The morning of the visit arrived with a quietness that felt unusually deliberate, as though even the manor itself understood that the day carried a different kind of weight. Sunlight filtered gently through a thin veil of clouds, soft and diffused rather than bright, casting the grounds in muted gold. The air was cool enough to be refreshing, yet touched by the early warmth of summer, the sort of morning that invited unhurried movement.
Fila stood before her wardrobe longer than necessary.
Not out of indecision exactly, but from a strange awareness that what she chose somehow mattered. After a moment's consideration, she selected robes of deep charcoal, simple and neatly pressed, neither formal nor casual. Elsbeth had once told her that neutrality was often its own statement, and today that advice lingered in her mind with quiet clarity.
Downstairs, the manor had already stirred to life.
Soft footsteps echoed faintly along the corridors, the distant clink of porcelain signaling breakfast preparations. The familiar scents of coffee and warm bread drifted through the air, grounding in their normalcy. Yet beneath the routine lingered something subtler, an undercurrent of attentiveness that revealed itself in quieter voices and more measured movements.
Rowan waited near the entrance hall, coat draped neatly over his arm, his posture composed in the way Fila had come to recognize as both reassurance and readiness. Elsbeth stood beside him, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve with absent precision, her expression calm though her eyes carried a thoughtful sharpness.
Fila descended the staircase slowly.
Each step sounded clearer than usual.
Neither Rowan nor Elsbeth spoke immediately as she approached, though both watched her with the kind of gentle assessment reserved for moments when concern and pride intertwined too closely to separate.
"You slept?" Rowan asked at last.
"Well enough," Fila replied.
Elsbeth tilted her head slightly. "Nervous?"
"A little."
"Afraid?"
Fila shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. "Not really."
They all stepped out together. The trip would take a bit, not long since they were going to use portkeys. But they needed to stop by the British ministry first to get the portkey to nurmengard.
Her visit had been approved quickly, even Rowan told her that usually it takes more than one month to get approved. But he also suspected that considering she was his granddaughter it might have sped things up.
Fila glanced toward Rowan as they approached the waiting carriage. "You said approvals usually take weeks?"
"Months, more often," Rowan replied as he opened the door for her. "Visitor access to Nurmengard is not commonly requested."
Elsbeth stepped in after Fila, smoothing her robes as she settled. "Nor commonly granted."
Fila considered that. "Mine was approved in three days."
Rowan gave a small, knowing exhale as he took his seat opposite them. "Yes."
"You think that's because of him?"
"I think," Rowan said carefully, "that certain names move paperwork faster than others."
Fila leaned back slightly, absorbing the answer without pressing further. The carriage began to move soon after, rolling smoothly down the drive, wheels humming softly against stone. Outside, the countryside unfolded in calm stretches of summer green, hedgerows and distant hills passing with unhurried grace.
Despite everything, the morning remained… ordinary.
And that, Fila found, was strangely comforting.
The carriage brought them to a American ministry building, there they got a portkey to the British ministry. Travel between countries were, bothersome. A lot of regulations and rules that were strict. They even questioned why Fila still had a wand since she wasn't in school, and according to laws they would be tunred in ones break started.
Fila had of course prepared for this, she gave them a letter directly from headmaster Fontaine. He had given her permission, and being the headmaster of one of the magical school carried weight in words and actions.
Moments later, a portkey was placed before them, an old brass key resting on a velvet-lined tray, its worn edges hinting at years of prior use. Fila stared at it briefly, struck as always by how such ordinary objects carried such extraordinary function.
"Activation in five seconds," the official said.
Rowan took hold first.
Elsbeth followed.
Fila closed her fingers around the cool metal.
The familiar pull seized them instantly, sharp but fleeting, the world folding inward before unfolding again. And just like that, London.
By the time they reached the Ministry, the sky had brightened slightly, clouds thinning enough to allow clearer shafts of sunlight to spill across the grand structure. The familiar blend of wizarding movement greeted them immediately upon entry. Officials in varying robes crossed the polished floors with brisk efficiency, parchment stacks floating neatly beside them, voices overlapping in low, purposeful conversation.
Fila stayed close to Rowan and Elsbeth as they moved through the atrium.
Curious glances followed.
Fila remembered her training from Elsbeth. She held her chin high, walking with confident steps. gracefully and with purpose.
Ophelia Grindelwald is still a very unknown name, most don't even know that Gellert had a daughter. Even less know about his granddaughter.
Fila neither hurried nor shrank beneath them. Her gaze remained forward, movements smooth, the subtle grace Elsbeth had drilled into her through years of patient correction now surfacing instinctively. There was a quiet satisfaction in realizing how natural it felt, how easily posture could shape perception.
