She woke in a different room this time; it was lighter. There were two windows instead of one, pale cream drapes pulled aside by gold sashes. The bed she lay on was made up in the palest blue which matched the delicate floral wallpaper. She rolled over, surprised to find herself already dressed in one of the dresses Gellert had bought for her the day before. It was a dark brown with a white lace trim around her arms and neck, not as uncomfortable as she thought it would be.
She rolled up to her feet, finding a carpet across the floor that covered all but the smallest gap around the walls. She found her wand on a gilded dresser, a huge mirror complimented her hairstyle and the tree in the mural behind the bed rattled it's leaves. She peered out of the closest window, realising with some pleasure that a row of panes opened. The gilt handle smoothly turned, then swung open to allow a crisp breeze.
One of the big doors opened and a pale head poked through, large ears poking out beneath a crisp white hat. The elf smilies happily when it saw her looking and opened the door wider.
'Missy be seeing Master Gellert now.' The elf informed her as Gellert stepped through. He looked her up and down and complimented the colour of her eyes. She assumed that meant he liked her outfit and didn't know how to say much more, so she complimented his shirt to show off her German. Since she had learned this was real, she had spent some time looking over her German book in school and was keen to show off the new words she had learned.
Then beckoned to her and she followed him out into the corridor. She was a floor above his rooms; she recognised the painting in the stairwell opposite the archway.
They went all the way to the bottom of the spiral staircase and took a right down the corridor. The doors here weren't big and fancy; just heavy dark wood with blackened iron hinges. The blue runner carpet was unembellished and the stone was bare more often than not, interspersed with portraits of unsmiling people with plaques announcing them to be Gellert's ancestors. The older the date, the more ridiculous the outfit and name.
The room they ended up in was plainer still. This time there were no tapestries or portraits; just the immaculately mortared stone soaring up from uncarpeted stone floor. The fireplace was small and plain, unlit at the moment and the windows were high above eye level so one could only see a cutout of cloudy sky. They were open, allowing crisp air to blow through the room and stirring the parchments on the large desk at the front of the room. Two small desks and stools sat between them and the front, parchment and feather quills laid out on each one, along with a heavy book on the right hand desk. Gellert sat at the left desk, and she cautiously took the other.
The moment they sat, the door opened behind them and a middle aged man strode through. He wore his foul mood like a cloak, then shed it like one as he reached the tall chair at the front desk. He must have arrived earlier and only just returned as his leather bag was already on the desk.
'I spoke to Lady Grindelwald.' He informed her in accented German, instead of greeting her. 'You will learn under me for three days, then spend two days with another tutor, a day with her Ladyship and then have a day to yourself.'
He finally turned, having arranged his belongings on the desk. His face was unremarkable beneath the mousy hair, his eyes small and his chin a little on the square side perhaps, but certainly not someone who would stand out in a crowd. He wore what seemed to be typical clothing for the period - white shirt tucked into brown pressed trousers, covered by a floor length dressing gown (robe, she believed was the name for it.)
'Yes, Sir.' She finally answered.
'Now, I'd like to see your letters please.' He instructed, then smoothly changed to german and gave Gellert his marching orders. She pulled the parchment towards her, fingering the thick, rough texture and noting that the edges were neatly square. She'd spent hours with her mother wiping tea bags over paper and using a candle to carefully burn the edges. The result was nothing quite as luxurious as the real thing. She picked up the quill which was lighter than the pen she was finally allowed to use in school. There was a slight scratchiness against her hand where the bottom feathers had been trimmed off to let her hold it and untrimmed section had an air resistance when she performed an experimental downward stroke. The slight scratch of the quill against the parchment was rough and sounded amazing. She unscrewed the lid of the ink pot that had been built into the desk and dipped the tip of the quill into it, covering as little as possible.
She scratched out the first letter of the alphabet, then had to add a bit more ink to write the second. By the fourth letter it was starting to get a bit impractical, so she dipped the quill in further. It dripped several times on the way across the desk to the parchment and she almost cried as the brownish black liquid obscured her best handwriting. She started again, the letters forming blotchy and uneven.
