Gellert did not want to be here in the slightest. Hagrid had most likely introduced him as Abernathy but Scamander was far too intelligent to believe that for long once he met him. The half giant had sent him to a residence in Dorset. The entire property had one of the most powerful muggle repelling charms he had ever seen, perhaps due to the various monsters Scamander and his family kept.

He stalked up the driveway, hoping that this meeting would give him the information he needed – something, anything to help with Hermione's condition.

He could hear movement from inside the house as he paused by the door, the eldest was definitely home. Then again, Hagrid had sent a letter warning them that he was coming. As Abernathy of course.

Ah, that one would never fool Scamander. He had forgotten the Magizoologist had already discovered that pseudonym. It was too late now though, he'd already knocked and the handle had begun to turn. Then it flew open with a bang and three bluish creatures whizzed out with gleeful screeches. Gellert ducked them, then remembered too late where he'd seen those blasted things before.

His knees hit the ground painfully, missing the padding of the welcome mat by an inch.

He couldn't help the mutinous scowl that he levelled at Scamander as he came down the stairs. The other wizard approached cautiously, his wand raised until he was standing right in the doorway, wand levelled straight between Gellert's eyes.

'Give me one reason why I shouldn't hand you over to the aurors.' The ancient looking man croaked.

'Because I'm working with Albus Dumbledore.' That seemed to do the trick. Scamander's wand wavered as he took in this new bit of information. 'I need your help.' Oh it hurt so much to say it, but Hermione needed him.

'Oh, do you?' Scamander asked, not lifting that wand. Evidently they would be having this conversation with him bound and kneeling on the floor.

'Hagrid sent me.'

'Yes, I received his letter. Did you really think you would get away with using that name?' Scamander scowled at him, as though Gellert's forgetfulness was an insult to him.

'I didn't think.' He replied, feeling awfully like he had become the hopeless one in their relationship. Was this how Scamander had felt every time he'd held him at wand point.

'You needed help. Tell me what you need and I'll think about it.'

'It's a long story.' A jab of the wand told him to hurry up. 'Hermione drank unicorn blood when she took a bite out of Voldemort. She can't see anything except souls.'

That finally got the wand out of his face.

'You wouldn't want her seeing that soul of yours too much, I imagine.' Scamander joked and Gellert sneered at him. Then finally, that damn bug untwined from around his wrists and ankles. He stood in a fluid motion, shaking out his wrists to get the blood flow back. Scamander disappeared into the house and Gellert, with no other instructions, followed him.

The house would have been at the height of fashion fifty years earlier; pretty lace curtains and lots of antique furniture. The photographs on the walls had as many of Scamander's creatures as it did his family and one particularly large one showed Dumbledore's merry band of fighters, as they had still stood in the late 1920's. The muggle was probably long gone by now, Newt's naive little wife, pretty as she may have been and quick with her spellwork had presumably been sent away to safety whilst the dangerous dark wizard visited.

He found Scamander in the kitchen, taking a kettle off the aga. He poured them both a drink; tea by the smell. The Brit passed the steaming cup to him, then took a seat at the table with a heavy sigh.

'So your friend has drunk Unicorn blood and cursed herself in the process?' Scamander summarised, and Gellert wondered if he was intentionally goading him.

'No,' He gritted out, 'Hermione took a chunk out of Voldemort's arm to stop him killing Harry Potter.'

'Ah, so how did the unicorn blood come into it then?' Gellert wondered if Albus had modelled his senile old wizard act off this man or vice versa.

'Voldemort used it in his resurrection ritual. Killed at least two of them to get it.'

'Ah, I see. So now she's seeing your ugly soul and having second thoughts?'

'She can't see anything else, you old coot; not a book, a chair, even a candle!' He snapped, sweeping the stupid dainty teacup off the table. It shattered on the tiles, sending brown tea splattering across the room. He snarled and picked the biggest piece of the teacup up off the floor – the handle and base, still smeared with leaves. A blatant message of futility and searching in the wrong places glared back at him and he chucked the thing back down again.

'Are you quite done with my chinaware, Mr Grindelwald?' demanded a voice from behind him. He turned in his chair to see an elderly lady standing in the doorway. Her immaculate black skirt and the short bob her hair was still cut in let him know this was Scamander's wife. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. His temper had been short since Hermione's accident and it would get him nowhere now.

