The harvest ball, hosted by the Tunninger Family every year was one of the few events his strongly traditional mother deigned to attend. A large part of that was perhaps because the Tunningers were also heavily traditional, so the event was less about glamorous gowns and more about the traditional ceremony.
His mother chose Hermione's robes herself, as this would be her first public appearance. The plain white dress was traditional for a young witch at rituals, until her first bleed when she would wear red. The skirt had no hoops or adornments and the long, thick, russet woollen cloak was embroidered subtly with flashing gold leaves. It was long, designed to drape enough to cover her ankles as she rode astride. There was no iron, steel or silver in any of the items as this was a fire festival, silver was the metal of the moon and steel and iron could carry the taint of previous magic.
His own outfit was conspicuously matching, his half cloak the same colour and gold embroidery on his shirt.
She arrived already dressed, the laid out clothes disappearing from the chair and reappearing with her already wearing them. His mother must have explained the day in their meeting - she was cradling a small, rosy red apple to her chest. Her elf appeared to do her hair with russet and gold ribbons, weaving it into a crown with ripe ears of wheat. She wrung her hands and nervously polished the apple, wincing slightly as the elf tugged at her hair.
"Young miss is ready.' Flighty declared, stepping away from her masterpiece. Hermione blinked and thanked the young elf, then stood to join Gellert at the door. She looked older and taller in the straight dress, they stood side by side in the mirror and he could almost picture how they would look in a decade. They would both be taller of course, her dress exchanged for crimson and her magic crackling in anticipation of the ritual. Perhaps she would be the sun when her magic matured; Grindelwalds were often the channel of these rituals, and she would be bedecked in gold.
They hurried down to meet his mother, who was dressed in black. She was the host in most rituals, her knowledge and power unmatched, but as a widow she was unable to take the position of channel. Their horses were already saddled - his mother stood next to her prize Granian stallion, personally checking his saddle. He went over Kelpie's harness - port gates were notorious for loosening straps, then assisted Hermione with Katana's. Her Longma's saddle was made of thick, embroidered silk in Grindelwald blue and the thick breast plate was fringed in silver. He helped Hermione up, arranging her cloak so that it covered her ankles and helping her untangle her skirts from the stirrups.
He was the last to mount, clambering over Kelpie's back as both the Granian and Longma flexed their wings. His mother nodded to him once, then flicked her reins. Her mount surged upwards in a rush of air and a snap of feathers. Katana followed, his wings thudding dully as leathery skin stretched taut under his weight. Hermione hung on, her carefully arranged cloak streaming behind her as her mount gained height quickly. He tapped his heels to Kelpie's flanks and his beast leapt away at a gallop, tearing though the back gates and along the ridge line. He laughed out loud as his horse rolled his eyes skyward, catching sight of the two airborne shapes ahead and picked up his pace.
He loved the festivals; true Wiccan celebrations were a celebration of who they truly were, a revel of power and magic with none of the stifling traditions absorbed from the muggles. The morning was still young, so the dew glistened on the russet leaves of autumn and Kelpie's breath steamed in the air. The wind was earthy, rich with the smell of fallen leaves and ripe fruit. Wildlife scattered as they passed - birds fluffed up with the beginnings of their winter plumage, stags with their heads bare for winter, Hindebeast slow with the pull of hibernation.
He arrived last to the port gate - a ring of standing stones surrounding the square archway. The women can't have arrived much before him though as his mother was only just opening the gate. He reined in Kelpie next to Katana, glancing over at Hermione's flushed face. She looked like the embodiment of autumn with her amber cloak, rosy cheeks, her hair magically immaculate with its wheat-crown. She grinned at him and he grinned in return, even his mother looked happy - one of the few times of the year that she did. Her smile was cold, but at least it was a smile.
