her? Or are you finally ready to stop pretending?"
The dark room pulsed. The flayed man on the wall seemed to grin.
Fila stood there, trembling, as the first cracks of real, icy rage began to form beneath the heartbreak.
And for a whole day nothing was heard from Ophelia. No one had seen her, heard from her.
June and Miles together with the rest of the Ilvermorny students had gone on a witch hunt trying to find the missing champion, but with no luck until they stumbled on Headmaster Fontaine.
"Ophelia is Okay, she is just resting before the duel tomorrow. She is resting in the school carriage and needed some alone time." He reassured them, but June saw through it. she knew Ophelia better than anyone here, and the very last thing that girl wants or needs it alone time.
After some long persuasion, Fontaine had managed to convince June about Ophelia being fine. And had herself come to tell him about her much needed alone time.
And even visiting the Headmaster of Durmstrang.
Pov. 3 hours earlier inside the Durmstrang guest rooms.
Fila found herself with Igor Karkaroff.
Igor Karkaroff leaned back in his heavy armchair, the firelight casting long shadows across his weathered face. He didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked like a man who had been expecting this exact conversation.
The paperwork was already laid out neatly on the desk in front of him.
Fila stood before him like a ghost — pale, bandaged, blindfold firmly in place. Her voice was flat, hollow, completely drained of emotion.
"I want to do the exchange," she said. "I will arrive after the championship and stay until summer."
Karkaroff studied her for a long moment, fingers steepled under his chin. The silence stretched.
"You understand what this means?" he finally asked, voice low and rough. "Durmstrang does not coddle its students. Especially not one carrying your name. You will be tested. Constantly. Some will try to break you just to see if they can. Others will try to use you."
Fila didn't flinch.
"I know."
Karkaroff's lips curled into a thin, satisfied smile. He slid the documents toward her.
"Then welcome, Miss Grindelwald. Durmstrang will be… illuminating."
Fila picked up the quill without hesitation and signed her name in sharp, angry strokes. The ink seemed to bleed across the parchment like fresh blood.
When she set the quill down, something inside her chest finally went quiet.
No more warmth. No more pretending. No more soft hands and sweeter lies.
Just claws.
The duel the next day.
The crowd was restless. The air felt charged, heavier than it had any right to be. Whispers spread like wildfire the moment Fila stepped into view.
She looked like a different person.
Gone was the girl who had once spoken excitedly about roots and shadows. In her place walked something colder. Sharper. The black vest and white shirt were pristine, but her posture radiated quiet, controlled fury. Even with a blindfold, her jaw and posture told the crowd more than anything else could.
Bea sat rigid in the stands, face pale. June looked like she was barely holding it together. Miles kept glancing between Fila and Bea, confusion and worry etched deep into his features.
Itsuki waited on the opposite side, wand already drawn. His sharp eyes narrowed the moment he saw her. He could sense the change too.
Headmistress Dourado stepped forward, her voice carrying across the tense silence.
He little duel had already finished and her walk towards the ring circle had begun.
"Tell me Itsuki." Fila said out, not loud but with something that carried the voice through the dueling scene.
The Duel this time would take place in a quarry just outside the school. Walls made from stone and hard packed dirt, a perfect place to take down Ophelia. Was the thought of Itsuki when he himself had walked into the ring.
"Will you take me down?" She asked. "Will you take me down?" she repeated, voice carrying clearly across the quarry, flat and empty. "Be honest, Itsuki. Do you think you can?"
He looked, out of place.
"I do think so, yes." He said and readied his wand on his side.
Fila looked at him with this smile she hadn't had before. it looked sick, almost terrifying.
Headmistress Dourado took the final step.
And with it he moved, his wand lit up and a spell hotter than a fireplace shot out. Aimed right for her chest.
But she didn't move, she smiled and spread her arms wide open. Welcoming it.
With just a few seconds of the duel being on, it hit her. And she flew backward with a sickening crush that could be heard by everyone watching.
The impact was catastrophic. Fila was hurled backward like a ragdoll, slamming into the quarry wall with a sickening crunch of bone and stone. Blood sprayed across the dirt. She crumpled to the ground in a broken heap, chest charred black, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. A pool of blood rapidly spread beneath her still body.
The crowd screamed.
Bea shot to her feet with a horrified cry. June's hands flew to her mouth.
Itsuki lowered his wand slightly, breathing hard, eyes locked on the broken form.
Then Fila stood up.
Slowly.
Wrongly.
Her body unfolded in a way that defied physics, bones cracking back into place with wet, audible pops. The charred wound on her chest knitted itself together before his eyes. She tilted her head, and the smile returned wider, bloodied, and utterly mad.
Itsuki took one step back.
And suddenly there were more of her.
Five. Ten. Dozens.