Rowan guided them toward a reception desk framed in dark wood and brass detailing. The witch stationed there looked up with practiced attentiveness, her eyes moving briefly across Rowan before softening with recognition.
"Miss Grindelwald. We've been expecting you." she said, but she didn't smile.
The witch took out a key again, but now it was black and looked old.
"Your portkey," the witch said.
Fila tilted her head slightly. "Another key?"
"Designated transport object," the witch replied, placing it carefully on the counter. "Direct access."
Elsbeth's gaze lingered briefly on the dark metal before shifting back to Fila. "This one will take us straight there."
Fila nodded, stepping closer. The key's appearance drew curiosity rather than unease. It did not shimmer or glow. It simply rested there with quiet solidity.
Rowan placed his fingers around it first.
Elsbeth followed.
Fila closed her hand around the cool black metal, its weight settling firmly into her palm. Unlike the brass key before, this one carried a faint chill that lingered against her skin.
The pull arrived instantly, sharp and decisive, the world dissolving in a rush of motion that felt both familiar and slightly stronger than before. The atrium vanished and stone replaced light.
It was cold, even tough it was in middle of the summer. The winds blew hard. And in front laid the tower out of stone.
"Its really ugly." Fila said before walking towards the big wooden door. Above the door laid a sentence written. 'For the greater good'
She moved past it.
The air felt heavy, and the silence of the tower felt ominous. The clicking of her boots against the hard stone floor echoed though the halls.
Fila glanced around with open curiosity.
"It's bigger than I imagined."
They continued forward at a measured pace, passing tall windows that allowed narrow columns of daylight to spill across the floor. Dust did not gather. The stone did not decay. Everything was maintained by unseen magic, preserved in the same controlled order as the visitor chamber awaiting them deeper within.
Ahead, a final door waited.
Simple.
Closed.
Fila's steps slowed naturally as they approached, her earlier calm settling into something quieter, more focused. Rowan moved beside her, his presence steady, Elsbeth's hand briefly brushing her shoulder in a gesture both grounding and reassuring.
Her fingers closed around the handle, the metal cool against her skin. For a brief moment she simply stood there, aware of Rowan beside her, of Elsbeth just behind, of the quiet stillness that seemed to settle naturally in this part of the tower.
But she withdrew her hand from the handle. Her hand held flat in the air before the door. "Depulso"
The door flew inward, slamming hard against the stone wall with a sharp, echoing crack. One side tore loose from its hinges, the heavy wood twisting before dropping sideways and coming to rest at an awkward angle against the corridor. The sound rang through the hall, loud, abrupt, undeniably final.
Silence followed. Fila, studying the result with a small tilt of her head. "Well… that was stronger than intended."
Behind her, Rowan closed his eyes briefly.
Elsbeth inhaled through her nose, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement. "Fila."
"What?" Fila asked, glancing back, entirely unbothered. "It opened."
Rowan rubbed a hand across his temple. "You could have just used the handle."
"I know."
Elsbeth crossed her arms. "Then why didn't you?"
Fila shrugged, "Felt good"
Fila stepped past the fallen wood without ceremony, boots clicking crisply against the stone as she entered the chamber beyond. The room was bright, sunlight spilling generously through tall windows that framed the pale grey walls. Dustless surfaces, neatly arranged furniture, shelves of well kept books. The space felt orderly, almost understated, a stark contrast to the dramatic entrance she had just made.
Near the window, Gellert Grindelwald turned.
His gaze moved first to the damaged door.
Then to Fila.
A long, assessing look passed between them.
Fila offered a small, perfectly polite smile. "Hello, Grandpa."
For a fraction of a second, something unmistakably like surprise flickered across his face.
Then, slowly—
Amusement.
"Well," Grindelwald said calmly, eyes drifting once more to the half ruined doorway, "you certainly know how to arrive."
Rowan cleared his throat behind her.
Elsbeth muttered, "Unbelievable."
Fila, entirely composed, stepped further into the room as though nothing remotely unusual had occurred. "I didn't want the moment to feel dull."
Grindelwald's amusement did not fade immediately, though it softened into something quieter as Fila stepped fully into the room. The broken door remained where it had fallen, an undeniably dramatic introduction, yet the atmosphere that followed refused to match the violence of the entrance. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, pale and steady, filling the chamber with an easy brightness that made the space feel less like a cell and more like a private sitting room tucked away from the world.
For a moment, they simply looked at one another.
Not as legend and descendant.
Not as history and consequence.
Just two people seeing each other for the first time.
"You look…" Grindelwald began, then paused, searching not for grandeur but accuracy. "Very much like her."
