A few days later, Ophelia stood in front of the mirror and did not recognize the girl looking back at her.
The room behind her was unchanged. The tall windows still let in the same soft light. The wardrobe remained neatly ordered. The fire in the hearth burned low and steady, tended by hands that never asked permission. Everything around her was consistent.
Ophelia, Looked in the mirror. Jet black hair, light blue eyes from her grandfather she was told. Sharp features in her face. She looked a lot like her mother, but she didn't know if she had any similarities to her father as she had never been told who her father is.
The days in the mansion had gone softly, she had gone out to her mothers grave daily, even in rain and thunder.
Elsbeth and Rowan had come to check up on her from time to time, they also talked about what she wanted to do. But she was unsure herself. She often spent the time reading the books that had been arranged in her bookshelf.
Some fantasy books but also some magic books for learning, she didn't want to stop learning. Her mother always told her to keep learning, so she did.
She did not practice openly. Not yet. But she memorized. She traced spells with her eyes. She whispered incantations under her breath late at night, careful to keep her voice low. Her mothers wand laid untouched in the bedside drawer still.
There had been people coming to visit her, doctors.
She was told that she needed to eat more and focus on relaxing.
The food was good so she didn't hold back on eating.
The maids around here didn't seem that scary anymore, she still didn't feel relaxed around them but she wasn't scared either. Some of them waved and others greeted her as she would walk around the mansion.
Ophelia began to learn their names.
Not all at once. Not because she meant to. It simply happened as the days passed and the faces stopped blurring together. Marta, of course. A groundskeeper with weathered hands who nodded to her each morning. A young maid who always smiled too quickly and looked away just as fast. They spoke to her carefully, as if afraid a wrong word might break something that could not be repaired.
She did not correct them when they called her miss.
She ate when meals were placed in front of her. Slowly at first, then with more certainty. Warm bread. Stews rich with herbs. Fruit she had only ever seen in markets, never tasted. Her body accepted the care even when her mind resisted it. Color returned to her face. Strength to her hands.
The doctors came and went.
They spoke in quiet voices, words like recovery and rest and time passing between them. They asked her questions she answered without thinking. How she slept. If she felt dizzy. If she dreamed. She did not tell them about the dreams that left her awake before dawn, staring at the ceiling, listening for a voice that never came.
She kept walking the grounds.
Sometimes she traced the edge of the gardens, counting her steps. Sometimes she wandered deeper into the mansion, finding rooms that felt unused, doors that had not been opened in years. Libraries layered with dust and silence. Corridors that smelled faintly of old magic and stone. She did not linger long in those places.
At night, she returned to her room and read until her eyes burned.
She learned theory. Structure. Why spells worked the way they did. Why intention mattered more than volume. Why some magic answered grief and others recoiled from it. Her mother's lessons returned to her slowly, weaving themselves into what she read.
One day Rowan knocked on her door and walked in. "Goodmorning miss." He said as she sat at the window seat reading a book.
She wasn't that used to Rowan yet, but she was one of the people she knew more then others.
"Goodmorning." She answered back.
He smiled and stood still a bit into the room. "Elsbeth and I were wondering if you would like to maybe train some spells?" he asked but very carefully. He knew that the last time she had trained her mother was with her. This could turn it into a difficult activity.
Ophelia look at the man standing in the room, she didn't show any emotion about being more sad after hearing the suggestion.
"Alright" she said plainly.
Rowan who had expected a no was surprised. He looked at the girl standing up and go towards her nightstand, she pulled out the drawer and reached for her mothers wand.
Its was a wand made from cypress wood, it had a dragon heartstring core, and 10 inches long.
Rowan watched closely but said nothing.
She slid the drawer shut and turned back toward him. For a moment, she simply stood there, wand held loosely at her side, eyes lowered. Then she nodded once.
"Where" she asked.
"There is a practice courtyard," Rowan replied.
She followed him through the halls without another word.
The courtyard was enclosed by high stone walls, ivy climbing their edges in careful patterns. The ground was packed earth rather than stone, marked faintly by old spellwork scars that had long since faded. It felt used, but not recently.
Rowan stopped near the center and turned to face her.
"We do not have to do much," he said. "We can stop whenever you want."
Ophelia nodded again.
She lifted the wand.
The motion was natural. Her hand remembered before her mind did. She did not cast anything yet. She only stood there, breathing evenly, eyes focused on the empty space ahead of her.
She could hear her mother's voice in her memory.