She dipped the quill in again, this time managing to not make any drips and write four reasonably neat letters before needing to dip again. Then it only took her a moment to finish the alphabet. She frowned at it for a moment, then started again.
By the time the teacher was done speaking to Gellert, she had filled the entire page with the alphabet. She was reasonably confident with the quill, not fast but she was reliably not dripping anymore. The tutor took the page.
'Have you written with a quill before?' The tutor asked. She shook her head and he nodded as if he had expected her answer. He taught her to hold her wrist at a different angle so that she was less likely to smudge the ink. The result was that the angular cut of the tip of the quill created a different thickness of line depending on which direction she drew it in. She started the alphabet again and it looked neater already.
Next to her Gellert was reading from the large tome and taking notes in effortless, flowing script. A parchment flapped in front of her, wafting the earthy scent of ink. She refocused to see the tutor had drawn letters - beautiful flowing letters.
'Copy these.' He instructed, and she obeyed, painstakingly copying each swirl and dash, forcing her lines to be thick and thin where his were. He made her write the alphabet twice, then handed her a thin book. It was worn, spotted with inky fingerprints, perhaps evidence of many other children who had thumbed through it as they learned to write. It was an English book, 'Witchcraft and Wizardry by Caesar Rowle.'
The letters were printed into the thick paper leaving heavy indentations. She read through the first page, which was an introduction to the differences between witchcraft and wizardry - apparently witchcraft was performed using just intent. Wizardry was guided by spells and incantations. The author informed her in phrasing that permitted no dispute that wizardry was a weaker, limited form of magic. Apparently wizardry was just witchcraft that had been condensed into words for those too weak to form their own magic. Sorcery, it was called, when one used a combination of the two to perform magic so powerful or complex that it couldn't be performed by one form alone.
As fascinating as she found the subject, her true assignment was just to copy the first couple of pages using the fancy lettering the tutor had shown her. She did, but was grateful when she was allowed to take the book away during their lunch break to continue reading.
The room next door was a much more relaxed setting - she would have called it a playroom if there had been toys, but as it was it was perhaps more of a games room. There was a chess board in the corner and a shelf with cards and several games she didn't recognise. The shelves above it were filled with brightly coloured books which grew steadily more sedate and thicker as one got higher up the shelves. There was a large fireplace with comfortable chairs arranged around it and a thick pile of furs and blankets to choose from. There was a desk beneath the window, this one large and piled high with books and parchment scraps.
They took a chair each and two of the house elves appeared, Flighty, the English elf, curtseyed to Hermione and poured them each a cup of tea in delicate china cups. It was luxurious, loose leaf and smelled of flowery bergamot - nothing like the 'builder's tea' her parents made. A teaspoon of thick cream was added instead of milk, and the end result was a thick, rich drink which she immediately fell in love with. Little sandwiches of fluffy bread with a crisp, almost French crust, filled wth lettuce and tomatoes and creamy cheese were arranged among delicate rolls of ham and bejewelled with bright grapes and shiny apple slices. The silver platter was sat between them, and lacy napkins laid over both their laps.
Hermione reached for the book, only for her hand to be slapped away by Flighty.
'Missy does not be reading during lunch!' The elf scolded. Hermione nodded obediently and took one of the sandwiches instead.
'Missy should be eating from a plate.' Flighty snatched the sandwich from her before she could take a bite, plopping it on a plate. Then, as if not trusting her, the elf portioned out a couple of pieces of ham and a helping of fruit for her. Gellert watched on with considerable amusement, eating his own sandwich from a plate. His own elf had long gone.
She ate the food, noting how good it was even as she tried to look disgruntled at the treatment. Her manners were perfectly fine, it wasn't her fault the people from 100 years ago had their knickers in a twist.
Under strict observation she finished her sandwich, then licked her fingers. The hand was slapped from her mouth, and the elf shoved her napkin into her hands without even needing to speak her disapproval. Hermione obediently dried her hands on the fabric and was then, finally, allowed to touch the book. The elf made a disparaging commentary as she cleared away the remains of lunch, Gellert still watched in amusement.
'We do magic after lunch.' He informed her once they were alone. 'Your first spell is important.'
