Fleur Delacour had this feeling around her, everyone looked at her when she stepped into a café or any room for that matter.
But when would her looks and blood give way? Well of course when a blind duelist champion walks along side her.
"You can't be serious? They tried to cheat and still lost?" Fleur asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and delight as they walked arm-in-arm along a snowy Parisian street.
Fila laughed, the sound light and genuine in the crisp winter air. "Yeah, and they didn't want me talking about it. The Mahoutokoro delegation called it 'traditional training methods.' My headmistress basically said it would cause an international incident if we pushed it. So I let it go. I already won, rubbing their noses in it felt… small."
Fila had arrived in Paris two days ago. New Year's Eve was only three days away, and she hadn't wanted to spend all her time in America. She missed the feeling of France, the elegant streets, the scent of fresh bread and roasted chestnuts from the vendors, the way the city seemed to glow even under a blanket of snow. Being back here felt like slipping into an old, comfortable coat.
Fleur squeezed her arm a little tighter, her silver-blonde hair catching the light from the streetlamps. "You are too kind, Ophelia. In Beauxbatons, we would have made sure the whole world knew. But I suppose that is why you are you." She glanced sideways at Fila, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips. "Though I hear you have been making quite the impression everywhere you go. Even here, people whisper about the young Grindelwald who won the tournament at thirteen."
Fila shrugged, her blindfold hiding the way her expression tightened for a moment.
"I heard you talked with our headmistress too, even inviting you directly as exchange?" Fleur asked with joy.
Fila let out a small huff of amusement, adjusting her grip on Fleur's arm as they turned a corner toward a small, warmly lit café. The smell of fresh crêpes and mulled wine drifted out into the cold air.
"Yes, I accepted. So I will be attending after Durmstrang." She said with a smile.
Fleur's eyes lit up with genuine delight. She gave Fila's arm a excited squeeze, nearly pulling her off balance on the snowy pavement. "Really? That is wonderful! Beauxbatons will be lucky to have you. The palace gardens alone are worth the trip, perfect for your plants. And I can finally show you the hidden alcoves where the best pastries are smuggled in during exams."
They stepped into the café, the bell above the door chiming softly. The warmth hit them like a hug, chasing away the winter chill. Fleur ordered in rapid, elegant French, two steaming cups of thick hot chocolate topped with fresh cream and a plate of buttery madeleines still warm from the oven. They claimed a small table by the frosted window, watching the snow fall gently outside.
Fila wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into her fingers. "It feels good to have something to look forward to after Durmstrang. The red uniform is nice, but I'm not exactly excited about freezing my toes off for months. Beauxbatons sounds… softer."
The people around looked at the two girls sitting together, chatting as if they aren't some of the most talked about witches in the magical world right now. But the girls didn't notice it themselves.
A few patrons whispered behind their menus. An older witch near the counter recognized the blindfold and did a double-take. A young couple at the next table kept stealing glances, clearly piecing together who the blindfolded girl with the striking part-Veela companion might be. Yet inside their little bubble by the window, it was just warm chocolate, buttery madeleines, and easy conversation.
Fleur took a delicate sip of her drink, leaving a small cream mustache she quickly wiped away with a laugh. "Compared to Durmstrang everything is soft, Fila. They pride themselves on hardship there."
Fila hummed thoughtfully, breaking off a piece of madeleine. The pastry melted on her tongue, rich and comforting. "That's part of why I accepted. I need to see both sides."
Fleur laughed out loud, "Ophelia needs to see both sides? Please little Fila, you're the most powerful school duelist out right now. Why go and do all this?"
And these words struck Fila deep as she herself had thought about it more times than she could count. Why did she even do this? just for curiosity? Or maybe just to explore. Could it be that she truly is born Thunderbird afterall, being adventures.
Finally she looked around the room and saw basically everyone quiet listening in on the girls conversation.
Fleur noticed a second later. She straightened with the effortless grace of someone used to being watched, though a faint flush of annoyance colored her cheeks. "It seems we have an audience," she murmured, voice low but carrying just enough to make a few people flinch.