Identical Ophelias stepped out from behind rocks, rose from the ground like ghosts, and appeared on the quarry walls above him. Every single one wore the same bloody smile. Every single one stared directly at him with blindfolded eyes that somehow still saw everything.
Only Itsuki could see them.
To the crowd, Fila was simply standing in the center of the ring, unharmed, while Itsuki looked increasingly unsettled and began spinning around, firing curses at empty air.
After hitting several of the illusions that surrounded him he screamed out. "Come out coward. Fight me if you dare!"
A collective echo of laughter came from the Ophelia's surrounding him.
"Coward me?" they all said with the exact same motion and voice tone. "Aren't you the one meeting with a certain girl from the other team, talking about my weaknesses?" she smiled, this time wider.
For Itsuki they all looked at him, but for Beatriz who sat in the stands. The Ophelia standing in the ring looked right into her soul, even without eyes she could feel the weight.
The people around also started to match together the puzzle as they all looked at her and Itsuki.
"You walked out her so high and mighty and yet…" She said.
And while she did Itsuki jolted in pain, he looked at his arm. Bleeding heavily now from a deep cut.
Itsuki spun wildly, firing curse after curse at the circling illusions. Each one that burst apart reformed moments later, laughing with the same cold, broken voice.
"You talked about my weaknesses," all the Ophelias echoed at once, their voices overlapping in a haunting chorus that filled the quarry. "You let her whisper in your ear how to break me. How pathetic."
Itsuki's face twisted with rage and confusion. A deep gash had been carved across his forearm — one of the illusions had struck while he was distracted. Blood ran freely down his fingers, making his grip on his wand slippery.
In the stands, the realization was spreading like wildfire.
Bea sat frozen, face deathly pale. Heads were turning toward her. Whispers turned into murmurs, then outright accusations.
"She sold her out" - "After everything…"
Fila the real one, stood motionless in the center of the ring, blindfold dark and unmoving. But the smile on her face was no longer small. It was wide, vicious, and full of pain.
Itsuki roared and unleashed a massive area-of-effect freezing curse, trying to lock down the entire quarry. Ice exploded across the ground. Several illusions shattered like glass.
But the real Fila simply walked forward through the frost, her footsteps cracking the ice beneath her. Blood from her reopened wounds left red trails behind her.
"You wanted to steamroll me?" she asked, voice low but carrying perfectly. "Then why are you the one bleeding?"
She snapped her fingers.
The illusions merged back into her. For a single heartbeat, Itsuki faced only one Fila.
Then she Apparated directly in front of him and drove her wand into his sternum like a knife.
"This is going to hurt." She said with a warm voice, and a smile that wanted this more than anything.
He screamed, a real blood scream that made the hairs of everyone present stand.
A rose bush started unfolding inside of him, thorns ripping up organs and tissue like paper.
Itsuki's scream tore through the quarry like nothing the crowd had ever heard.
He collapsed to his knees, clawing desperately at his own chest and stomach as the curse took hold. Inside him, a rose bush bloomed with savage speed — thick, woody stems twisting through muscle and organs, razor-sharp thorns ripping everything they touched. Blood poured from his mouth, his nose, even his ears as the vines pushed upward, seeking light.
He convulsed violently, eyes wide with pure animal panic.
Fila stood over him, head slightly tilted, that sick, wide smile still painted across her face. Blood from her own reopened wounds dripped steadily onto the frozen ground, but she didn't seem to feel it.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she whispered, voice soft and almost tender. "Something so pretty growing inside you… tearing you apart from within."
In the stands, chaos erupted.
Bea had risen to her feet, face ashen, hands clamped over her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks as dozens of eyes turned toward her, horror, disgust, accusation.
June was crying openly. Miles looked like he was seconds away from being sick.
Itsuki let out another wet, broken scream as a thorn pierced something vital. He tried to raise his wand, but his fingers wouldn't obey. Blood bubbled between his lips as he gasped out a single, desperate word:
"…Yield…"
The barrier dropped instantly.
Medics sprinted into the ring, faces pale with terror at what they saw. One of them actually stumbled when he saw the unnatural bulges moving under Itsuki's skin.
Fila didn't move. She simply watched as they levitated the convulsing Mahoutokoro champion away, rose thorns still visibly shifting beneath his uniform.
"Release the spell Ophelia," Fontaines voice came from behind her. Not in the calm sense he usually had.
She turned her head in his direction, "Sure."
The spell or hold on the growing bush that had torn its way inside the poor little boy vanished into thin air.
