'Come on, Hermione. It's meant to be a holiday!' Gellert moaned as his sister failed to leave her thick tomes for the second day in a row. Berg glanced up with brief annoyance from his spot, sprawled across the scrubby grass at the foot of her chair and Hermione didn't even deign to glance at him.

He gave up, flopping down on the grass and trying to read the title of Hermione's book upside down.

'Why are you reading about magical prisons?' He demanded, finally getting her attention. She blinked at him, then blinked again.

'Because I want to know about them.'

Gellert huffed in frustration.

'Go swim down to the wreck if you're bored.' Hermione instructed, waving a hand in the direction of the cliffs.

'I want to enjoy my holiday with my sister. Evidently, you just want to read about prisons.'

'I happen to enjoy reading. If you want to spend the summer with me, then you'll just have to get a book.'

Gellert paused, then jumped up and jogged across the small courtyard to Hermione's room. He reached out with his magic, quickly disabling the host of jinxes she'd cast over the doorknob and pushing it open.

Hermione, unlike the two boys, was still receiving summer lessons from both his mother and from Mordred so her desk was covered in notes and a couple of thick books on curses and counter curses. He knew that the young witch loved learning, so she didn't mind the additional lessons but he was still very glad that his mother found his school teachers up to her exacting standards at least.

Hung on the wall, next to her neglected parasol and only slightly more used sun hat was the weapon he'd come searching for. He picked up the familiar sword, leather warm beneath his grip and a moment later the associated wizard appeared beside him.

'Mordred!' He greeted, realising that he hadn't actually seen the undead wizard all summer.

'Gellert. Is something wrong?'

'I need your help. Hermione has barely stopped reading all holiday - we haven't been swimming, we haven't explored the caves, we've barely even been flying.'

'Why not go to Berg?'

'Because he's even worse! Given the choice he'd never leave the library.'

'Have you asked why Hermione is reading so much? Perhaps she wishes to learn something.'

Gellert hesitated, glancing towards where his sister was seated. There was a wall separating them, but he could feel the gentle flickering of her magic like it was the north cardinal of his internal compass. He hadn't asked, but useless she was planning to break someone out of a prison, he couldn't see why she'd care about the various magical prisons in the world...

'She's not planning to attack a prison, right?' He checked, only half joking. Mordred's wink was anything but settling.

'I believe she's trying to organise a meeting between a friend and his magical guardian, who currently resides in Azkaban prison.'

'Oh.'

Sometimes he wondered how she ended up doing these things; having tea with ancient philosophers, buying unrefined acromantula silk and visiting convicts in prison. Before he'd met her, the most exciting thing Gellert had done was sneak down to the muggle village to play games in the street and even since then, most of his adventures had been in reaction to something either Alice or Hermione had done. Was he just a follower?

He knew that Hermione would be the leader of their court eventually. He had come to terms with that quickly and Hermione was a remarkable witch, but when he compared their everyday lives he felt rather substandard and childish. Hermione was already developing a network of contacts and allies and so far he had hardly managed to learn the basics about his classmates, Hermione had two business patents pending and had galleons already pouring into her accounts whilst Gellert was still living off his trust vault and she had more experience running the family estate than he did, having been Locum Matriarch whilst he was away.

'You're a powerful wizard with great potential. Your connection to magic is very different to Hermione's, but no less. Perhaps we could work together to explore it, and I might be able to impart some knowledge.' Mordred suggested.

'Lessons?' Gellert asked, his nose wrinkling.

'If you want to call it that, but I would consider it more experimentation. Learning should not be a chore, if you can find a topic that interests you.'

He pondered this for a moment, remembering back when he and Hermione used to just sit for hours and experiment with their combined magic. He'd never understood exactly what she was doing and he'd never been able to recreate the magic like she had. His magic was just not suited to the directionless casting, but Mordred was an adult wizard and Gellert could experiment and find out what his magic was good at.

He agreed, and the vague blankness that had settled through his thoughts over the summer seemed to lift like it had been blown away by a powerful wind. They decided to head up to the cliffs where there were fewer enchantments that could be accidentally broken.

It was exposed and windy, pulling his shirt from his trousers and making it billow around him like a flag. The sun was warm, so he just pulled it off and sat on it to silence the noise. Mordred sat with him, legs dangling over the sheer drop with the confidence of someone who was already dead.

'Tell me what you feel?' Mordred instructed, 'what does magic look like to you?'

He shut his eyes. He could feel everyone on the island if he reached for them. His mother was cold and icy with the faint dark electrical presence of his family magic, she was in her study at the top of the lighthouse tower. Mordred was unusual, his physical body was the sword that lay on the ground between them and the man that sat opposite him was nothing more than an incredibly complex shade. Hermione almost eclipsed Berg with her bright power, almost sentient in the way it flared and flexed around her.

Around them, a web of enchantments buzzed with background power. The houses were complex nets of magical strands which pulsed and receded as they activated or slept. Other, larger workings blanketed the entire island and a newer, brighter nestle of magic kept the muggle encampment at the far end of the island seperate.

Mordred listened, then asked Gellert to cast with him. He reached out and pressed his hands to those of the undead wizard. His skin was cool, cooler than natural but his fingers were rough and calloused from wielding a sword all his life. Gellert's fingers were much smaller than his, which was strange after so long doing this with other people his age.

There was a moment of silence as Gellert realised that Mordred wanted him to lead, then the boy reached for the dark wizard's magic.

