Fifteen centuries ago, Morgana Le Fey had ruled Avalon from the throne room. She'd sat alone on a magnificent chair, on a dais above her people in a colossal room designed to showcase the unearthly power of her rule. She'd received reports on the movements of her enemies, her finances and supplies, the petitions of her people and the requests of her allies.

Hermione led Avalon from behind a desk. It was not the relatively cosy study in Morgana's Tower, where she worked on her private projects behind impenetrable wards and legions of guardians. It was not the grand panelled study that she worked in on the behalf of Lady Grindelwald in the Nineteenth Century; like most of Avalon, the room was all bare stone, towering windows and Gorlois banners. The table was a slab of magnificently carved stone that was large enough to favour standing rather than sitting if one wished to reach every corner of it's surface and could comfortably fit her entire inner circle. Her sword leaned up against the left arm of the padded chair that Hermione had chosen, Mordred's rested against the right. Like almost every important room in the castle, there was a large fireplace which currently sat unlit, although the thick carpet in front of it provided a spot for Cavella to bask in the summer sun that poured through the massive windows. Ragana, her owl, snoozed on a perch in a shadowed alcove that had once held a suit of mail.

It was there that Lady Longbottom reported to their budding coven that Albus Dumbledore had taken the bait and accepted her offer of Longbottom Manor for use as the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, cementing her position within the vigilante group. It was within that office that a gleeful Ginny and Neville reported a loophole in the Fidelius charm used to protect the manor as Order Headquarters (and to chain the two 'disloyal' and 'corrupted' youth so that they couldn't report to Hermione). A Fidelius charm protected the address of a location, preventing anyone apparating, using the floo or even walking across the border. It did not defend against a portal already set within the boundaries of the address.

And it was within the same room, lit by flickering candles and blueish witchlights that could never quite conquer the deep shadows of such a large room, that Lord Nott reported on the movements of Lord Voldemort. Of his desire to possess her power, her history, her.

But not every interaction in the office was so fraught. Luna Lovegood floated in barely two days after the official start to the holidays, gifting the guardian that had escorted her a small straw pendant on a cord. The guardian was so baffled by the gift that it almost forgot its bow when it closed the door behind itself.

Luna took in the room with that strangely inscrutable air of hers, then offered one of the straw necklaces to Hermione. She took it, checking briefly for any magical trace. There was none - it appeared the necklace was purely aesthetic, or perhaps one of Luna's odd beliefs. Hermione put the necklace aside and offered Luna one of the chairs opposite her.

'What did you need?' Hermione eventually asked, after Luna had spent several minutes peering at the seamless, featureless wall.

'Oh, two things really.' Luna answered breezily. 'I was rather hoping we could continue our meetings? You know, the lessons? It's just that I really learned quite a lot from them and… well, its more important that ever now, isn't it?'

Hermione agreed, but in the rush to arm and armour after Voldemort's return she'd completely forgotten the group - no, she hadn't forgotten. She just hadn't found the time to write to them all and ask if they were still interested, or whether they'd swallowed the ministry line.

'I'll write.' She promised, picking up her quill and writing herself a quick note on a scrap of parchment. It was a trick she'd learned from her mother, to make it look like she was taking someone's requests seriously. 'And the second thing?'

Luna reached into the linen tote that was still slung over her shoulder and withdrew a heavy book. It was a study in contradictions; heavy, ornate iron bindings and a clasp with a delicate keyhole. A shabby binding of pale fabric stretched over lopsided boards, but filled with the kind of exorbitantly expensive parchment that was only used for detailed and difficult rituals, where any distortion in the page could be catastrophic.

Hermione ran her hands over the title; Fey and Foul, a guide to the Sidhe plane. The handwriting was rougher than she'd expect, given that the book delved into subjects usually only braved by those with the money and wizengamot influence to avoid the persecution that came with dancing the line of the old laws. She didn't recognise the name of the author.

'What's this?' Hermione asked eventually.

'It's yours, I think.' Luna looked doubtful for the first time. 'It was entrusted to my great grandfather by Gellert Grindelwald himself.'