The spell dissolved with a sickening wet sound. The thorns and stems inside Itsuki withered instantly, but the damage remained. He convulsed once more on the stretcher as the medics rushed him out of the quarry, his uniform soaked through with blood. One healer was already shouting for Blood-Replenishing Potions and emergency organ-repair spells.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Fila stood motionless in the center of the ring, blood still dripping slowly from her reopened wounds. Her blindfold was dark with moisture — whether sweat, tears, or blood, no one could tell.
Fontaine approached slowly, his usual easy demeanor gone. He stopped a few feet away, voice low but firm.
"Ophelia."
She turned her head toward him. The smile had finally faded, leaving only an empty, exhausted expression.
"It's done," she said flatly.
Fontaine looked at her for a long moment, something like sorrow in his eyes.
"Go get healed. Properly this time."
Fila didn't argue. She walked out of the ring without looking back at the stands, without acknowledging the hundreds of eyes following her every step. The crowd parted for her like she was carrying the plague.
Being her, footsteps came running towards her and Junes warm magic soon collided with her own.
"Fila… are you okay?" June asked gently, and took her hand.
"Yes June, im fine." Fila answered flatly, not at all how Ophelia usually answer once her friends grew worried. Her voice felt, distant. "I'm going to the greenhouse, I need some time." She said and walked way from June.
June hurried after her, gently grabbing her wrist. "Fila, wait—please. Talk to me. What happened out there? You… you weren't yourself."
Fila finally halted. She turned her head slightly, blindfold dark and unreadable. For a moment June thought she saw something flicker behind it, something raw and broken, but it vanished almost instantly.
"I'm fine, June," she said again. The same flat, distant tone. Like she was speaking from the bottom of a deep well. "The duel is over. Itsuki yielded. That's all that matters."
June's eyes filled with tears. She stepped closer, refusing to let go of her friend's wrist.
But after seeing Ophelias expression, she let go of her hand and let the girl keep walking. June looked on with uncertain and almost afraid eyes as her friend seemed to have disappeared overnight.
The greenhouse.
The air inside was warm and heavy with the scent of rare magical plants. Fila moved between the rows like a ghost, fingers brushing leaves that instinctively curled away from her touch. She stopped in front of a cluster of Devil's Snare that had been trained to behave and stared at it for a long time.
Behind her, the bloody Ophelia appeared, leaning casually against a workbench, blood still dripping from the hem of her white dress.
"You did good," the dark version purred. "No hesitation. No mercy. No leash. How does it feel to finally stop lying to yourself?"
Fila didn't turn around.
"It feels empty," she whispered.
Ophelia laughed, low and wet.
"Good. Emptiness is honest. Warmth was the lie. She proved that today, didn't she? All those soft kisses, all those 'I love you's'… and the moment she got scared, she ran to the enemy with a knife behind her back."
Fila's hands clenched at her sides. Fresh blood seeped through the bandages on her ribs.
"I loved her."
"You thought you loved her," Ophelia corrected, stepping closer until she stood right behind Fila. "She showed you feeling and words that you needed, and imagined yourself in love. Nothing more. We both know it."
Sadly its all true. The Ophelia standing before her is Ophelia, all the same feeling and thoughts. Just from a second person. Even if she herself didn't admit it, it did feel good to make Itsuki fold like that. Even watching Beatriz's expression left a slight smile on her lips.
"We know we have to do something," the bloody Ophelia said.
Fila soon felt something cold, dark and almost horrid.
And as she turned she saw a chair, in the middle of the room.
"What that doing here?" she asked as she looked at it.
Fila walked to it and grazed it gently, "What do you mean? It always been here or there." She said with a smile, covered with droplets of blood,
From the bloody finger of Fila, it left prints that seemed to expand onto the chair. "You know that this is were we started, and its also how it ended." She said and sat down in the chair. "Nothing has been the same since then,"
Fila's hand trembled on the back of the chair.
"I thought I could be more," she whispered. "I thought if I held it back long enough… if I had someone like her…"
Ophelia laughed, low and wet, tilting her head so the bloody blindfold shifted.
"And look where that got you. She ran to the enemy the moment she saw the real you. The moment the mask slipped. All those pretty words, all those kisses — they were never for us. They were for the version of you she could pretend was safe."
Fila's knees buckled. She sank down in front of the chair, forehead resting against the bloody wood.
"I loved her," she said again, voice cracking.
"You wanted to be loved," Ophelia corrected gently, almost kindly. She reached down and stroked Fila's hair with bloodstained fingers. "There's a difference. And now you know the truth. Warmth was never meant for people like us. Only fire. Only claws. Only the dark room."
The greenhouse around them began to fade.
The glowing flowers withered and turned black. The warm, humid air grew cold and damp, carrying the familiar stench of rust and old blood. The walls of the greenhouse melted away, replaced by cold stone and hanging instruments.
Fila was back in the dark room.