The matriarch led the way through the archway and Gellert rode up beside Hermione to help her coax Katana through. The Longma calmed and followed the more experienced Kelpie. A strong blast of wind lashed his skin, whipping Kelpie's mane in his face and forcing his eyes shut, then it quietened and they were standing in an identical ring of stones, only this one was in a field. It was warmer, the sun rising much earlier in the plains than the mountains. The fields were already harvested, piles of wheat lining the track which was dotted with both mounted and walking wicca. A vast array of beasts carried them - thestrals and sleipnir, Granians, Abraxans, Hippogriffs, and the occasional rarer mount like his own Kelpie and Hermione's Longma. He even spied an unfortunate wizard who's Morvark had snorted over one of the haystacks and set it alight. Several others hurried to assist with extinguishing it.
They trotted their mounts down the track drawing no small amount of attention. Mounted children were rare and and the Grindelwald family crests on their horse's tack was hard to miss, even without the distinctive blue. Adults offered respectful nods as they passed and stared with barely concealed curiosity at Hermione.
They arrived at a row of pickets, tens of mounts already tied. Gellert pointed Hermione in the direction of the Herbivores and tied his Kelpie up between two thestrals; visible only as hovering harness. Hermione joined him a moment later, still clutching her apple.
'We will put that with the rest.' He commented, offering his arm to her. She took it happily and they slipped across the field to where a towering pile of wood would become a bonfire later in the evening. Haybales were arranged for seating and a large altar waited in the middle of a ring of barrows. A large bull was already tethered to it and produce was stacked up against it. Sheafs of barley, oats, wheat and spelt, rye and bere, beans, peas, turnips, corn, potatoes, pumpkins and parsnips, squash, carrots and apples, peaches and plums, garlic and onions, grapes and cabbage. They found a good spot for her apple, near the Grindelwald-blue bound oats and she arranged it so that the glossy red side faced out.
With the offering safely placed, they left the altar to join the other children as the adults mingled. He introduced Hermione to Berg and Alice Tunninger, who were the two children of the hosts. They were also a wealthy family and Alice was a powerful witch, her brother less so but he had always been more academic. Alice was going to be the moon for Ostara, he congratulated her and asked whether that meant she would be fertility for Beltane. She shook her head, saying that the current moon - Anneken Lintzen - would be fertility. Until he met Hermione, he always assumed that he would marry Anneken. She was a formidable witch, having been deemed powerful enough to take the position of channel in the powerful Samhain ritual at only eleven. Anneken had no real desire to be the channel though, having admitted more than once that she found the experience unsettling. He imagined she would be more than happy to take up the mantle of the key.
The conversation turned to Hermione, and she looked up in interest, the German flowing too quickly for her to be a part of the conversation.
'So she is your family ward? What family is she from?' Berg questioned, squinting as though he would be able to see the family magic around her.
'No, she is a guest. Mother might perhaps sponsor her.'
'Muggleborn?' Alice exclaimed, surprise heavy in her voice. He knew why, the practice of taking in first generation magical children had never been one practiced by his family.
'Yes.' He leant in close so that the older Russians nearby couldn't hear him, 'She is English, apparates into the castle every day with accidental magic. Passes the wards and everything.'
The two other children gaped at him, then turned slightly awestruck gazed on the girl next to him. She smiled shyly.
Petrovna Dolohov sauntered up next to them. She was a tall girl who would be going to Durmstrang with him and Berg next year, her parents were an old family but they held little stock in the old ways. She was already betrothed to one of the silly inbred families in Britain which was something she moaned about constantly. She dragged a slender boy behind her. He was fractionally older and wore smart black dress robes, a ruffled shirt and ballroom shoes. Petrovna shoved him into the middle of the circle, gesturing furiously at him.
'Look, look what my idiot parents have cursed me with!' Her german was accented with the harsh overtones of Russian, making her sound even angrier than she already was. He peered more closely at the boy, noticing what had Petrovna so concerned. He wore silver cuff links and buckles, polished to a shine.
'He is an idiot.' Gellert remarked, glaring at the boy. He cowered backwards slightly.
'Yes, an idiot who doesn't even know not to wear silver to a sun festival! I warned him, I warned him!' Gold sparks shot from her fingers, singing the trampled corn stalks around their feet and inciting a round of laughter from everyone.