Fila shifted her weight. "Sorry about the door."
A faint smile touched his lips. "I've seen worse."
"I didn't mean to unhinge it."
"I believe you."
Rowan made a small sound behind her, half sigh, half surrender. Elsbeth's expression had settled into familiar restraint, though her eyes carried unmistakable relief at the absence of tension.
Grindelwald gestured gently toward the center of the room. "Would you sit?"
Fila hesitated just long enough for the hesitation to be visible, then crossed the distance and lowered herself into one of the armchairs. The fabric was firm but comfortable, worn slightly at the edges from regular use. Grindelwald took the seat opposite her with unhurried ease.
Up close, he seemed older than in photographs, yet not diminished. Time had traced its lines without erasing the sharpness of his presence. His eyes, pale and clear, studied her with open curiosity rather than scrutiny.
"You've grown more than I expected," he said.
"You've aged more than I expected."
The reply came easily, absent of malice, edged with the dry honesty that defined her.
To Rowan's visible alarm, Grindelwald laughed softly.
"Fair," he admitted.
The sound startled Fila more than she showed.
Silence settled again, though now it carried less uncertainty and more adjustment, the slow recalibration of two strangers connected by something neither simple nor avoidable.
Fila's gaze drifted briefly toward the windows. "It's colder than I imagined."
"The mountains ignore seasons," Grindelwald replied.
Another pause.
Then, quieter, Fila asked, "Why didn't you come before?"
The question landed without decoration.
No accusation in tone.
Yet the resentment beneath it was unmistakable.
Grindelwald did not answer immediately. His hands rested loosely against the arms of his chair, posture still, expression thoughtful rather than defensive.
"I was not asked to," he said at last.
Fila's eyes snapped back to his. "You're Gellert Grindelwald."
"Yes."
"You've never needed permission for anything."
Rowan shifted slightly.
Elsbeth went very still.
Grindelwald's gaze remained on Fila. "That may once have been true."
The calmness of the reply, the absence of denial or justification, pulled the sharp edge from the air in a way anger might not have.
Fila leaned back, arms crossing. "Mum needed help."
"I know."
"You weren't there."
"No."
The admission was simple.
The were these silent moments, but they didn't feel awkward or annoying. They felt normal.
Fila looked at the old man who had once had the while wizard world in the palm of his hand. He was old, didn't look that dangerous either. But maybe that was the thing, a wolf in sheep clothes, or maybe age just managed to ruin his villain style.
"Why did mom go to America?" Fila asked, she had never heard an answer to this from her mother.
He inhaled deeply, "in 1944 she left because she wanted to have a normal life. Not one filled with worries because her dad was a dark lord." He answer plainly, and yet it didn't need more of an explanation.
"She loved America," he added. "Loved the distance. The anonymity. The chance to be simply herself."
Fila absorbed that quietly. It matched the fragments she remembered: her mother's affection for ordinary things, for quiet routines, for small joys untouched by legacy.
"She never talked much about you," Fila said after a moment.
"I was never a good father. My mind was clouded by the imagination of a world that we cant have. I still think my idea wasn't flawed, maybe just ahead of its time." he answered, Fila knew about his vision of how the world should run. To a normal wizard it sounded like a good idea, until you relies that every muggle would basically be a slave.
"Did you want her to stay?" Fila asked.
Grindelwald leaned back slightly, hands folding loosely. "Wanting," he said carefully, "has rarely been my most useful instinct."
"That's not an answer."
A faint smile returned. "Yes."
Fila blinked.
"Yes?"
"Yes. I wanted her to stay."
There was no drama in the admission, no heavy shadow of regret. Only truth delivered plainly, as though neither embellishment nor protection served any purpose now.
Fila shifted in her chair, uncertainty flickering briefly across her face. "Then why didn't you stop her?"
Grindelwald's eyes rested on her steadily. "Because she was my daughter."
The simplicity of it stilled the air.
"You do not cage someone you love," he said quietly. "Even when they are walking away from you."
Fila held his gaze, something in her expression softening despite herself.
Across the room, Rowan stood near the damaged doorway, silent and watchful. Elsbeth remained beside him, posture composed though her eyes reflected the delicate balance of the moment unfolding.
Fila leaned back, letting the conversation breathe rather than rushing to fill the space. The sunlight filtering through the tall windows had shifted slightly, the pale beams now angled across the floor and brushing the edges of the small table between them. Dust did not gather here, yet the light still behaved as it did everywhere else, moving steadily, marking the slow passage of time.
Her gaze wandered briefly around the room. The bookshelf drew her attention first. Its contents were orderly but not rigidly arranged, several volumes worn along their spines, others stacked horizontally in small, uneven piles. A few loose sheets of parchment rested near the edge, inked in a sharp, disciplined hand. It was the sort of detail she hadn't expected to notice, yet once seen it was difficult to ignore.
