The duel had turned really ugly by now.
The ring became a rugged landscape of crushed rocks and craters deeper than 2 meters.
Fila had gotten into cover, a sharp metal fragment had shot right into her thigh.
With a pull she yanked it out. "FUCK!" she shouted out as she pulled It out. She looked over the stone cover to see Haru in an intense fight with Mugin. Hugin had already been blown to bits.
Haru had no only out performed anyone she had seen yet, but he also stood on equal ground if not higher than Ophelia.
She pressed a hand over the wound, whispering a quick, clumsy healing charm that slowed the bleeding but didn't stop the burning pain.
She raised her free hand, ancient magic surging through her despite the injury. The ground trembled again as roots exploded upward, not forming Bob this time, but a twisting wall of living thorns and vines that surged toward Haru like a tidal wave of green fury. At the same time, she whistled sharply.
Munin broke off his attack and ran straight for her.
Haru met the wave head-on. With a shout, he transfigured a massive section of the broken ring into a swirling storm of razor-sharp stone shards that tore through her vines like paper. He followed it with a powerful blasting curse that slammed into her cover, forcing her to roll aside as rock exploded around her.
Fila came up on one knee, leg burning, but her expression was focused.
"You're strong," she called out across the ruined ring, voice carrying over the chaos. "Stronger than Yumi. Stronger than most people here. But strength without control is just noise."
During their fight, fila had noticed something about Haru. His eyes were bloodshot. That in itself wasn't weird in a duel at this level, but none of her spells had hit his head or anything which would give him something like that.
Which brought her back to think what Dourado had tried to tell her before she walked out of the ring.
She slammed her palm to the ground.
This time, Bob answered.
The Tree Giant erupted in full force, bigger and more solid than before, his body reinforced with thicker bark and glowing veins of silver-green magic. He roared a deep, protective sound that shook the ring, and charged straight at Haru with earth-shaking steps.
Haru didn't back down. He met the giant head-on, reshaping the battlefield around him into weapons, barriers, and traps. The fight turned into a whirlwind of raw power, Bob swinging massive root-fists, Haru dancing between strikes while launching devastating counterattacks.
Fila stayed low, using the chaos to reposition, her mind racing. Haru was dangerous tonight. Too dangerous.
While bob kept him occupied she flanked Haru on the right. Appariting closely.
The spell erupted from Fila's wand like a thunderclap, her own aggressive version of Depulso, raw and unrefined, laced with the wild spark of Thunderbird magic. It slammed into Haru with the force of a charging hippogriff.
"Take this, bitch," she growled.
Haru was blasted backward like a rag doll, crashing hard into one of his own conjured stone walls. The impact cracked the reinforced barrier and sent dust and rubble exploding outward. He hit the ground hard, rolling across the shattered ring, blood trickling from a fresh cut on his forehead. His breathing was ragged, but he pushed himself up almost immediately, eyes blazing with that unnatural intensity.
"Wtf did they give you?" she asked while sighing. The duel had been going on for thirty minutes by this point, she barley had any feeling left in her arms and legs.
Haru snarled and retaliated with a whirlwind of transfigured spears and chains, but Bob lumbered in like a living fortress, smashing through them with massive root-fists. Munin dove from above, talons raking across Haru's shoulder, drawing more blood.
The fight had become a brutal dance. Haru was dangerous — faster and stronger than he had any right to be — but he was also burning out. His movements were becoming frantic, his transfigurations wilder and less precise. Bloodshot eyes, trembling hands. Whatever drug or ritual they had used on him was pushing him beyond his limits.
Fila stayed mobile now, apparating in short bursts, using Bob as both shield and battering ram. She fired another aggressive Depulso, this one catching Haru in the side and sending him skidding across the broken stone.
"Yield!" she shouted.
Haru staggered to his feet, wand raised, but his arm was shaking. He looked at her, really looked and for the first time, something like exhaustion and respect crossed his face.
But he yanked loose and threw another spell.
"Fuck, im really starting to hate you." she said with a groan.
She felt her own body starting to give out. The blood loss from her thigh and shoulder had been too much, even with the clumsy healing charms. Her legs were numb, her arms heavy, and every apparation sent a spike of pain through her. Bob was still fighting valiantly, but even the giant was slowing down, roots cracking under Haru's relentless assault.
For the first time in this entire championship, Fila actually thought about having to kill someone to win.