'Perhaps you should introduce this idiot.' Berg prompted and Petrovna scowled at him.
'This... Durak,' She spat the word with enough force that it could only be an insult, 'is Rowland Yaxley.'
'Hermione is English too.' Alice observed but she too looked a little repulsed by the boy in the middle. 'Perhaps you should see to his attire, Berg.'
'Perhaps I shouldn't and Gellert's mother will make him attend with string for a belt.' Berg grumbled, but he led the English boy away to the mounts, presumably to take him to the distant manor for appropriate clothes. Petrovna turned to Hermione and engaged the girl in conversation, Hermione seeming more than happy to have someone who spoke good English.
The clear notes of a horn swelled across the field, capturing the attention of the gathered wixen. A moment of silence, then excited volume swelled as the crowd made their way to where the games would take place. Six bronze sleipnir pawed the ground, reins held by Herr Tunninger. His father would be the horse race Marshall, whilst other grandparents would be adjudicating the various other events - sword fighting, foot racing, apple bobbing, pumpkin jinxing, archery and
His group of friends started with archery which Alice won with such a margin that it hardly seemed fair. Hermione came closest, but that was because she'd been using her magic to force the arrow to land in the centre of the target. If she was any older it would have been considered bad sport but at her age everyone just laughed and applauded as it was clearly unintentional. Berg returned in time for a sword fight which Gellert soundly won, then he wiped the floor with the Yaxley boy. Hermione was talked through her first lesson by a surprisingly gentle Petrovna, then the Russian witch flattened Alice in the ring.
The English boy took the crown with the apple bobbing (being the only one to successfully retrieve one, then with a gallant bow offered the fruit to his betrothed. Petrovna seemed to find the gesture romantic enough to allow him into the conversation, although she didn't unbend enough from the belt buckle debacle to take his arm.
Yaxley also won the foot race, then Gellert took the pumpkin jinxing title, with Hermione trailing him by only a single pumpkin, despite having only learned the spell by the kindness of the old wizard adjudicating the event. The elderly man had chortled merrily as the young witch sent shards of pumpkin splatting against the backdrop, then laughed even harder when he counted the scores at the end. Both Grindelwald children had scored among the adults.
The real highlight of the games would always be the horse racing, and where the adult races had always been a spot of fun, the children's races drew a massive crowd. The bronze sleipnir had already had a long day and their flanks steamed despite the warm day. The crowd applauded as Gellert helped Hermione mount, then mounted his own horse. Alice helped Berg mount, then had to step back as she was technically too old for this race. He recognised several other children as their siblings mounted them - the Hawdon twins, Albert Friedl who was a year younger than him and Mareike Dünhaupt.
He grinned over at Hermione and Petrovna, then edged his sleipnir closer to the line.
The crowd fell silent. Herr Tunninger introduced them all, then counted down from three.
None of them stood a chance.
Hermione's horse shot away like an arrow from a bow, the tiny weight of the girl on it's back almost unnoticeable and her fingers clinging onto the beast's mane for dear life. The other children, older and heavier on the already tired horses lagged behind until they swept over the line a length behind the young witch in the lead. Gellert came next, perhaps the better rider despite being heavier than Friedl, and Petrovna came after him. One of the Hawdons had fallen, seemingly barged off by his brother and Frau Hawdon hauled the remaining boy off his sleipnir and jinxed him with a knee reversal until he apologised to his brother.
Gellert's mother nodded in congratulations to them both, then swept off to her allies and let them be enveloped by less aloof adults. Gellert was careful to hold Hermione as a certain distance, it wouldn't do for his family to associate with the general public for more than brief conversations. They didn't need to know the intimates of the Grindelwald family - even the details of Hermione's relationship to the family needn't be bandied about.
After the race came the feast; whole sides of roast beef, boar, pheasant and hare, honeyed pumpkins and squash and fresh peas and beans. The children's table was attended by a pair of elves and Gellert as the superior of their group carved and served the beef. Hermione made conversation with the Yaxley boy who seemed to be vaguely unsettled. He could almost imagine how the ancient sponsorship custom grated at his British sensibilities, how he would be hating being forced to talk to a muggleborn whom in European society, which with his betrothal he had to respect, ranked higher than him.
