Hidden deep underneath the school the so called crypt laid peacefully.
A place where old old professors and students who died on the schoolground were laid to rest. The graves are older than hundreds of years, being buried here now adays would be unthinkable.
At the southernmost tower a staircase led downwards into a hallway filled with cobwebs and dust almost knee high as this point.
Fila had been down here ones before while touring the school with her classmates, but never stayed long at the ghosts here are a bit more aggressive then the rest. Even the paintings are ruder than the others, and they re plenty rude.
Opening the two wide oak door into the crypt the stench of close damp room hit her.
"Fuck I hate this," she said and held her wand in front of her. Luckly she didn't need any light, but being here still gave her the creeps.
Fila moved slowly down the central aisle between the rows of stone sarcophagi and wall niches. Most of the names carved into the lids were worn smooth by time. A few still glowed faintly with residual magic, old protective charms that had outlived their makers.
A portrait on the left wall stirred as she passed.
"Another living one," the painted witch sneered, voice thin and echoing. "Come to gawk at better witches than you'll ever be?"
Fila didn't bother answering. She had learned early that arguing with the crypt portraits only encouraged them.
Further ahead, a translucent figure drifted between two pillars — an old man in outdated Durmstrang robes, face twisted in permanent irritation. He turned toward her, eyes hollow.
"Wrong place for the living," he rasped. "Turn back before the walls decide they want company."
"I'm looking for a door," Fila said flatly, not slowing. "Behind false walls. Eastern side. You seen it?"
The ghost made a sound like dry leaves scraping stone. But he didn't bother answering and just kept going.
She exhaled through her nose and kept walking, following the sequence Igor had scribbled in his notebook. Third archway on the right. Pressure stone under the cracked tile shaped like a broken shield. Two steps left. Another stone that sank with a reluctant grind.
A section of wall ahead shimmered and then simply… wasn't there anymore.
Behind it, a narrow descending stairwell waited, even darker and colder than the main crypt.
She stood at the beginning of the stairs and looked down, steep.
Then she began walking down, carefully not to slide down and just fall down into whatever waited below.
The air grew heavier with every step. By the time she reached the bottom, the silence was so complete it pressed against her ears.
In front of her stood a single door.
Rotten to the point that it was loosing planks, and you could stick you head through the openings.
And yet, she couldn't open it. not matter how hard she pulled and yanked at the door, even trying to stick her arm through didn't work.
While looking around she didn't find anything pointing towards any puzzle, no magical locks which seemed weird usually these places had some trail to complete before entering, if one went by a story book for children that is.
"Alright I'm coming, calm down with the door!" someone screamed from behind the door.
Fila froze, hand still on the rotten wood.
The voice was muffled, irritated, and very much alive.
There was a series of thuds, a muttered curse, and the sound of something heavy being dragged. Then the door gave a violent shudder. One of the loose planks fell inward with a soft clatter.
A moment later a pale face appeared in the largest gap — smudged with dust, framed by messy dark hair, and wearing an expression of pure annoyance.
"Do you have to yank on it like that?" the boy demanded. "I've been trying to keep this thing from collapsing for weeks. One more good pull and the whole frame comes down."
Fila stared at him.
"…Who the hell are you?"
The boy squinted at her through the gap, then his eyes widened slightly in recognition.
"Grindelwald? The exchange student?" He let out a short, breathless laugh. "Of course it would be you. Come to finish whatever your family started down here?"
He disappeared from the gap. More scraping sounds followed. Then the door shuddered again and swung inward with a long, protesting groan, revealing a narrow, low-ceilinged chamber beyond.
The boy stood in the middle of it, brushing dust off a pair of worn gloves. He looked about seventeen, thin but wiry, dressed in old Durmstrang robes that had seen better decades. A lantern floated near his shoulder, casting shaky light over shelves of rotting books, scattered papers, and a large stone table covered in half-finished notes.
"Name's Tomasz," he said, still slightly out of breath. "Seventh year. Or I was, until I decided the official curriculum was a waste of time and moved down here. The professors think I went home. Easier that way."
Fila stepped carefully through the doorway, wand still in hand.
"You've been living in the crypts."
"Researching," Tomasz corrected. He gestured around the chamber. "This place was sealed for a reason. Most of the useful records about the old blood wards and the original founders ended up down here when the school decided certain histories were inconvenient. I've been piecing them back together."
He looked at her, and Fila looked at him.
"Oh have you found out about your family yet?" he suddenly asked.
Fila's eyes went wide, "How do you know about that??"
"Ive been down here for years, read all the books so of course I puzzled it together." He said calmly while walking over to a book shelve by the far end wall. "A lot of these books contain a lot of nothing, but some of them talk about a certain family name disappearing, and suddenly a new name pops up from nowhere. And they are rich and powerful." He looked back at her with a sly smirk. "It wasn't hard to find, but this is the only book about it."
He suddenly tossed her the book. It was brittle, green and worn.