The idea sat cold and heavy in her chest. She didn't want to. She wasn't her grandfather. She wasn't the Butcher they kept calling her in the papers.
But she had made her mind.
She shot Bob an instruction and he started sprinting to Haru.
The giant swung her bid arm and caught Haru in a firm grip, making the boy fire spells after spell right into Bob's face.
Fila took this time to apparate directly onto Bob's arm, just before Haru.
"Its time to sleep now," she said with a slight smile, and grabbed his head with both hands.
Ancient magic flooded out of her like cool river water, not violent, not destructive, but deep and soothing. She poured it into his mind, wrapping the raging fire of whatever enhancement they had given him in layers of calm. The bloodshot eyes fluttered. Haru's body stiffened for a moment, spells still sparking weakly from his wand, before his muscles went slack.
He slumped forward, unconscious but breathing steadily, held gently in Bob's enormous root-hand like a sleeping child.
Fila let out a long, shaky breath. She patted Bob's arm gratefully. "Good boy. You can let him down now."
The Tree Giant gave a soft, almost affectionate creak and carefully lowered Haru onto a bed of moss and flowers he had grown on the spot. Then, with one last cheerful rumble, Bob dissolved back into the earth, leaving behind a beautiful patch of glowing wildflowers in the middle of the ruined ring.
Fila fell down onto her butt, her breathing hard, bleeding, and a dizziness from all the magic she had just forced out of herself.
Medic personnel had already arrived at her and were asking questions, She didn't hear any of it.
She saw Dourado looking her, and gave her a slight nod with a warm smile she hadn't seen the headmistress with before. maybe a thank you.
Fila managed a tired grin in return and raised one bloody hand in a weak wave.
Then the announcement came, Dourado's voice magically amplified across the entire grounds:
"The winner of the International school Dueling Tournament… Ophelia Grindelwald of Ilvermorny!"
The roar that followed was deafening. Ilvermorny students poured forward, cheering wildly. June reached her first, dropping to her knees beside her with tears in her eyes.
"You absolute madwoman," June laughed through happy sobs, pulling her into a careful hug. "You didn't have to make it that dramatic!"
Miles skidded in right behind her, grinning like a lunatic. "Bob! The giant! The sleep spell! I'm never going to shut up about this!"
Fila let herself lean into her friends, the dizziness fading a little under the wave of warmth and noise. Healers worked around them, patching her wounds with efficient spells and potions. The pain in her leg dulled to a manageable throb.
She had done it.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt… proud. Not of the violence, but of the choice she'd made at the end.
As the celebration swirled around her, Fila glanced toward the Mahoutokoro section. Haru was being helped up by his own healers, looking exhausted but alive. Their eyes met for a brief second. He gave her a small, respectful nod.
She nodded back.
Complicated. Everything was always complicated.
But right now, sitting on the broken stone with her friends around her and the stars above, it felt like a pretty good kind of complicated.
During the whole celebration in the ring, a blond woman had somehow gotten close to Ophelia.
Fila looked up and saw her, Rita Skeeter, quill already scribbling furiously on a floating piece of parchment, her acid-green eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement usually reserved for discovering a juicy scandal.
"Well, well," Rita purred, her voice carrying that sickly-sweet tone that made Fila's skin crawl. "Ophelia Grindelwald, the champion of the hour! Or should I say… the Butcher of the Jungle strikes again? That little display with the giant was quite something. Care to give your adoring public a quote?"
Fila stared at her for a moment, still sitting on the broken stone with healers fussing around her leg. The dizziness from magical exhaustion was fading, replaced by a familiar flicker of irritation. She wiped a bit of blood and dirt from her cheek with the back of her hand and gave Rita a tired, unimpressed look.
"You've got some nerve showing up here after the rubbish you wrote about me," Fila said calmly. "Didn't my grandmother's… conversation make an impression?"
Rita's smile didn't waver, though her quill hesitated for half a second. "Darling, the public has a right to know the truth. And you do make for such dramatic headlines. 'Grindelwald's Granddaughter Summons Monster to End Rival' it practically writes itself!"
June, still kneeling beside Fila, looked ready to hex the woman on the spot. Miles crossed his arms, glaring.
Fila, however, just sighed and pushed herself up with a wince, ignoring the healer's protests. She stood unsteadily but straight, rain-damp hair sticking to her face, blindfold still perfectly in place.