'Forgive me, Mrs. Scamander.' He stood, bowing smoothly at the waist. He drew his wand, repairing the teacup and siphoning all the wasted liquid down the sink. Then he returned to his seat, taking another calming breath.

'Newt, if you listened when I read the papers in the mornings, you'd know exactly what he was talking about.' She reprimanded, hobbling around the table to the chair furthest from Gellert. Newt Scamander grumbled something about the prophet being full of tosh anyway.

'I need to find out as much as possible about the curse from Unicorn blood.' Gellert repeated and Scamander finally adopted the look of an academic. He drummed his fingers against his chin, then finally came to a decision.

'The side effect of unicorn blood depends a lot upon how it is taken. Unicorn blood unwillingly given bestows a curse, Unicorn blood willingly given can carry a powerful blessing. My theory would be that the unicorn's curse recognised your little friend as an ally and blessed her. What I do not understand is why she lost her sight. Unicorns by their very nature do not exact a price for their blessings.'

'So how do I find out how to get rid of this blessing.' He muttered, Scamander was already shaking his head.

'Not even you can remove the blessing of a unicorn, Gellert Grindelwald.' Gellert slammed his hand down on the table in frustration, earning another scolding from Tina Scamander.

'There is however, someone who I believe might be able to help understand this blessing. There is an expert on the matter – a monk that lives in India. Perhaps he might be able to help you.' Scamander nodded to his wife, who gave a resigned nod and waved her wand. A battered, familiar suitcase came whizzing down the stairs, landing softly on the table. Scamander picked it up, pecked his wife on the cheek and shuffled off down the hallway. Gellert gave a disgruntled sigh and followed him.

He found Scamander waiting in the driveway, an arm out expectantly.

'Well, are you going to apparate us or not?' The old magizoologist snapped.

'Where too?' Gellert gave a tired sigh, already dreading this expedition they would be going on together.

'India of course. I doubt the ministry of magic will appreciate you popping into the international travel department. Dumbledore seemed quite familiar with long distance apparition.' Gellert sneered and took Scamander's arm, considering whether it would be worth it to intentionally splinch the magizoologist. He decided against it – an injured old coot was would be an even bigger pain than the uninjured one, but that didn't mean he would make it comfortable for the man.

They arrived in India to a blast of heat and sound. It was late afternoon, the crush of people trying to make their way home radiating sound. The two wizards plunged into the rush hour traffic, blaring horns and shouting making talking impossible. Engines grumbled, heat rippling up from the tarmac in a wave of pungent fumes.

Scamander ducked and wove between people, almost as though they were clearing him a path even as they seemed to close up around Gellert. The dark wizard barged his way through, ignoring the swearing and ringing of bike bells. The last time he had visited, the streets had been far emptier; every able man called up by the British to fight their war.

By the time he reached the station, he was almost to the point of burning New Delhi to the ground, bikes, people and all. His shirt clung to his skin like a film and he cast a couple of quick wandless cooling charms, sighing in relief as they chilled his damp skin. Scamander had already joined the queue at the ticket barrier and was busy whispering to his collar – presumably some magical insect nested inside. As usual, he was completely oblivious to the looks he was getting, but the bubble of space people gave him as a result was perhaps not a bad thing.

Gellert rolled up his sleeves as he joined the other wizard in the queue, finally seeing the little blue beetle that Scamander spoke to. He ignored him, instead picking up a receipt from the ground and surreptitiously transfiguring it into a handful of muggle money.

Tickets in hand, and wondering at the amazed looks the officer at the barrier gave them, they hurried up the platform to their train. Their carriage was at the closest end of the platform, which was only to be expected as he had ordered first class tickets. Scamander, assuming that Gellert had actually paid for the tickets, had protested all the way, claiming that third class would just as reliably get them there. Either the man hadn't visited India before or he had a very misguided sense of adventure.

The reason for the looks at the barrier quickly became obvious – perhaps the money he had waved at the cashier had been a little too much – he appeared to have booked the entire carriage. A butler waited at the door to take their luggage, of which they had none as Scamander refused to part with his briefcase.

They climbed into a lavishly decorated lounge, comfortable leather chairs were arranged around a polished wooden table, a massive TV taking up the back wall. An enclosed compartment took up the end of the carriage and the Butler promised that the two beds would be separated as soon as they departed.