'Oh.' Hermione managed articulately. She ran her fingers over the cover again, wondering why such a subject might have been so important that Gellert had specifically entrusted the book to someone else for safe keeping. Or perhaps not for safe keeping, after all, a century was a long time for intentions to be misinterpreted. Perhaps Gellert had wanted Great Grandfather Lovegood to pursue this topic. 'Do you have the key?'

Luna lifted her wrist, displaying her charm bracelet where a minute key hung next to an equally miniature book and a tiny version of Grindelwald's chosen symbol.

'But first, my father and I want to have one of those old warehouses down by the outer wall.' The younger witch set her shoulders with uncharacteristic firmness, pointing her chin up into the air. 'That's how it works, isn't it? I give you something valuable in exchange for your protection?'

For a moment, Hermione struggled to formulate a response. Dismay, anger and outrage battled ferociously in her chest, making her magic twitch and spike in agitation.

'No!' She finally managed to gasp, then hastily corrected when Luna's face fell. 'I mean yes, of course you can move into one of the warehouses, and you can use a cottage too. But no, you don't need to give me anything in return. The only thing you have to do to receive my protection is ask, and agree to abide by the rules of the city.'

'Oh.' Luna had the grace to look embarrassed. She fiddled with the strap of her tote, chin dropping and shoulders curling in on her chest. 'I just assumed… well, that's the way they said it worked in your day, with the Grindelwalds and the people here already have done you favours.'

'No.' Hermione wondered how many other people believed the same as Luna. 'You're welcome to the warehouse, and a cottage down near the outer walls whether you let me see this book or not, but I am interested.'

'Of course.' Perhaps eager to cover her gaffe, Luna hastily removed the key from her charm bracelet and unlocked the book. The iron clasp unlocked stiffly and required more than a little jiggling to get it to unlatch. Eventually though, Luna managed to release it and open the book to the first page.

It was just as the title described; a book of research into the fey and their domain. The author went into detail describing theoretical planes, which ones he believed existed and what resided on each one - the spirit plane, which was tapped into by Samhain rituals, the magical plane, which existed parallel to the physical and the sidhe plane. Interested, but even more interested in the reason for Gellert's interest in the book, Hermione skipped past a couple of chapters and discovered that the book went into the sidhe, the seelie and the unseelie and the creatures of each classification that could appear in the mortal plane. Two chapters later, it talked about the process of travelling between the planes, and then… Hermione recognised Gellert's hand in the rituals immediately.

It wasn't his handwriting but Hermione recognised aspects of the ritual that he'd learned in his creation of Nurmengard and had never stopped using. Ogham, beyond anything anyone outside the trio of Grindelwald children should know. Her eyebrows drew together as she discerned just what the ritual was meant to do. It was a summoning ritual, meant for something immensely powerful with the darkest of sacrifices as it's power source. She ran her fingers over the scratched runes, almost able to feel the malevolence of their intentions clinging to the page. Gellert was a dark wizard - one of the most feared dark wizards in history. Of course he'd performed terrible acts, she'd seen the damage to his soul, reflected in his magic. But it was something else entirely to see the evidence of one of those acts in front of her, to know exactly how deeply he'd reached. A part of her was angry, no furious, that he'd desecrated the language of her ancestors by employing it for such foul purpose. The rest of her was afraid; why had Gellert Grindelwald felt the need to tear open the veil between planes? What had he sought to unleash?

Hermione shut the book hastily, shoving it aside and meeting Luna's curiously analytical gaze.

'Yes. You may take the warehouse. This book… it should be burned.' Instantly, the tension in Luna's posture melted away and Hermione realised abruptly that she'd been being tested. The offer of exchange for book and shelter, the book itself. It had all been a test. It was easy to forget that Luna Lovegood was a Ravenclaw when she drifted around giving out straw necklaces and taking about blubbering humdingers.

'Oh, I can do that.' Luna offered, sounding much more like her usual self. Hermione hadn't even noticed how far off she'd been. 'Don't worry. My patron will be very pleased.'