"Here's your quote," she said, voice level but carrying that quiet Thunderbird spark. "I won because I'm better. Not because I'm dark, not because of my name, and definitely not because of whatever nonsense you're planning to twist this into."
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only Rita could hear.
"And if you ever call me 'Butcher' again… well. Let's just say my grandmother isn't the only Rosier who knows how to have a conversation."
Rita's smile faltered for the briefest moment before snapping back into place. Her quill scribbled even faster.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Absolutely fascinating."
Fila turned away, limping toward her friends as the healers trailed after her. June slipped an arm around her waist for support.
"She's going to turn that into something, and it smells like shit already." Miles said.
And fila knew that, she had basically already booked a visit to her home.
"Fila!" a very familiar voice cut in, and soon held her left arm.
Fila turned, a tired but genuine smile spreading across her face when she saw that cute, slightly worried expression looking up at her.
"Hello, Bea," she said softly.
Bea's eyes flicked over Fila's injuries, the bandaged thigh, the blood on her shoulder, the general mess of someone who had just fought a small war, and her grip tightened gently.
"You absolute idiot," Bea whispered, voice thick with relief and scolding all at once. "I saw the giant. I saw you just… standing there in the rain like you were daring the sky to do its worst. And then Haru…" She shook her head, eyes glistening. "You scared me half to death. Again."
Fila let out a small laugh that turned into a wince as one of the healers prodded her leg. "Sorry. Old habits. At least I didn't grow anything inside him this time."
Bea's thumb brushed lightly over Fila's knuckles, careful of the scrapes there. "You're still an idiot," she repeated, softer this time. "But… you won. You actually won the whole thing. I'm so proud of you, amor. Even if I wanted to hex you for being so reckless."
"…Yeah." Fila had started feeling very dizzy, her blood and the commotion around her had drained the very last strand of energy she had. "You look really cute with that braided hair, Bea. But I'm about to pass out… but I w…" her body went limp.
Bea caught her instantly, arms wrapping around Fila's waist with surprising strength for someone who had been in the medical wing herself not long ago.
The healers were quick to put her on a stretcher, and carry her away to the medical wing.
All around the world, news had already started spreading like a fiendfyre fire.
Newspaper and outlets had all started to report on their won versions, the American one told the news about their champion winning. Meanwhile the Japanese one told the story about their whole team being wiped out by the new heir of Grindelwald.
Rita skeeter on the other hand, had as usual twisted the whole thing ones more. This time the headline wrote: Grindelwald claims victory in the jungle, Is the dark past returning.
Laughable to anyone who didn't know better.
Surprisingly, no one had written anything about Haru. Which Ophelia sitting in her bed now saw. Meaning, someone is hiding it.
Bea was curled up beside her on the narrow cot (the healers had long given up trying to separate them), reading over her shoulder with a frown.
"They didn't mention Haru at all," Bea said quietly. "Not a word about how… off he was. The bloodshot eyes, the way he kept going even after he should've dropped. Someone's covering it up."
Fila nodded, folding the paper and tossing it onto the bedside table with mild disgust. "Of course they are. Can't have the great Mahoutokoro school admitting they pumped their champion full of who-knows-what just to try and beat me. Easier to paint me as the next Dark Lady rising."
Explaining her suspicion to the others hadn't been the smartest choice, but she didn't feel like holding that back since she currently couldn't move. And maybe they could find something before she did, Miles did have his underground smuggle network working in overtime for candy so why could it not work for information.
Potions of different kind could be the explanation but he felt to aggressive for that, so fila had drawn a conclusion that maybe he went through some ritual.
Maybe just maybe. or he could have just been good and the bloodshot eyes were just a coincidence… no way.
"Fila," she said, stepping inside. "The press wants to ask questions. Fontaine said you should probably do it, at least a short one. He thinks ignoring them completely might make things worse."
Fila let out a long, dramatic sigh and buried her face in Bea's shoulder for a moment. "Of course he does. Because what I really need right now is Rita Skeeter asking me if I'm planning world domination."
Bea laughed softly and kissed the top of her head.
Fila sat up with a wince, running a hand through her messy hair. "Fine. Short interview. One question each. And if Rita calls me 'Butcher' again, I'm walking out."
Sera nodded. "I'll tell them. They're waiting in the atrium. Fontaine's already there playing referee."