As the train departed from the station they were served afternoon tea and biscuits, before Gellert requested privacy. He claimed they had important business matters to discuss, and told the butler in no uncertain terms that he was not to interrupt them.

Once they were alone, he turned to the Magizoologist, who was gazing around him with some surprise. Clearly he had not spent much time among the upper class.

'Tell me about this man we are going to visit.' Gellert demanded, bring Scamander's attention back to him. Perhaps the man was still shocked by the train because he gave a completely straight answer.

'He is a monk, part of a group that focus on the advanced magic of the mind and soul – they are almost entirely disconnected with the outside world, seeing events only through their visions. I think they believe the struggles of mortals to be a distraction from the ethereal plane.'

'How did you come into contact with them?' A small smile quirked one side of Scamander's lips and his eyes became unfocused, remembering some past adventure.

'They were being plagued by an Occamy infestation – they wanted them to be removed humanely.' Scamander tapped his briefcase thoughtfully. 'If only people would wait until after they had hatched to sell their shells.'

Gellert didn't particularly care when Occamy shells were gathered, and Scamander was clearly done sharing information about this monk they were going to meet, so he pulled out the master book from his library and continued his research on Horcruxes.

Gellert was reluctant to get off the train when they arrived at the town closest to their destination. They had passed through a powerful anti apparition ward several hours before their arrival, and as they got closer a heavy, oppressive feeling had settled against him, making him feel lethargic and distinctly unwelcome. Only the thought of the young girl that had fallen victim to his mistakes forced him to leave the coolly air conditioned carriage and step onto the muggy platform.

It was damp, almost tropical feeling with a thick fog which prevented them seeing the far end of the train. The train departed with a loud clatter of wheels and pistons, leaving them alone on the deserted platform. The hairs on Gellert's neck stood up and he spun, wand drawn.

A man stood, where nobody had before. A silvery three fold robe made him difficult to see and his grey hair wisped away into the fog. A stark tattoo of a third eye in the centre of his forehead was the only feature that stood out in his otherwise bleached appearance.

'You have come to meet with the Yogeśvara.' The monk stated, his voice startlingly mundane despite his almost ethereal appearance.

'We have.' Gellert replied, fingering his wand. The monk's eyes were drawn to the death stick and his eyebrows drew together, crinkling the eye on his forehead.

'We do not usually welcome your kind into the Mahalaya.' Gellert tensed, fury and dread beginning to pool in his gut. 'The Yogeśvara has made an exception today.' The monk continued quickly, perhaps sensing the danger he was in. Scamander laid a cautioning hand on his wand arm, Gellert hissed and shrugged him off, stalking after the monk into the mist.

They turned left at the end of the platform, climbing up the hill and away from the town. The path was overgrown, full of dripping plants and humming bugs. Birds twittered in the tree canopy above them and creatures rustled in the bushes. The path was steep, and became more treacherous as they continued, the monk climbed in silence and Scamander wheezed behind him.

Just when he believed the old coot was about to suffer a heart attack, they finally passed underneath an ivy covered archway and into what he could only assume was their destination. They stood in a clearing surrounded by large, beehive shaped stone buildings. Despite the number of silver dressed monks in the area, it was completely silent, save for the soft tread of feet and the rustle of clothing. As they passed through, monks roused from their meditation, glaring at Gellert as though he had personally done something to offend them. He glared right back, which seemed to frighten most of them into looking away, perhaps not the best tactic but one that was inordinately satisfying.

They entered the largest of the stone buildings, passing almost blindly through a pitch black corridor. Then their escort pushed open a set of double doors and the light was momentarily blinding. Gellert blinked quickly, forcing his eyes to acclimatise as he looked around. They were in a large, almost bare room, build of the same earthy tones stone as the exterior of the building and completely windowless, except for a massive skylight at the top of the dome. The sun blazed through, seemingly through a tunnel of fog and illuminated the room brightly, focused on the tree that grew in the centre of the room.

It wasn't a large tree, nor did it look particularly old, but it had a kind of timeless quality, as if it were detached from the passage of the world. A monk sat in its shadow, deep in meditation, seemingly undisturbed by their arrival.