Luna got up, sweeping the book back into her innocent tote and hefting it onto her shoulder. The High Priestess sat unmoving, gobsmacked.

'You'll make a great queen someday, Hermione.' Luna assured breezily as she left, pulling one of the doors open with one hand before the guardians on the other side even had a chance to do it for her. Hermione remained frozen, staring at the back of the closed door and trying to figure out how and what had just happened.

She still hadn't managed to recover her composure by evening, when an elf brought her a platter from the usual massive spread down in the great hall. It ended up sitting next to an opened letter from Berg, reporting his progress on international allies and the Order of the Triskelion. She stared, transfixed by the gently coiling steam as her thoughts continued to fly.

The doors flew open, banging against the stone wall. Hermione jumped up, Fang sliding from it's sheath and knocking the platter from the table as she swept her other hand through the air to form a shield. Mordred's shadowy form materialised behind the shape that stumbled through the door, blade drawn.

It took a moment for her to figure out just what had come through the doors, shrouded as it was in shadow.

Carl Hopkins, Gryffindor sixth year, was in the lead. His arm stretched behind him, fingers tangled in the sleeve of Lucian Bole, a recently graduated seventh year. Supporting Bole was Montague, another Slytherin. All three were pale, nervous, eyes darting all over the office.

'What happened?' She demanded, sheathing her sword and signalling to Mordred to do the same. The dark knight folded his arms and paced around the room to loom threateningly over her shoulder. Bole's escorts shared a nervous glance.

'Bole's been tutoring me, in the defence group.' Hopkins began, checking to see if either Slytherin boy objected to him speaking for them. Neither did. 'We'd agreed to meet up in Diagon, to celebrate him getting into the Department of International Cooperation, but he didn't show up, see? I've been over to his place before, so I thought I'd just drop by and check everything was okay and I found him…' Hopkins gestured vaguely at Bole.

'We knew it was just a matter of time.' Montague took over, still very pale. He was shaking slightly. 'But we didn't expect him to come over just… Lucian'd just gotten into ICo-op and his father invites him over for lunch. He started talking about how much of an honour it would be and how we should both be proud to serve his cause.'

'He'da killed us if I'd said no.' Bole slurred.

'He said I was too young, but I'd get my turn next year and I should be honoured to witness it…' Montague looked sick as he recalled what had happened.

'Graham's given him pain potions, but we don't know what to do.'

'I don' wanna be one.' Bole added blearily, blinking open his eyes to stare pleadingly up at her.

'You can take it off, right? Like you did with Umbridge's curse?' Hopkins demanded, peeling up Bole's sleeve.

His forearm was a mess of swollen, burned skin and blood but the dark mark still stood out fresh and painful against his skin. Hermione bit her lip. Curse breaking was Gellert's area of expertise and curses that interacted with the magical core were always the most fraught to deal with.

'It's very different to Umbridge's scar.' Hermione began, tentatively hovering her hand over the mark and feeling the tormented magic beneath, fighting desperately against the insidious binds of a vile, dark presence. She continued hastily when she saw the dismay on the boy's faces, 'Gellert is a much better cursebreaker than I am, but I can at least sever the bond. It will hurt, and it will be messy, but it's the best I can do alone.'

'Do it, please.' Bole virtually begged. Hermione sighed.

'Voldemort won't take it well, of course. You'll be in danger, and your family might be as well. You too, Montague. He'll know you helped.'

'F'im.' Bole slurred.

'Yeah, what Lucian said.' Montague agreed, glancing down at the recent graduate, 'besides, what's another year? I'm not going to let that bastard do that to me, so he'll figure it out eventually.'

'Okay.' Hermione agreed, knotting her fingers nervously. 'We'll use one of the ritual circles, just in case… Montague, can you go and pack bags for you both? I don't know if Voldemort will feel this. One of the guardians will take you to a house when you get back.'

Montague looked reluctant but seemed to see the sense in Hermione's words. He squeezed Bole on the shoulder, nodded to Hopkins, then headed out of the still open door.