Dessert came out when the volume level rose again; pumpkin pie, apple torte, blackberry crumble, topped with whipped cream and custard.
Night had fallen by the time the horn blew again and a drumbeat started up from the altar. A wave of magic rolled through the gathering, dark and familiar. His mother summoned them to the ritual. An expectant hush fell across the gathering as they all stood and made their way over to the altar.
It was lit by four torches, one at each corner. A torch sat at the top of each barrow, creating golden pools of flickering light that only made the shadows darker.
His mother, the ritual host, already waited, behind her, two woman in black cloaks beat on the drums. His mother raised a golden horn to her lips and blew again. Alice took Hermione's hand from him and passed him Hermione's cloak, guiding her forward to the semi-circle of witches that formed around the altar. Gellert fell back with the other men and boys; Harvest was a woman's ritual. His eyes remained pinned to Hermione's distinctive brown hair as she joined the circle between Alice and Frau Dolohov. Her white gown wavered like a ghost around her pale form, a contrast to the deep red of Frau Dolohov. Alice too wore white, but the next white dress was several witches down the circle.
Once the circle was formed, his mother raised the horn again, the drumbeats built to a rolling crescendo, then stopped as a pure note left the horn.
There was a moment of silence, then Lady Grindelwald greeted the key; Frau Tunninger. Tunninger stepped forwards and the chains either side of her raised their hands and rested them on her shoulders.
Tunninger raised her arms and called out that she stood ready with a coven. Behind her, the witches murmured that they were ready and they were the coven. A beat of the drum rolled out from behind the altar.
'And what would your coven do?' His mother called. Magic sparkled between Tunninger's raised hands. Another drum beat rolled out.
'We would bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.' Tunninger called, and the other witches echoed her. The magic shimmered along the two arcs of witches.
'Let it be heard, they would bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.' His mother repeated to the darkness behind the altar. The drum beat twice.
Tunninger repeated her words, echoed by the witches to either side in a sibilant whisper. The drums beat rapidly, quietly at first but building in a steady crescendo as the chanting witches grew louder. Glittering, shimmering magic wound between them, twining around hands, swirling towards the chains and glowing between the raised hands of the key. The light grew brighter and brighter, glowing like a sun as the volume grew louder and louder.
Then the horn cut through the sound like a knife, silencing the witches and the drums. A wind blew through the barrows, extinguishing the torches. The only light was the glowing magic between Tunninger's arms.
'I have come.' Anneken Lintzen intoned. She was resplendent in gold, her dress reflecting the light of the magic. 'I will bless this harvest, that it may last the winter. What will you give me?'
'They give you this bull, that it's life may sustain you. They bring their magic, that it may support you.' Lady Grindelwald's head was bowed, her dress so black that she appeared as little more than a shadow.
'Then I shall bless this harvest, that it may last the winter. Bring me the life.' She held out a golden athame and a hollowed pumpkin.
The horn rang clear again, the drums beat a steady rhythm. Lady Grindelwald took the knife and strode to the bull.
'I bring you the life.' She cried, slashing the athame across the bull's throat. It bellowed in pain, the sound echoing with the drums as the animal collapsed to the altar. His mother rose, holding the pumpkin aloft. It glowed from within with a deep, crimson light.
'I take this life, that it may sustain me.' Anneken took the pumpkin and drank the contents. It's crimson glow shimmered through her. Then she walked forwards, her toes brushing the edge of the altar as she reached out towards Tunninger.
'I take your magic, that it may support me.' She touched the glowing ball, light flashing bright enough to leave him blinking. When his sight cleared, Anneken glowed brightly, flames licked at her skin, reflecting on her gold dress. Her hair stirred in a nonexistent breeze and her eyes glowed orange.