She held the book and opened it, looked through some of the pages. She didn't take her time to actually read anything, instead. *Poof*
The book caught fire in her hand. She let it go and it dropped down on the stone floor.
Tomasz looked at it and shrugged, "I thought you would do that. I would have done the same." he turned and looked at his things.
"So what is this place?" Fila asked and kicked the now burnt book, only a small pile of ash now.
The room was filled with bookshelves, tables, tubes of unknown liquids and small animals.
"It's a funny story, or not really." Tomasz started and sat down on a table. "It began as the first potions classroom in the school, and then it turned into a professors laboratory for some wicked experiments." He jumped down from the table, even if he just sat for a couple of seconds. "This is also the place that your grandfather did the things that made him get expelled from the school." he said.
This peaked Ophelia's interest, she had always thought about what he could have done to get himself expelled from this place.
"So what did he do? I mean what could be so bad that even durmstarng didn't want it." She asked.
Tomasz tilted his head, studying her for a moment as if deciding how much to say.
"He tried to bind a living soul into an object," he said finally. "That's all ive found out about."
He gestured around the chamber.
"This room was already forgotten by then. Old potions lab, then a private research space for professors who preferred not to be supervised. Perfect for someone who didn't want witnesses. He worked down here for months. The records say the final ritual nearly collapsed the entire eastern foundation of the school. Three students who helped him were left… altered. One never spoke again. Another's magic burned out completely. The third disappeared."
Fila stood very still.
"And they only expelled him?"
Tomasz gave a thin, humorless smile. "This is Durmstrang. They respect ambition. What they don't respect is losing control of it. He was brilliant, dangerous, and no longer useful to the school once the damage became public. So they erased as much as they could, sealed the room, and sent him away. The official story became that he was expelled for 'endangering fellow students with unsanctioned experimental magic.' Technically true. Just not the whole truth."
He walked over to the stone table and rested a hand on a stack of yellowed pages.
"He wanted to become so powerful that he wouldn't be able to die. Immortal power if you will, and from what I've gathered he was very close." Tomaz said. "But there were some notes about a powerful wand that I think he tried to create. But then it just ends with nothing, its like he gave up."
Fila's memory flickered to that one thing her book had told her before she even met her grandfather, his wand. The book had told her that his wand, a wand created with ancient magic. Could this be that wand?
"So, he didn't actually complete anything?" she asked.
And Tomasz just shook his head, "No, or yes there was some small experiments which seemed to have helped with something. But in the grand scheme of things, nothing."
Both stood in some sort of silence after this, she didn't really know why she should even be down here. learning something about her grandpa could count as something, but what should she even do with this?
"So what do you even do down here still, haven't you found everything you need?" Fila asked while looking at a suspicious jar filled with unknown liquid.
He shrugged, "Im stuck down here, you really think I want to be here? im a ghost Ophelia."
Fila raised an eyebrow, "You look nothing like a ghost, and you even threw a book to me?"
He shrugged yet again, "Yup, I don't know why either. Im just a normal looking guy who happens to be a ghost."
"Are you fucking with me?"
He shook his head, "No I'm not joking with you."
"You sure?"
"You are really annoying." He said and turned around. "Yes I'm a ghost, I don't know how long I've been down here. and I can't leave this room." He said with a quiet sigh.
Cant leave this room? But that must mean something that happened to him happened here… oh fuck. Didn't he say something about one of the guys disappearing, could this guy be him?
"hey going back to the topic of my grandfather. Who were the three others who helped him?" she asked gently, if this turned wrong he could do whatever.
He tapped his head, "Well the first one was Hellert junghe, a jolly guy he was. Smarter then most and he was very close with your grandfather. The second one, tragic story. Rubert and I cant remember his last name, a bit of an odd ball. He wanted to help if he could have some money. And then there is the third one his name was…" he stopped.
And just stood there deep I thoughts.
"That's weird, I cant remember. But I'm sure I read it here somewhere…" he grew increasingly worried it seemed.
Fila watched him carefully.
Tomasz moved to the stone table and began rifling through the yellowed pages with sharp, almost frantic movements. Papers slid across the surface. A few drifted to the floor. His earlier calm had cracked.
"It's here," he muttered. "I know it's here. I wrote it down. Or someone did. The third one — he was important. He was the one who—"
He stopped again. His hands hovered over the pages.
Fila took a slow step closer.
"You can't remember the third name," she said quietly, "because it's yours. Isn't it?"
Tomasz went very still.
The floating lantern above his shoulder flickered. For a moment the light passed through his arm instead of landing on it. The solid appearance wavered, just enough to show the truth underneath — not quite transparent, but no longer fully real.
He didn't look at her.
"I don't know," he said. The irritation was gone. Only a hollow sort of confusion remained. "I've read every page in this room a hundred times. I know the first two names. I know what happened to them. But the third… it's like the memory is there and isn't. Like someone cut it out and left the edges."
Fila's fingers brushed the black stone in her pocket. It pulsed once, stronger than before.