Rowan took a careful step back. "A simple charm," he suggested. "Nothing defensive. Nothing aggressive."
Ophelia swallowed.
"Lumos," she said softly.
The light flickered.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then a steady glow formed at the tip of the wand.
Rowan exhaled slowly. "Very good," he said, keeping his voice low.
She lowered the wand and the light faded.
Her hands trembled then, the reaction delayed, catching up to her all at once. She tightened her grip until her knuckles went pale, grounding herself in the feel of the wood.
Elsbeth who was standing to the side took mental notes, but the most chocking thing she saw wasn't the spells or that she was outside. It was the fact that she wore different clothes this time. A light blue sweater with grey pants.
A smile formed on Elsbeth, she wrote it down on a small pieces of paper before turning back to watch the young miss.
They practiced only a little more that day. Small charms. Controlled movements. Nothing that required emotion beyond focus. Rowan stopped them before she could push herself too far.
When it was over, Ophelia stood alone for a moment in the courtyard, wand resting at her side.
During this time, she for once didn't think about the past as much. She almost felt, happy.
They walked back through the halls together. Ophelia noticed things she had not before. The echo of their footsteps. The way sunlight caught in the dust near the windows. How the mansion no longer felt quite as heavy as it had when she first arrived.
When she returned to her room, she placed the wand back in the drawer. But then hesitated, she picked it up again and closed the drawer.
From outside the room where Elsbeth was listening she could hear Ophelia silently use some spells.
Months passed.
The change did not arrive all at once. It crept in quietly, the way morning light did through the tall windows, slow and unavoidable.
By the time summer settled fully over the grounds, Ophelia no longer startled when footsteps echoed behind her in the halls. She still moved quietly, still preferred corners and window seats, but her shoulders were no longer drawn in as if bracing for something unseen. She met people's eyes now. Briefly. On her own terms.
Her reflection in the mirror had changed again.
She stood straighter. Her jet black hair was often tied back loosely now, no longer hiding her face. The light blue eyes that once looked hollow held focus instead. There were still shadows there, but they no longer swallowed her whole.
The mansion had stopped feeling like an intruder.
She had learned its rhythms. When the halls were busiest. When they were empty. Which servants spoke softly and which spoke freely. She answered greetings without hesitation now. Sometimes she even initiated them.
"Good morning, Marta."
The first time she said it without thinking, Marta had paused mid step, surprise flickering across her face before she smiled. That smile stayed.
Ophelia trained regularly after that first day.
Rowan guided her with patience, always careful not to push. Elsbeth observed more than she spoke, recording progress in her small notebooks, watching not just the magic but the girl wielding it.
Ophelia practiced shielding charms, basic transfiguration, controlled casting. She learned how to stop when her breath shortened. How to ground herself before emotion bled into magic. She made mistakes. She corrected them.
At night, Ophelia no longer whispered spells out of fear of being heard. She practiced openly in her room, windows cracked, candlelight steady. The wand moved smoothly in her hand, familiar as a heartbeat.
She still visited her mother's grave.
But she no longer stayed as long.
Sometimes she brought a book and read aloud. Sometimes she spoke about lessons, about spells she had learned, about things she did not understand yet. Sometimes she simply sat and let the silence exist without fighting it.
The dreams came less often.
When they did, they were quieter.
One afternoon, Elsbeth found Ophelia in the library, feet tucked beneath her on a chair, surrounded by open books and loose parchment. She was writing something in careful script, brows furrowed in concentration.
"You look busy," Elsbeth said.
Ophelia glanced up and smiled slightly. Not forced. Real.
"I am," she replied. "I want to understand this one properly."
Elsbeth watched her for a moment, then nodded. "You will."
Ophelia returned to her work without shrinking away.
Confidence had settled into her like a second skin.
The months continued to layer themselves gently over one another.
Autumn came without announcement. The gardens shifted from strict greens to gold and rust, leaves collecting in corners before the groundskeepers cleared them away. Ophelia noticed the change and, for the first time, did not feel the urge to count the days since she had arrived.
Her confidence did not announce itself loudly. It showed in smaller things. In the way she walked through the halls without hugging the walls. In how she answered questions without rehearsing the words in her head first. In how she began to ask questions of her own.
She joined Rowan in the practice courtyard more often now, sometimes requesting sessions herself.
"I want to try it again," she would say, wand already in hand.
Rowan never hid his surprise, but he did not question her.