She looked up. Ophelia was still sitting in the chair, but now she was smiling wider, the bloody blindfold somehow conveying pure satisfaction.
But in a blink she herself found herself in the chair. Dressed in the same clothes as that day.
And in front of the Fila sat, in her dueling clothes.
With a rasp and forced voice she said, "Please… stop."
She just laughed. "Stop?! YOU WANT THIS." She screamed out, making the voice echo and intensify.
"I DON'T, I JUST WANT TO FUCKING LIVE MY LIFE!" Fila screamed back so loudly that it made the Fila in front of her pop in and out of existence.
It's a test, for herself. She needed to know if she was strong enough to leave this behind right now. This fucking chair and this room, and the bloody white dress.
"Is this a test?" Fila sat still in her chair and smiled at her while she sat. "Of course you would think this is some test, SO WHAT. Did you create a test for yourself?!"
Chaos and madness filled her mind as she didn't know what to think. There is truth in her own words. This is both a test and not at the same time, created by herself to see if she is even half of what she thinks. The girl in bloody cloths never really left that fucking basement, but she blended in with everyone and even herself.
Pretending to be something other than what that sick doctor wanted her to be.
"A test?" the dark Ophelia sneered, stepping closer. "You still think this is something you can pass or fail? Like some little exam at Ilvermorny? Pathetic."
Fila's breath came in short, ragged bursts. Her empty eye sockets burned.
"I created you to survive," she whispered. "To endure what that doctor did to us. But I don't need you anymore. I don't want you anymore."
The dark Ophelia leaned down until their faces were inches apart. Blood from the blindfold dripped onto Fila's lap.
"You are me," she hissed. "Every scream you swallowed, every time you smiled while something inside you died, that was me keeping us alive. And now you want to throw me away because a pretty girl lied to you? Because she got scared of the thing she claimed to love? Have some fucking bone and stop seeing this world as a pink little flower."
Fila had fallen again for a lie, or something close to it. Being used for being her. Nice to the people she meet and easy to approach. A punishment she was dealing with right now.
"You should have gone for Aleksi instead, he at least seemed like a man who gets things done right." The Bloody Ophelia said with a sly smile.
"You still think about this room?" a voice cut the tension between the two girls.
The two of them looked at the entrance and saw a old man with a gray robe standing there. A long gray beard and eyes that seemed friendly to anyone, but also dangerous to the ones who dares to try them.
Albus Dumbledore.
He looked at both the girls with made them give the same expression. "You can see her?" they both asked in unison, exact same tone of surprised and in disbelief.
Dumbledore stood at the threshold of the dark room as if he had simply walked through a door that didn't exist moments ago. His half-moon spectacles caught the sourceless light, and his expression was calm, almost gentle.
Dumbledore gave a small nod, stepping further into the nightmare chamber. His boots left no prints on the blood-stained floor.
"I have seen many things in my long life, Ophelia," he said softly. "Broken minds. Fractured souls. Rooms like this one… built to contain pain that should never have been inflicted on a child."
He looked slowly around the chamber, at the instruments, the flayed man on the wall, the blood that never dried. Then his gaze settled on the bloody Ophelia sitting in the chair.
"And you," he said to her, voice kind but firm, "have carried her for a very long time."
The bloody version of Fila tilted her head, bloody blindfold shifting. For once, she didn't laugh.
"She needed me," Ophelia rasped. "When they cut her open. When they broke her. When the world told her the name Grindelwald meant she was already a monster. I kept her alive."
"I tried to be better," she whispered. "I tried to be someone Bea could love. But even she…"
Her voice cracked.
Dumbledore stepped closer and crouched down so he was at eye level with her. He didn't flinch at the blood, the emptiness, or the horror of the room.
"Love is a powerful thing," he said gently. "But it cannot heal what you refuse to face. And it cannot save you from a wound you keep feeding."
He glanced at the bloody Ophelia again.
"You do not have to destroy her," he told Fila. "She is part of you. The part that survived when no one else would let you. But she does not have to rule you either."
The dark Ophelia sneered, but there was uncertainty in it now.
Fila's hands shook as she gripped the arms of the chair.
"I don't know how to be both," she admitted, voice barely audible. "The girl who loves… and the one who tears roses through people's chests."
Dumbledore smiled sadly.
"No one ever knows how, my dear. We simply choose, every single day, which voice we listen to the most."
The words had settled in Fila's mind like a warm blanket. If she couldn't get rid of her, why not let her live with her. But not at the same time.
Both Fila's looked at each other and nodded in unison. And with the nod, the room began dissolving like a black sludge, and in it Fila sat on the ground. Her knees to her chest as she looked on a potted plant.
Pothos, a plant that refuses to die. And even sometime bounces back to life after being basically dead.
Maybe she just needed to be a plant, just like that.