'I bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.' She took the athame from his mother and cut her hands. Blood spilled, flaming and glowing, into the pumpkin. The glow faded as the blood left her, until his mother deemed it full.
'You have blessed this harvest, it will last the winter. We thank you, and our magic will heal you.' The cuts healed and Anneken sagged backwards. The two drummers hurried forwards to help her from the altar. Lady Grindelwald turned to the assembled witches.
'We have received a blessing. Would you have me distribute it?' She demanded and Tunninger answered. His mother dipped her hand into the pumpkin, flames licking her fingers. She flicked the blood at the produce at her feet and it glowed as it landed, twinkling like a star before extinguishing. She repeated the action, moving slowly around the altar until everything had received the blessing.
'We have blessed our crops. We will have a plentiful winter. Now, we shall rejoin our men and celebrate the strength of our bonds, the power of our magic.' Lady Grindelwald called. She pointed her hands at the bonfire and it roared to life. Applause thundered through the men and they surged forwards, embracing family members and friends. Gellert was quick to find Hermione.
She was practically vibrating with magical energy, despite how draining the ritual had been - a sure sign that she was really too powerful to just be part of the circle. He murmured congratulations to her and she rewarded him with a blinding smile. He led her to the fire and offered her a toffee apple. She accepted it and gleefully bit into the fruit as he led her towards one of the bales of hay. Anneken was already seated there, looking pale and flanked by the two witches who'd been on the drums. A crowd of admirers was already surrounding her, congratulating her on the strength of her offering and the success of the ritual. The older witch caught sight of him between the bodies around her and called them over with a smile.
'Gellert, I haven't seen you in a while.' She greeted, seeming glad to have an excuse not to talk to those around them. She was older, having come of age last month and would be graduating from Durmstrang soon. Her eyes fell upon Hermione and widened almost comically. 'Who is this?'
'Hermione Granger.' Hermione answered, having picked up the question.
Gellert watched Anneken's face closely, knowing that she had been expected to marry him. There was no formal betrothal yet, but as a powerful witch it had almost been a given that she would be marrying into the Grindelwald family. He was surprised and more than a little relieved to notice she seemed to relax on seeing the girl next to him.
'May we speak, Gellert?' Anneken asked, shooing away the concerned drummers as she stood. Gellert offered her his arm for support and she took it, although she was several heads taller than him. They walked a little way away.
'Gellert, is Hermione to be your wife?' She asked frankly once they were in the shadows. Figures were beginning to dance around the bonfire.
'I hope so.' He replied, carefully noting her shoulders dropping slightly.
'I'm glad.' Anneken said. 'I have met a wizard at school. He is strong, perhaps not the strongest, but my family have never cared. He is intelligent, handsome. I want to be his wife. You are a Grindelwald, and I don't think I can live up to that but I was willing to try as the best match for you. If you have Hermione, then I am free to marry him.'
Gellert was speechless for a moment.
'You are okay with this?' He confirmed. Anneken nodded, guiding him back in the direction of Hermione.
'I am, besides, she is a powerful witch. I hope that Alice will not be too upset when Hermione becomes the channel.'
'I hope I might ask something of you?' Gellert pulled the older witch to a stop before they quite broached the ring of firelight. Anneken nodded. 'I hope that you might mentor her. She is muggleborn and doesn't have anyone to confide in.'
Anneken considered for a moment, then smiled and nodded.
'I want to be a part of her coven.' Anneken decided. Gellert was unsurprised, it would have been unreasonable to not expect a demand in return. That was not what he had expected though.
'She might not form a coven.' He replied. Anneken laughed.
'Oh, she will. She is far too powerful to ever be anything but a high witch. I wouldn't be surprised if she gets herself a fey blessing.' Anneken tossed her hair over her shoulder, the gold that was woven into it glinting. 'So, may I be part of her coven?'
'You'll have to negotiate that with her...' He replied cautiously. The older witch laughed again but seemed happy with the reply. She led Gellert back to the hay bale where Hermione waited.
'Now, go take your witch and dance. It wouldn't be fair to keep her away from that at her first festival!'