"Yeah its bound to happened when two pretty girls meet like this," Fila said and swung her hair playfully. Gaining the collected laughter of the little café.
The tension in the café snapped like a taut string. A ripple of genuine laughter spread through the room, some patrons chuckling openly, others hiding smiles behind their cups. Even the older witch at the counter let out a surprised bark of amusement. The awkward stares softened into something warmer, almost fond. A few people raised their cups in a mock toast.
Fleur's eyes sparkled with delight. She leaned back in her chair, playing along perfectly. "Ah, the terrible burden of beauty. How do we survive it, Ophelia?"
The two girls ventured on into the streets of Paris, finding plenty of stop along the way.
But one shop window in particular caught her attention.
It was a dueling store, elegant and old-fashioned, with wands displayed like jewelry and protective amulets glowing softly in glass cases. In the showcase window hung a large, moving poster of her.
The image showed Fila mid-duel at Castelobruxo, blindfold on, hair whipping in the wind, one hand raised as vines and glowing flowers erupted around her. Bob's massive form loomed in the background like a protective guardian. Bold golden letters across the bottom read:
"OPHELIA GRINDELWALD — CHAMPION OF THE TRI-WIZARD TOURNAMENT""The Future of Dueling Has Arrived."
Fila stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the poster. The version of herself in the image looked powerful. Confident. Almost mythical.
"Is this normal?" Fila asked while looking at the poster.
Fleur noticed a second later and let out a soft, amused whistle. "Yeah, people are crazy for idols like this, same with quidditch."
But fila had already opened the door to go inside. Fleur just rolled her eyes, "You are like a kid Ophelia." But she soon followed after her inside.
The interior smelled of polished wood, old leather, brunt wood from testing spells. Shelves lined the walls with wands, enchanted dueling dummies, protective charms, and training gear. In the center of the shop stood a life-sized moving poster display, the same image from the window, looping through key moments of Fila's final duel. Bob's massive form shifting protectively, vines bursting across the arena, Fila's determined stance as she cast the sleep spell.
A middle-aged wizard behind the counter looked up, his eyes widening behind half-moon spectacles. "Merlin's beard… it's really you."
Fila tilted her head slightly, blindfold catching the soft magical lighting. "thank god, I thought I was someone else first. How much for the poster?"
The shopkeeper blinked, then broke into a wide, eager grin. "For you? Free of charge, Champion. We've sold more protective amulets and training dummies in the last two weeks than in the entire previous year. People want to duel like you do, or at least pretend they can."
"Were the duels really that popular?" Fila asked to both fleur and the shopkeeper.
"YES" the both said at the same time¨.
"Everyday we would read the results at breakfast when the newspaper came." Fleur added.
The shopkeeper chuckled warmly, adjusting his spectacles. "Every morning the Prophet arrived and half the country stopped what they were doing. People were placing bets, arguing in pubs, even holding viewing parties with enchanted mirrors. A thirteen-year-old Grindelwald wining every duel she had? That's the kind of story that sells itself."
Fila felt a strange mix of pride and discomfort twist in her chest. She accepted the rolled-up poster from the shopkeeper with a quiet "Thank you," tucking it carefully under her arm. The weight of it felt heavier than paper and ink should.
As they left the shop, stepping back into the crisp Parisian air, Fleur hooked her arm through Fila's once more. Snowflakes caught in her silver-blonde hair like tiny stars.
"You still look surprised," Fleur said gently. "Did you really not realize how much the world was watching?"
Fila shrugged, her blindfold hiding the way her brow furrowed. "I knew people were paying attention. I just didn't think it would turn into… this. Posters. Breakfast conversations. Kids trying to grow their own Bobs." She let out a soft breath that fogged in the cold.
But a smile had already formed, she wasn't that crazy about the whole being an idol thing. More of being someone people took as inspiration in this time. it felt good not being looked on as only a monster.
Fila later walked together with Fleur back to the floo network stations. Nine little fireplaces line each side of the walls, and not a wizard or witch anywhere.