They expanded beyond charms. Simple transfiguration. Controlled elemental magic. Focus exercises meant to test patience rather than power. When frustration rose, Ophelia learned how to stop before it spilled into her casting. When she failed, she did not flinch the way she once had.
She corrected herself and tried again.
The mansion began to feel smaller.
Not because it had changed, but because Ophelia had. She explored rooms she once avoided. Long unused studies. Upper towers with narrow windows that overlooked miles of land. She learned where the light fell best in the afternoons and where the air felt stillest at night.
She claimed spaces.
The library became hers in a quiet, unspoken way. Servants stopped interrupting her there. Books were left open on tables without being cleared away. Someone even brought a cushion to her favorite chair without being asked.
Her clothes changed too, slowly. Practical layers. Sweaters she chose herself. Trousers that allowed movement. Robes worn when she practiced, not because anyone told her to but because they felt right.
She still wore her old shirt sometimes.
No one tried to take it from her.
At her mother's grave, she no longer spoke every day. Sometimes she stood in silence. Sometimes she brought fresh flowers herself rather than letting the gardeners do it. Once, she repaired a cracked stone at the edge of the path with careful, quiet magic.
"I'm getting better," she said softly that day
Then winter came. The snow fell down and gave the house a blanket. The cold winds made going outside annoying. But she mostly thought about her mother laying out there in the cold.
She sat in her window seat outlooking the garden. In her hand she had her wand and a spell book.
The glass was cold against her shoulder as she leaned into the window frame.
Snow drifted steadily outside, softening the sharp lines of the garden until even its perfect symmetry felt muted. The fountain had been stilled for the season, its basin capped with ice that caught the pale winter light. Everything looked quieter beneath the snow.
Ophelia watched it fall for a long time.
Her wand rested loosely in her hand, balanced across her palm rather than gripped. The spell book lay open on her knees, its pages marked with small notes written in her careful script.
In one of the rooms, Elsbeth and Rowan sat around a small round table. They were looking over papers and sharing their thoughts about the improvements in Ophelias mood.
"She even talks to the maids normally now, sometime even sits in the kitchen while they cook." Elsbeth told Rowan. This would have been unheard of a couple of months ago when she would lock herself inside her room all day.
Rowan leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee. "She is getting more confident, less scared. She really is growing into a Grindelwald, and fast too" he said.
Elsbeth shot a glare at him, she had told him several time not to say it like that, she and he knew very well that Ophelia resented her grandfather for not having taken care of her mother. Even if she had never met him.
They sat in silence for a bit, the fire crackled, wind hit the windows.
"I talked the headmaster again yesterday." She began, "He wants to talk to her."
Rowan sighed and looked at the cup in front of him. He didn't like this begin so rushed, maybe she didn't even want to attend school. And he was worried that it would revert the progress they had made.
"when?" he asked.
She looked at him still. "When she wants too." Elsbeth said.
He nodded, good this gives us some time, a couple months at least. "Lets talk to her about it, carefully"
The next morning, they sat around the table that they had began eating around. Ophelia sat at the far end of the table.
Rowan and Elsbeth looked at each other with worried expressions before nodding to each other.
"Fila, could we talk about something?" Elsbeth asked (Fila is what they call her)
Ophelia looked at the two while eating her toast with butter and cheese on it. "Yes of course" she said while chewing.
Rowan looked increasingly worried
"You know Ilvermorny the school" she began slowly, and before she continued, she studied Filas expression. "Well, the headmaster of the school would like to meet with you."
Both Rowan and Elsbeth braced for something to happen, but nothing. Fila sat still and kept eating her toast. "Oh okay, yeah I can talk to the headmaster" she casually said and turned back to her breakfast.
The two looked at Fila and then at each other with victories smiles curving upward.
Elsbeth was the first to breathe again.
"That is… very mature of you," she said, choosing her words with care.
Ophelia shrugged lightly. "It is just a conversation. I am not agreeing to anything yet."
Rowan's shoulders eased. He nodded once. "That is exactly right."
Breakfast continued after that, softer somehow. Less careful. Rowan told a story about a disastrous lesson he had once observed where half a courtyard had turned purple for a week. Ophelia laughed into her cup before she could stop herself, then did not apologize for it.
When the meal ended, she lingered at the table.
"I want to ask something," she said.
Elsbeth straightened slightly. "Of course."
"If I meet him," Ophelia continued, "I want it to be here. Not at the school."
"That can be arranged," Elsbeth replied immediately.