As she limped out of the room (with a healer hovering anxiously behind her), Fila couldn't help but think about how strange her life had become. From prison to tournament champion to press interviews in the span of a few weeks.
The atrium was packed with reporters when she arrived. Rita Skeeter was front and center, quill poised like a venomous snake. Other journalists from various countries murmured excitedly.
Fontaine gave her a small, encouraging nod from the side.
Fila took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"Let's make this quick," she said, voice steady despite the exhaustion. "I have healing potions to drink and a nap to take."
Rita's hand shot up first, of course.
"Miss Grindelwald! Care to comment on the rumors that your… unique botanical magic borders on dark arts?"
Fila gave her a flat look. "It's plants. I make them do what I want. If that's dark, then every Herbology professor is a dark wizard. Next question."
A Brazilian reporter spoke up next. "How does it feel to be the champion after everything that happened?"
Fila thought for a second, then smiled faintly. "Tired. Proud. Mostly tired. I didn't win because of my name. I won because I worked for it. And because I chose not to become what some people expected me to be."
A quiet murmur rippled through the reporters. Several quills scratched eagerly across parchment.
Then a tall witch from a European outlet, sharp features, silver-streaked hair pulled into a neat bun, raised her hand. Her voice was calm but carried weight, like someone who had covered too many dark chapters in wizarding history.
"Miss Grindelwald," she said, "your grandfather once stood where you are now, powerful, celebrated by some, feared by many. He chose a path that led to war and suffering. Today you chose mercy when you could have ended Haru permanently. My question is this: do you believe the blood in your veins makes you destined to repeat his mistakes… or do you think you can truly break the cycle? And if so, how? Because many of us watching wonder whether the name 'Grindelwald' will always demand a price."
The atrium went very quiet.
Fila froze. The question hit harder than any spell Haru had thrown at her. It wasn't the usual "Are you the next Dark Lady?" nonsense. It was deeper. Personal. It forced her to look straight at the shadow she had been carrying since the day she learned her full name.
For a moment, the exhaustion, the pain in her leg, and the noise of the crowd all faded. She was back in that damp MACUSA cell, talking with Elara. Back in the dark room with bloody Ophelia whispering in her ear. Back in the forest when she discovered Bea's betrayal. All the moments where the name had felt like chains.
She swallowed.
"I… don't know if I can break the cycle completely," Fila said slowly, her voice quieter than before but steady. "The blood is there. The name is there. People will always look at me and see him first. That's not something I can change with a spell or a victory."
She paused, flexing her fingers. A tiny rosebud appeared in her palm, soft pink with silver edges, before she let it fade away.
"But I can choose what I do with it. Every day. Every duel. Every time someone expects me to be cruel or ruthless or… monstrous. I can choose to be something else. Strong without crushing people. Powerful without needing to make them afraid. I don't know if that's enough to break the cycle. But I think it's the only way to try."
The atrium was silent for a long beat.
Then the quills started scratching again, faster than before.
Fila gave a small, tired smile. "That's all I've got for now. If you'll excuse me, I have potions to drink and a nap the size of Bob waiting for me."
Fontaine stepped in smoothly, thanking the press and guiding Fila away before anyone could ask another question. As they left the atrium, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"That was well handled," he said quietly. "Better than most adults could have managed."
Fila leaned on him slightly as they walked. "Felt like I was answering for more than just the tournament."
"You were," Fontaine replied. "And you did it as yourself. That's what matters."
A strange sort of unrest, or uneasy feeling crept over her. The question had been so deep, yet so respectful. She had half believed she was about to be called a dark witch again or in some way atleast, yet that reporter had actually made her think about her answer. For the first time she felt like she didn't know what to answer at first.
"Who was that reporter? Do you know?" Fila asked while looking up at her headmaster.
Fontaine nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Elise Moreau," he said quietly as they walked. "She writes for Le Sorcier Libre — one of the more respected independent papers in France. She's been covering wizarding politics for decades. Doesn't chase scandals like Skeeter. She asks the questions most people are too afraid to ask out loud."
Fila let that sink in, still leaning slightly on him for support. Her leg throbbed with every step, but the potions were starting to do their work.
"She made me think," Fila admitted. "Most of them just want a dramatic headline. She wanted… an actual answer. About whether I'm doomed to be like him."
Fontaine glanced down at her, his expression gentle but serious. "And you gave her one. A good one. Honest. That's rarer than you might think"