'Why?' She asked, looking up from the book.
'It is... important. It means things. Your first magic.' He paused.
'What was yours?'
'Fire.' He answered with a manic grin. She could imagine him waving that wooden wand of his, fire billowing out of the end of it. She rather thought she would prefer something more useful. He handed her a list, one written in a more angular hand than that she had been taught today. It was less flamboyant but no less beautiful - neat letters crammed uniformly into lines and immaculate calligraphy making the page look like it had come from an ancient bible.
It was a list of spells from his mother - ones that she considered to be acceptable first spells. She read through it quickly - fire, water, wind, light, levitation, severing, unlocking and disarming. Fire, water and wind she quickly dismissed as not very useful, although they sounded cool and showy. She couldn't see herself needing to disarm any time soon, having never met another magical person, so that left levitation, severing, unlocking and light.
There was really no question, she wanted her first spell to be summoning. She could already picture how great it would be to study and just magically summon pens, books and paper as needed. Or, she could summon her uniform to bed when she woke up in the morning and the room was cold... the possibilities were really endless.
She could barely sit still for the rest of lunch and was only too happy to finish pretending to read the book and start lessons again. They went to the room down from the one they had been in before. This one had a window, but no other furnishings, not even a fireplace.
The tutor was already waiting and Gellert was quickly sent to one corner of the room with a hedgehog to practice a spell he seemed to already know, and hate if his reaction was anything to go by.
Then the tutor turned to her. She bounced on her toes.
'You have chosen?' He asked and she nodded, informing him of her choice. He pulled a quill from his pocket and passed it to her, she took it.
'We will practice with a wand first, but this will be the only time. The Lady Grindelwald believes that use of wands dampens the connection between a Wicca and their magic. Your wand will help you to find your magical core, but you must learn to reach for it yourself.'
The tutor had taken out his wand in a movement the enraptured young witch completely missed. She hastily pulled out her own from the holster Gellert had bought her at the market. She paid careful attention as the wand movement was demonstrated and then copied it carefully. The tutor had her perform the movement time after time making minute corrections until he deemed it good enough. Gellert's Hedgehog was looking slightly silvery, but otherwise seemed unchanged despite him prodding it determinedly with his wand.
She was taught an incantation next - "Accio" which had to be pronounced exactly right, with the correct emphasis in the right places. The tutor cautioned her with a story about a man who pronounced a spell wrong and ended up with a buffalo on his chest, then allowed her to practice the word, again and again and again. Gellert's hedgehog's nose had grown into a long stick by then and was definitely metallic looking.
The tutor then set her to studying the quill, she had to become familiar with it - the weight, the size the colour. He got her to sketch it, then answer questions on it until she was certain she knew the feather better than she knew her favourite teddy. The sun was beginning to set behind the hill opposite. An elf popped in to light the torches.
Finally, she was allowed to try the spell but first the Lady Grindelwald had to be summoned.
She must have been expecting the call because she arrived five minutes later, sweeping through the door with a whisper of grey silk. Hermione curtsied as the two others bowed, looking down to hide her sudden nerves. She wasn't even convinced that she was a witch, and suddenly she was to have an audience for a spell she was starting to believe wouldn't work.
Gellert squeezed her arm as he passed, whispering in her ear.
'It will come, you must be strong.' Then he as gone, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, facing the feather and Lady Grindelwald.
'What have you chosen?' The lady asked and Hermione gave her answer with a bob of her head. The Lady seemed satisfied. 'Very well, remember, concentration and viciousness.'
Hermione held out her wand, pictured the feather, imagined it flying from the floor to her hand. She remembered the weight of it, the touch of the quill against her fingers. She would prove herself, she needed to prove herself, prove that she was a witch. The feather would come to her hand, she knew everything, she had everything right, if she was a witch, it would come.
'Accio!' She cried.
The feather whizzed across the room like an arrow from a bow, she raised her free hand instinctually, although whether to catch or defend was undecided. The feather bounced off her open palm and she fumbled to catch it as it drifted to the floor.
A moment later her audience was applauding as she stared at the seemingly innocuous brown feather in her hand.