"It was such a nice evening together, Fila. I can't wait to hear about your exchange, and maybe see you at Beauxbatons, oui?" Fleur said, pulling her into a warm, tight hug. Her silver-blonde hair smelled faintly of vanilla and winter roses. She smiled warmly as she stepped back, eyes sparkling. "Take care of yourself in that frozen school. And don't forget, Paris will always have a warm café waiting for you."
Fila returned the hug fiercely, a genuine smile on her face. "I won't forget. Thank you, Fleur. For everything. See you soon."
Fleur stepped into one of the fireplaces, threw a pinch of floo powder, and vanished in a burst of green flames with a final cheerful wave.
The station fell silent once more. Snow drifted lazily outside the arched windows. Fila stood still for a long moment, adjusting the strap of her bag with the rolled-up poster inside.
Then she spoke, voice calm and clear, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"You can come out now."
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then shadows moved.
Four figures stepped out from the darkened alcoves along the walls, dark robes blending with the night, silver masks glinting coldly under the dim lantern light. Death Eater masks. The kind that hadn't been seen openly in years.
Fila turned slowly to face them, blindfold steady. Her posture didn't change, but the air around her grew heavier, faint green sparks flickering at her fingertips like warning lights.
"I've been feeling you following us for the last three blocks," she said, almost conversationally. "Sloppy work. If you're going to stalk someone, at least do it properly."
One of the masked figures, taller than the others, with a voice like gravel stepped forward. "Ophelia Grindelwald. The Heir. We have been watching. Waiting for the right moment to… pay our respects."
Fila tilted her head. A small, dangerous smile curved her lips. "Respects? Or recruitment? Let me guess, you think the name means I'm ready to pick up where my grandfather left off. That I'll join your little club of masks and pure-blood delusions."
Another figure shifted, wand twitching in their hand. "The Dark Lord's ideals live on. You are his blood. You could lead us to greatness again."
Fila laughed, a brutaly honest laugh that made her need to breath, "Oh please. That's jus to funny." She wiped a tear that had fallen from her laughter. "The dead man you follow is but an ant for someone like my grandfather. Couldn't even conquer Britain." Fila's wand flew into her hand and she held it behind her back.
She took one step forward. Vines began to creep across the stone floor around her feet, slow and deliberate.
"So here's my offer," she continued, voice ice-cold. "submit to me, help me clean the cancer that has plagued the world for so long."
The station fell deathly silent. The four masked figures stood frozen, wands half-raised. The leader's silver mask tilted slightly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard.
One of the others let out a low, disbelieving laugh. "You… want us to serve you? A child playing at being the next Dark Lord?"
Fila's smile was small and sharp, nothing like the warm girl who had laughed with Fleur earlier. "Not serve. Join. I'm not interested in your old master's failed empire or his obsession with fear for its own sake. But the rot is real. The ones who torture for sport, who kill for blood purity, who destroy families because they can… they don't deserve to keep breathing."
She raised her free hand. The vines surged upward, forming a loose circle around the four figures, not attacking, but clearly ready to.
"I'm giving you a choice most people never get," she said quietly. "Help me cut out the worst of it. Or walk away right now and never cross my path again. The next time won't be a conversation."
Ophelia had not intention of letting these people live. But it's a fun experiment of seeing how fear can be used, and it was easier than she thought. Just a couple of vines loosely circled around them made them nervous.
But they aren't very high in the ladder of the death eaters, maybe even newbies.
The leader's hand trembled on his wand. "You speak like him… but you're still just a girl. The Dark Lord—"
"Is dead," Fila cut in sharply. "And his 'ideals' died with him in failure. I'm offering you something better. Purpose. A chance to actually clean instead of hiding in shadows and playing at revolution."
One of the smaller figures, probably the youngest lowered his wand completely, voice shaking. "I… I have a family. I didn't join for this madness. Just… just tell us what you want."
The leader hissed at him, but the vines tightened another inch, and the protest died.
Fila apparated right Infront of the youngest with a loud pop, his and the other's wands got yanked out of their hands by sharp fast vines. She whispered to him, "What's you name boy?"
He swallowed hard, breathing fast. "M-Marcus… Marcus Flint, miss."
