This Yule was already looking to be the best ever. In previous years it had been a time fraught with danger and fear of his mother, but Hermione had an uncanny ability to mellow the fearsome witch. Traditionally he decorated the castle with his mother, boughs of evergreen trees, mistletoe and pine cones tastefully arranged over every surface. Somehow Hermione had managed to shake up his deeply traditional mother and now glittering red and gold orbs, twinkling witch lights, ribbons and conjured icicles dotted the traditional cedar and holly. The young witch had insisted upon seven whole trees in the ball room, decorating these with streams of gold and blinking five pointed stars.
His mother had indulged them, teaching them charms and helping Hermione to shape her magic to achieve her visions. By the time they had finished, the ball room looked like a winter wonderland. Enchanted snow fell, never touching the floor, icicles hung from every outcropping and the dance floor itself had been transfigured to look like blueish ice. It was a step away from their previous decorations and in Hermione's terms, he would have described it as somehow more... magical.
He woke on Yule to find the pile of presents strangely absent, in their place a note informing him that he needed to come down to his mother's drawing room - dress code, pyjamas. Mystified, he obliged, padding down the halls in slippers and a robe over his thick pyjamas.
He couldn't decide whether he was more shocked or horrified to find Hermione and his mother waiting for him, around yet another of Hermione's trees. His mother wore a robe over her nightdress and Hermione wore bright pink trousers with cartoon unicorns and a red and green jumper. The two witches were surrounded by presents and more surrounded the third empty chair. Gellert took a seat.
'Hermione is sharing her Yule traditions with us... apparently unwrapping presents in one's nightclothes.' His mother explained with a bemused expression. The older witch delicately unwrapped a set of silver gilt quills and Gellert picked up his first present.
His mother had gifted him a book of environment alteration spells so that he could work on Kelpie's stall, Anneken had gifted a new hat and Petrovna had found some shock-o-choc. Hermione's present was wrapped in reflective blue paper, decorated with pictures of a fat man in red. He didn't comment, assuming it must be some muggle tradition, and unwrapped it eagerly. She'd gotten him a strange quill. It had a delicate, metal nib and the spine of the feather was black, in sharp contrast to the creamy feathers. The box it came in was strange too, as there was no place in it for ink and it was far to custom fit for what was usually a disposable item.
'It's a self-inking quill. I came up with the idea and your mother had it made for me.' Hermione informed him shyly. His eyes widened.
'Wow, Hermione. That's a great idea!' He marvelled at such a simple solution, glancing at the quill again. 'You've patented it for her, right?' He asked his mother urgently. She looked down on him.
'I have, Hermione and I have been working on commercialising the product in our private lessons.' She replied imperiously, but her expression was slightly proud. Gellert felt pride run through him too - his witch was powerful, inventive and ambitious. She'd be an incredible asset to his family.
The young witch unwrapped his present with an excited exclamation- it was a book, written in English, about the history of Hogwarts school. His mother had gifted her a scale polishing set for her Longma and a beginner's potion set. It was childish, but Hermione seemed thrilled by the frog's eyeballs and bee's thoraxes. He'd bought his mother a set of oriental acromantula silk gloves and Hermione had gifted her a tin box of home made chocolate treats.
With that part of the day out of the way, Hermione was banished up to her room to get ready whilst Gellert was sent to do a last minute revision of his role for the evening. By the time he returned to his room, his outfit for the night had been laid out.
He felt odd, pulling on what was essentially a crimson dress, skirts included. The heavy, white over robe with decorative gold hems. Then his elf popped in to help fasten a complex arrangements of paulrons and tabards, a third robe with billowing white sleeves, and finally a gold mask, engraved with flames and suns. Finally, he pulled the heavy, deep hood over his head and looked himself in the mirror.
The crimson skirt just peeked out when he walked, otherwise the white robe swept the floor, and ornate gold suns and flames licked the hems. The collar of the robe stuck up over pointed pauldrons like the rays of the sun emblazoned on his chest. The deep shadow of the hood hid all but the golden mask.
He joined Hermione in the entrance hall, pausing for a moment to take in her dress - white, with a blue and gold robe in a classical, Grecian style that looked elegant and mature, somehow above all the frilly dresses that most wore. Her hair was done up with gold pins and bright sprigs of ivy, several curls artfully arranged as they fell down her back.
They chatted for half an hour, then Gellert was sent to the ball room to a golden throne on the far raised dais. He took his seat just as the first guests arrived - the Lord and Lady Tunninger, with both of their children. The family stopped in surprise when they entered, taking in the glittering, ice clad walls and glowing witch lights in the trees that reflected off the icy polished floor. The golden throne where Gellert sat was a ruby of heat and fire - as though lava moved beneath the ice and reflected in massive floor to ceiling ice flows.
The family quickly made their way up to the dais and placed a basket of clove-spiked oranges at his feet. He nodded benignly as them as the patriarch spoke the ritual words of offering before heading over to the table, laden with Hermione's strange menu.