'Do you have somewhere to be?' Hermione asked the Gryffindor as the deep throated gong of a bell drifted through the window. There were very few mechanical clocks in Avalon and many, many rooms so Theo had had the bright idea of purchasing a single clock and keeping it in one of largest bell towers. A special rotation of guardians had been assigned the very prestigious role of bell ringers, tolling the bell by hand on every hour. Hermione counted ten strikes whilst she waited for Hopkin's response.

'Not tonight.' He finally decided, glancing down at Bole. Hermione kept her face carefully blank; she was pretty sure that Hopkins saw Bole as more than a tutor. Whether the feeling was reciprocated… Hopkins was not a wizarding name and the brand on Bole's arm clearly displayed the kind of family he'd come from.

'Good.' She decided, 'Mordred, could you please help Bole down to the ritual circle? Flighty?'

'Miss should be preparing for bed at this hour.' Flighty informed her immediately, appearing with a crack. 'Miss be needing an evening of relaxing.'

'Thank you, Flighty. I'm sorry to disturb you at this time too but it's a bit of an emergency.' She used the diminished pool of candle light to scribble out a list of supplies, tearing it off the bottom of the page and passing it to Flighty.

'Oh dear.' Flighty blinked her milky eyes at Bole, slumped with an arm slug over Mordred and Hopkins' shoulders. 'Flighty be understanding now.'

The elf disappeared with a crack and Hermione picked up Mordred's blade, leading the way through the portal doors to the ritual circle.

It was a small circle, one of many in both the castle and the city, designed for small spells back when wands were barely better using than a sharpened stick to make sushi; a fertility charm on an animal, a spell to treat an ailment, a curse against thieves. The rooftop it was built on was about half way up the castle, looking out over the South Curtain and the distant welsh hills beyond it. It was protected on three sides by taller towers, whose white stone reflected the light of the moon with an ethereal glow, creating a windless little alcove of silver light and soft shadow.

Mordred and Hopkins lowered Bole carefully onto the raised alter in the middle of the circle of short, stubby but no less effective stones. Flighty appeared with a pop, arms piled with bandages and potions, her walking cane askew in a manner that suggested she didn't perhaps need it as much as she pretended.

Hermione was perfectly happy to let the dark wizard take the lead, arranging the ancient cleansing ointments favoured by those in the castle to prevent infection and to help fight against curse scars. Modern potions often hadn't been tested in locations of turbulent ambient magic, like Avalon, so it was risky to use them. Then he showed Hopkins how to hold down Bole's arm. The boy had gone very pale.

Mordred took both legs, as the strongest. Hermione sat on the arm that held the mark. Bole made an uninterpretable sound, and Hermione delved deeply into the magical plane.

She wasn't like Gellert, who could pick apart the strands of a magical net like a seamstress untangling a burr. She could see the bond though, identical in signature to the one which had once leeched off her.

She had plenty of experience severing those.

She drove her magic into the twisted, parasitic bond like a knife. It reacted savagely, twisting and writhing as she sawed at it. Bole thrashed and writhed beneath her physical body, barely noticeable with her concentration fixed on severing the bond.

She felt the moment Voldemort recognised the assault. Black magic surged along the bond, curious, reinforcing the weakened link. Hermione snarled, renewing her efforts to sever the connection.

Voldemort retaliated, sliding towards the severed remains of the bond they'd once shared.

Hermione seared at those exploratory strands, then with a vicious sneer she handed off control of that defence to Mordred - the knight was grunting with the effort of holding the thrashing Bole still.

Trusting the knight to defend her from a new invasion, she returned her full force to severing the bond with Bole.

It finally gave way, recoiling with such abruptness that the magical plane around them suddenly felt empty, too still. Tattered remains drifted from Bole's core, bleeding magic. Returning to the physical plane, blinking her eyes open, she noticed that the bleeding magic had a physical manifestation as a soft crimson glow beneath the skin that held the mark.

Then, before she could think any more on it, Mordred was there with ointment, pastes and bandages for the tortured limb.

Bole lay limp, exhausted by the double ordeal.

But it was done. The connection in the mark was severed.