He stepped across the boundary of the room and a storm like breeze howled through the air, battering the branches of the tree and whipping their clothes around them. Gellert fell to his knees as his sight assaulted him with images, whipping them before his eyes before he had really processed each one. Then a voice cut through the chaos, calm and commanding and everything ceased. The wind died back, the sun brightened again and Gellert regained control of his sight, only the lingering image of a dark cave remaining.

'You are gifted with the sight.' The voice said and he looked up to see the monk from under the tree standing above him. He pushed himself to his feet, taking in the damage the sudden wind had done to the strange room. Leaves had been torn from the tree and their guide was retying his robe, leaves tangled in the folds of fabric. Scamander seemed to have been sheltered from the onslaught by the doorway because only his hair had been ruffled.

'I am.' He answered impatiently.

'There are many among us who have worked decades to hone their talents, yet still do not have the power of your gift.' The monk continued and Gellert fought not to roll his eyes. He was well are that his sight was unusually powerful, he was unusually powerful.

'Why did you come to us, son of darkness?' the monk asked magnanimously and Gellert snorted. Son of darkness, what nonsense, yet Scamander believed these people could help him, so he had to remain polite.

'I was led to believe you might have knowledge which would help a friend of mine.' He answered and the monk looked at him with interest.

'An unusual request, for one such as yourself; to come seeking help for another?' Gellert refrained from drumming his fingers against his thigh. 'We do not usually allow those who have touched the darkness to tread within this sacred temple, yet I was advised to allow you here, despite your reek being stronger than any we have ever encountered. I was against the idea – we have seen what you have done and we have seen that you do not repent, but I am not one to question the will of the higher beings.'

If he reeked, it was only because of that obscenely long trek up the mountain from the station. Surely they could train some beast to fly up here? He forced himself not to snap and demand answers as the monk turned away and laid his hand against the trunk of the tree.

'So will you help us?' He asked, proud of the measured tone of his voice. He cast a look at Scamander who listened from the shadows of the doorway.

'Your intentions are noble, even if your soul is not. I will do my best to assist you.' Gellert sighed in relief as Scamander finally stepped forwards.

'His friend was attacked by a dark wizard, one that had previously used Unicorn blood to remain alive. She bit him to save a friends life, and in the process seems to have received some blessing from the Unicorn.' Scamander explained and the monk turned to him.

'Ah, Newt, as pure as your companion is dark, I trust the Occamy are well.' Scamander nodded in confirmation, mentioning quickly that they were flourishing in his home. Then the monk turned to Gellert again. 'Describe this blessing to me.'

He did so and the monk nodded along seemingly unsurprised by what he was saying.

'She has indeed received a powerful gift; an ability of the unicorns themselves. She can see into your very soul, your magical essence and see without distraction the truth of what lies within.'

'And her true sight?' Gellert demanded impatiently; he already knew this.

'Her true sight will return in time, as her body becomes used to seeing on the second plane.' The monk said dismissively. 'Yet you ask questions to which you already know the answer when you yourself are blessed in the same way. The other unicorns speak of your family, of the herd you provide for and the blessings you receive in return.'

Gellert frowned, losing track of the conversation. 'My blessings?' He asked blankly and the monk laughed.

'Perhaps the details have been lost to time. The same mediations you were taught as a child will hasten the return of her mundane sight. In the mean time, perhaps you should look into your family's history with my brethren.'

'Your brethren?' He asked, still struggling to understand where the conversation had gone.

'Newt did not inform you. My animagus form is that of a unicorn, a sign of my achievement in purifying my soul.' The monk laughed, his silvery robe seeming to ripple as his arms grew, his face lengthened and a horn spiralled from his forehead. The laugh ended in a whinny and Gellert stood dumfounded for a moment. Then he laughed, he laughed as he left and the monks looked after him, dumbstruck at the interruption to their peace. He laughed until he could barely breathe, grasping Scamander's arm and disapparating with a crack, the wards suddenly seeming to have no effect on him.

He was still laughing as they appeared in front of Scamander's cottage. He had gone all that way, only to discover that he had been sitting on the answer the whole time. His sight had been gifted by the unicorns that were protected at his estate, just as his mother had been gifted, and his grandfather before her. He had learned as a child how to filter the arcane from his vision, and now Hermione would use exactly the same method.