"I heard you performed really well in herbology and charms" he said breaking the silence.
Fila nodded, "I didn't know Herbology could be used the way I've learnt to use it. its interesting."
He smiled. "I heard, and If I suspect right you have been given the book Florae Arcanum"
She looked at him surprised.
"didn't think I knew about that book?" he said with a laugh. "It's a really unique book, most can't even begin to crasp its way to use herbology as a way of combat."
Fila and her Grandpa talked for hours about anything and nothing. Her resentment towards him slowly faded once she realised that her mother had chosen what she did, Gellert had tried to help her. But was turned down by Lyra.
"Who is my father?" Fila asked.
He was still for a long time before her even answered. "that is something you will figure out yourself one day" he said, "you will be surprised"
Fila tilted her head. "You know."
Grindelwald's gaze rested on her with quiet steadiness. "Yes."
"And you're not going to tell me."
"No."
There was no irritation in his tone, no defensiveness. The refusal arrived calmly, as though wrapped in certainty rather than secrecy.
Fila leaned back, arms folding loosely. "That's annoying."
"I imagine it is."
"You've spent hours answering everything else."
"Not everything."
"Most things."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Curiosity has always been one of your more obvious traits."
"That's not an answer either."
Grindelwald regarded her thoughtfully. "Some knowledge," he said at last, "belongs to timing as much as truth."
The conversation drifted again after that, easing back into safer, lighter territory. They spoke of Ilvermorny, of professors and classes, of the strange blend of structure and unpredictability that defined school life. Grindelwald listened more than he spoke, his questions thoughtful, his observations sharp but never dismissive. Rowan and Elsbeth eventually took seats near the repaired doorway, the earlier damage already corrected by quiet Ministry magic, their presence fading into the background as the hours passed unnoticed.
Time moved easily in the bright chamber.
Eventually, Rowan cleared his throat gently. "Ophelia."
Fila blinked, glancing toward the window where the sunlight had shifted again, now softer, edging toward afternoon. "Already?"
She rose slowly, the reluctance subtle but visible.
Grindelwald stood as well.
For a brief moment they faced one another again, no longer quite strangers, not yet anything simple enough to name.
"is there anyway for you to leave this place?" she asked.
The question was quiet, absent of accusation, shaped more by curiosity than expectation.
Grindelwald's expression did not shift into surprise. If anything, there was something faintly knowing in his eyes, as though he had wondered when she might ask.
"There is," he said calmly.
Fila blinked. "There is?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you still here?"
He glanced briefly toward the tall windows, where pale mountain light spilled across the stone floor. "Because I chose to remain."
Fila frowned slightly. "You chose prison?"
"the wizard who defeated me. I made a promise to him and the wizard world, that I would pay for my sins here. alone." He said bluntly.
Fila held his gaze, something thoughtful passing behind her eyes.
"I think," she said after a moment, "I'd still like to show you Ilvermorny someday."
Grindelwald's brows lifted slightly.
Then his expression warmed, subtle but unmistakable.
"I would like that very much, Ophelia."
"If I convince that wizard to let you live in America with me, will you?"
Fila hesitated only a fraction of a second before the thought slipped out, carried by a sincerity she had not entirely planned to reveal. "If I convinced the Ministry to let you live in America with me… would you?"
Rowan froze.
Elsbeth's head turned sharply.
For a moment Grindelwald simply looked at her, the question settling into the quiet space between them. Surprise flickered briefly across his face, though it softened almost immediately into something far gentler, far more reflective.
"You would attempt that?" he asked.
Fila shrugged lightly, though her eyes remained steady. "I'm persuasive when properly motivated."
Elsbeth let out a soft breath that sounded suspiciously like disbelief.
Rowan muttered, "Merlin help us."
Grindelwald's gaze did not leave Fila. There was no amusement now, no trace of the dry humor that had colored much of their conversation. Only a quiet attentiveness, as though he were weighing not the feasibility of the idea, but the meaning behind it.
"if you can convince those stubborn bastards then yes."
Fila allowed herself the smallest smile.
Then Rowan, with gentle finality, held out the portkey once more. "Time."
Reality returned again, steady and unavoidable.
Fila stepped closer, fingers wrapping around the object, though her eyes remained on Grindelwald.
Not hesitant now.
Not guarded.
"I'll see you soon."
Grindelwald inclined his head, something unmistakably warm in his gaze. "I look forward to it."
The portkey activated.
The room dissolved.
And for the first time, she actually wanted her return to be soon.