The name sounded vaguely familiar, maybe a distant relative of some Slytherin she'd read about. One of the others made a strangled noise, but none of them dared move. The vines held their arms pinned to their sides now, tight enough to bite but not yet drawing blood.
Fila studied him for a long moment. He was shaking. Not a hardened killer. Probably some scared kid who'd joined for the thrill, the ideology, or because someone older had promised him power. The kind of person who could still be turned… or broken.
"Marcus," she repeated quietly, almost gently. "You have a family. You didn't join for 'this madness,' you said. So tell me, why did you join? What made you think putting on that mask was a good idea?"
The boy's voice cracked. "I… I wanted to be strong. My father said the old ways were coming back. That people like you, with real power would lead us. I didn't… I didn't think it would be like this."
Fila's expression didn't change, but something twisted painfully in her chest. She could hear the fear. The uncertainty. The same uncertainty she sometimes felt when she looked too closely at her own darker thoughts.
Behind her, the leader snarled, "Don't listen to her, Flint. She's just a child playing games."
Fila didn't even glance at him. A thicker vine wrapped around the leader's throat, not choking, just pressing enough to silence him.
"Do you want to end up like this Marcus?" she was whispering it right into his ear, hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to be dead? Not even getting to see yourself become a man?" he voice came in like a cold wind carrying the horrifying truth, no one here could take her on and they would all die if she chose to.
The boy was trembling so hard she could feel it through the vines. Tears had started streaming down his face beneath the mask. The other three figures were deathly still now, the leader's muffled snarls silenced by the vine around his throat.
Marcus's voice was barely a whisper. "N-no… please… I don't want to die. I'll do whatever you want. Just… please."
Fila let the silence stretch for several long, agonizing seconds. The floo station felt smaller, colder, the snow outside the only sound besides the boy's ragged breathing.
Then she stepped back.
The vines released Marcus completely. The other three remained bound, eyes wide with terror behind their masks.
But she snapped her finger. The vines surged with vicious speed, yanking the three remaining masked figures upward by their throats. Their bodies jerked violently as they were lifted off the ground, legs kicking desperately in the empty air. Muffled choking sounds escaped from behind the silver masks wet, panicked gasps that echoed horribly in the silent station.
They struggled. Oh, how they struggled. Hands clawing at the thick, living vines. Bodies twisting and convulsing. One of them managed a weak spark from a hidden backup wand before the vines tightened further and crushed it.
Fila watched without blinking, blindfold steady, face calm.
Marcus had fallen to his knees, staring up in pure horror, tears streaming freely now. "Please… please don't—"
"Watch," Fila whispered, voice devoid of emotion. "This is what happens when you choose wrong."
It didn't take long. The thrashing slowed. Then stopped. Three bodies hung limp, swaying slightly like grotesque ornaments in the dim lantern light.
The station was deathly quiet again, save for Marcus's broken sobbing.
Fila stepped closer to the boy, crouching down so she was at eye level. She reached out and gently lifted his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at her blindfold.
"Now, I want you to be on your best behavior. Like a good boy, can you do that for me?" Filas voice came out cold, and warm at the same time.
Behind her Marcus could see the three limp bodies hanging, swaying slightly in the wind.
"Y-yes… yes, miss. I'll… I'll be good. I swear. Please… please don't—"
Fila reached out and brushed a tear from his cheek with her thumb, the gesture almost tender. The contrast between her soft touch and the three corpses hanging only feet away made the moment surreal, horrifying.
"Good," she whispered. "Go home to your family, Marcus. Live a quiet life. Forget the masks. Forget the old ways. If you ever feel the pull again… remember this night. Remember what happens when you choose wrong."
A vine shot out and yanked his mask of, Fila took it and looked at it. it could be useful someday.
Fila hummed a soft, almost childish melody as she walked past the three hanging bodies, their silver masks glinting dully in the dim lantern light. The tune was an old French lullaby her mother used to sing, gentle, soothing, and completely at odds with the scene behind her.
Then she stepped into the shadows of the corridor and disappeared, the soft humming fading with her.
With her disappearing the bodies were released and hit the floor one by one with a sickening thud. Marcus still kneeling down as the bodies hit the floor. He gulped and then started running.