"You said the third student disappeared," she said. "And you've been stuck in this room for years. Unable to leave. Bound to the place where the ritual happened."
Tomasz finally turned. His face looked younger suddenly, and older at the same time.
"If I was the third," he said slowly, "then why can I still think? Why do I still remember most things? Why am I not like the others — silent or burned out?"
"Maybe because the ritual didn't finish," Fila answered. "You said he was close. Not that he succeeded."
The chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Tomasz looked down at his own hands, turning them over as if seeing them for the first time.
"I remember coming down here," he said. "I remember the work. The symbols. The way the air tasted like metal and old magic. I remember your grandfather's voice — sharp, certain, telling us we were making history. And then…" He shook his head. "Nothing. Just waking up in this room with the door sealed and no way out."
He gave a short, broken laugh.
"Nineteen years. Or whatever it's been. And I never even questioned why I couldn't remember my own last name."
Fila stood silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the stone and the weight of the room.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked finally.
Tomasz looked at her, really looked, and for the first time there was something like hope — thin and fragile in his expression.
"Help me remember," he said. "Or help me leave. Or burn the rest of these notes so no one else can finish what he started. I don't care which. I just don't want to stay here not knowing what I am."
Helping a ghost escape his place? Could that even be done.
"I could try but what do I even do…" she remembered how that door had felt awfully weird, not being able to be opened from the outside if he didn't open it, even it was half collapsed. She turned and looked at it.
"What are you…" before Tomasz could finish.
"Bombarda." And a huge boom echoed and shook the room. Dust kicked up from everything and the walls almost crashed inward.
After standing in the dust for a couple of seconds it finally cleared, yet the door remained, and even looked healthier now.
"The seal isn't just on the door," she said. "It's tied to the room. And to you."
Tomasz watched her from the table, silent.
She looked back at him, still feeling the ringing in her ears. "So a fiendfyre?" she asked.
And he just facepalmed, "Yeah and the whole school with it, you aren't as smart as your grandfather."
Fila wiped dust off her blindfold with the back of her hand.
"It was worth a try."
"No," Tomasz said flatly.
"Alright, so it has to be done through something with the ritual. And since the notes are gone, you will have to remember it." Fila took a chair and sat down, it gave a slight creak as she did.
Tomasz stared at her like she had suggested he grow a second head.
"I just told you I can't remember the most important parts."
"Then we dig until you can." Fila crossed one leg over the other and rested her hands on her knee. "You remember the room. You remember my grandfather's voice. You remember the taste of the air. Start there and work outward. I'll ask questions. You answer. We keep going until something cracks open."
Tomasz looked at the empty doorway, then back at her, then at the scattered pages on the table. After a long moment he dragged another chair over and sat across from her, movements still slightly unsteady.
"This is going to be unpleasant," he muttered.
"Most useful things are."
He dragged a hand through his dusty hair and exhaled.
"Fine. Ask."
Fila tilted her head slightly, magic sight brushing over him again, mapping the tangled knot of binding that still lingered even after the door had opened.
"You said the air tasted like metal and old magic. Was it stronger near the table or near the walls?"
Tomasz's brow furrowed.
"The table. No — under the table. There was a circle. I remember chalk. Or something like chalk. It glowed when he spoke the last sequence."
"What did the sequence sound like?"
"Latin. But not clean Latin. Older. Mixed with something else. Slavic, maybe. Or—" He stopped, eyes narrowing. "There was a name in it. Not a spell name. A person's name. He kept repeating it at the end."
Fila leaned forward a fraction.
"Whose name?"
Tomasz opened his mouth. Closed it. Frustration flashed across his face. "I don't know. It's right there and it isn't. Every time I reach for it, it's like the memory turns to smoke."
Fuck we are going to be here for a while, she thought.
And in that she was right.
For seven hours she sat there and asked questions that never lead anywhere.
Fila's back ached. Her voice had gone rough from talking.
She leaned back and let out a long, slow breath.
"This isn't working."
Tomasz didn't look up. "I told you."
"I know." She rubbed her temple under the edge of the blindfold. "You remember pieces. The circle. The taste of the air. The fact that you were supposed to be the vessel. But every time we get close to the actual binding sequence or the name he used, it slips."
"Because something doesn't want me to remember," Tomasz said quietly. "Or because the ritual took it on purpose. Maybe that was the price."
She stood up, stretching the stiffness out of her shoulders.
"We're done for tonight."
Tomasz finally lifted his head. "You're leaving?"
"I'm leaving before I start throwing more Bombardas out of spite. You're free of the room. That part worked. The rest of it… maybe some things aren't meant to come back."
He watched her walk toward the open doorway.
"What if I start forgetting more?" he asked. "What if next time you come down here I don't even remember my name?"
Fila paused at the threshold.
She tilted her head backwards and her head was now filled with pure agony and annoyance. If she left here it could mean he would forget and this would maybe start over.
"I wish I was as smart as grandpa right now." She said and returned to he seat.