He could feel the sect bond in Mordred's magic, anchored deeply into his magical core and linking him permanently to Hermione. Gellert shared his own bonds with Hermione - the fledgling bond of golden magic that had been formed by their promise to form a coven in the future but that was not like the open doorway of magical current that the sect formed.

Modred's magic wouldn't respond like his own; like Hermione's, it was wild and difficult to control and it liked to branch off and cause errant side effects but it would fill in gaps in his own casting. He started with a small flame, using as little guidance as possible. The flame jumped between their palms, blue and cool to the touch. He held it there for a moment, wondering what to do next, then he allowed the magic to dissipate.

Struck by curiosity, he conjured a silvery bowl using Mordred's magic which as expected jumped in to fill the gaps in his conjuration, then filled it with water using his own. Mordred remained patiently silent as Gellert ran through the series of meditations needed for divination, saturating the water with his magic even as he calmed his mind. When he was done, he opened his eyes and touched the water with a finger. It rippled, and when it cleared he was no longer looking at the bottom of the bowl... nor was he looking at the future.

Unless the future involved Mordred, dressed in gleaming silver chain mail and a voluminous crimson cloak. He knelt, the cloak pooling around him and ducked his head, allowing a rune inscribed blade to touch each of his shoulders. Then he rose and was embraced by a muscular man, dressed in an identical crimson cloak and with thick, bushy blond hair that was barely constrained by his heavy golden crown.

'You are a seer.' Mordred commented, a hand hovering over the water as if he longed to touch the blond man.

The scene changed as Gellert's concentration was broken, and now he saw Mordred in a mighty stone corridor. He had changed, his eyes dark and his lips drawn tight. On his brow rested a dark crown, of similar material to the ring on Hermione's finger. At first glance, the witch beside him was an older Hermione. Then he noticed that her hair was slightly darker and her chin was squarer - but both witches had the same carriage, the same boldness and confidence that turned their walk into a prowl.

'That is Morgana, in Avalon. It was the last time I saw her alive.' This time, Mordred's fingers did brush the water and the spell broke. The ripples dispersed the image and all that was left was the reflection of the sky in the silver bowl. 'I left Melehan with her, then went to await King Arthur's return from France. We were both dead by the end of the year and Melehan was raised in Orkney by Nimue.' There was a moment of silence, then Mordred waved his hand and the bowl vanished.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. Melehan now resides in the barrows with everyone else. Now that the sect is awakened again, I will have my chance to know him.'

'Are there others in the Sect? Other than members of you family?' Gellert asked after a moment of staring out to sea.

'The high priestess has absolute control over every member's magic - she can take it for her own use, cut it off completely or use us to channel her own power. We used it as a way to accept and then ensure people's allegiance.'

'Enslavement.' Gellert summarised, feeling sick. His father had used magic to enslave people, but at least the twisted house elf bond could be broken. The sect seemed worse, yet everyone celebrated it.

'No!' Mordred hissed, outraged. 'It is an oath of allegiance. One must willingly give themselves up to become a part of the sect.'

'But you cede control of your magic, and it can never be undone.' The younger wizard protested. Magic was what made them; the ability to control it was what made them better than muggles. He couldn't imagine willingly giving up control like that, or worse; losing it at the whim of some leader. At least one could always leave a coven.

'Should one join a sect with a tyrant, perhaps that would be so terrible. But Hermione always gives us a choice on whether to assist her when she casts, and most of us want to join her. Morgana was more forceful, but if we seriously objected she would let us keep to ourselves.' Mordred's hand ran along the edge of the cliff. 'Once we are dead, we are all subject to the rules of Gorlois and he exacts his own brand of justice.'

Mordred seemed to find this arrangement normal - but he had come from a time when the word of the king was absolute and a even the perception of dissent could have someone killed. Gellert found the concept to be horrifying. But... Alice would never have been a problem, Herr Friedl wouldn't have been able to further weaken the coven. Absolute control and loyalty would have brought peace.

'What are you doing?' Hermione asked from behind and Gellert jumped so badly that he almost fell from his clifftop perch.

'Circe! Hermione. Don't sneak up like that.' He gasped, hand dramatically placed over his pounding heart.

'Talking about you.' Mordred answered honestly.

'I felt you casting, and you have no top on.' She pointed an accusing finger at his bare chest, and Gellert wrapped his arms around himself in embarrassment.

'It kept blowing around.'

Hermione regarded them with slight suspicion for a moment, then dropped down beside Mordred with her legs dangling dangerously over the edge. Gellert winced, wishing she had a little more self preservation, particularly when she leaned forwards to peer down at the beach. Her hair swirled about her face and she had to use one hand to hold it out of her eyes, whilst the other held her skirt from blowing up. Mordred shifted, freeing up his hands incase, then Hermione finally leaned back. She tucked her skirts between her knees, then used the freed hand to shield her eyes and looked out to sea.

'We'll need to start on that ship soon.' The young witch decided. 'Berg has found a charm that should let us breathe underwater, and I've found one that should make small repairs easy.'

'How are you going to get it back afloat?' The young wizard demanded.

'Mordred is going to figure that out. He's the best at sorcery.'

'When do we start?' Gellert asked eagerly. Magic, swimming and exploring the seabed. That sounded much more interesting than the reading that had dominated the holiday so far.

'After the summer solstice.'