'This all looks incredible, Gellert.' Alice whispered before she was whisked away.
What followed then was an almost constant stream of guests bearing home made, fragrant offerings until he was enveloped in a cloud of warm, sweet spice. Each one spoke the same words and each offering came imbued with magic which hummed gently at the edge of his awareness.
Petrovna's family arrived, sans Petrovna, as did Mareike and the Hawdon twins. The room steadily grew louder, the unusual yet spectacular decorations the main focus of conversation. The Grindelwald family had hosted Yule for as long as anyone could remember, in the same way as they had always hosted Samhain and Beltane, but the hall had looked the same every year - massive arches decorated with holly and cedar, pine branches and cones over golden gilded stucco. This year was a remarkable difference and a blatant reminder of the power of his family, perhaps one that was well due. After all, no small magic had gone into the decorations.
Hermione seemed to be mixing with the adults rather than the children, flanked by Anneken in a glorious crimson dress with a gold girdle. A man held Anneken's arm, his dress robes trimmed in crimson so match her dress. Finally, it seemed everyone had arrived and it was time for the real celebration to begin. His mother nodded to him.
He rose, raising his hands into the air. A hush fell across the hall.
'The nights are long, my hearth is cold.' He called, his voice carrying across the assembled gathering. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear himself speak.
'Let us light your hearth.' Called Herr Hawdon from the opposite end of the room. The crowd parted to let him through. The older wizard held his hands over the offerings which ignited with a rush, forming a ring of fire around Gellert's throne. The enchantments on the ceremonial robe kept him cool, but it was still a terrifying experience as the fire roared around him. He counted to seven in his head, then called out to the gathered wizards.
'I seek a greater fire!' He called, as the fire began to die.
'We shall hunt.' Herr Hawdon promised. Gellert pushed his magic into the fire, combining the magic of all the offerings and merging them through both determination and sheer force. He was sweating from his own heat before long, but the heavily fragrant smoke was forming a shape above him. The surrounding wizards whooped and clapped as they saw the shape of bird forming. The last of the fire disappeared, sucking into the form of a black, smoky phoenix.
The bird flapped a couple of times, then swooped out of the room. Gellert hurried behind it as fast as he could in the many layers of robes, the wizards gathering into a pack behind him. Outside, mounts waited, reins held by the witches. The black, smoky bird soared over their heads and out over the forest as wizards found their mounts, received a kiss on the forehead or lips from their witch, then swung up.
In a thunder of hooves, Gellert led the chase down the path, each perilous turn instinctual to both himself and the Kelpie beneath him. Whoops, cheers and shouts echoed around him as they followed the smoky bird. The left the road in a burst of snow from bushes, barrelling between the bare trees of the lower slopes, climbing higher and higher up the hill beside the castle. He kept his eyes pinned on the black bird, trusting Kelpie to find a route. Behind him, the other wizards had lost some of their volume as the riding became more tricky.
A fierce joy surged through him as he saw the smoky bird dip, then in a flash of flame, merge with a thick tree trunk. He reined in Kelpie, pointing at the tree.
'Behold the Yule log.' A cheer greeted his words and then he was surrounded by hot horse flesh and breathless men. Steam rose from flanks and muzzles, hooves pawed at frozen earth and beasts snorted. The tree the phoenix had chosen was quickly cut and six men that rode winged mounts lashed it beneath them, taking off in the direction of the castle under powerful disillusionment charms.
The ride back was significantly more sedate, most people choosing to dismount and lead their exhausted horses. Kelpie was fit and more than used to the steep terrain, so Gellert remained mounted as people congratulated him on finding the Yule log. Relief was light, the weight of responsibility lifted. The ritual was by no means over, but the hardest part was done. The Yule log wasn't always found, and those years were inevitably bad. The year his father died had been the last time; they had spent hours after the smoky wolf had vanished, combing the wood to try and find it's mark on a tree, but nothing had been found. Two months later war broke out, six months later, Lord Grindelwald was dead.
The witches cheered them in, flying down from the highest tower where they had been spectating on brooms and following them into the ball room. The log, with it's branches still attached but the top removed, had already been laid in the massive, purpose built hearth behind the throne.
Gellert retook his seat and silence fell again. He surveyed the flushed faces and windswept hair of the wizards as Herr Hawdon lit the log behind him.
'The hearth is lit.' The older wizard announced. The crackle of flame built to a roar as the log caught, but the heat couldn't penetrate the thick robe Gellert wore.
'I am warm. The days grow shorter, the year is new.' He replied.
The guests applauded and a team of six house elves appeared, laden with a spitted roast which they hung over the fire. It was to the delicious smell of meat roasting over the Yule log that the orchestra struck up a song and the dance floor cleared.
Hermione clambered up beside him, congratulating him with a hug. He offered her his arm and they made their way towards the cleared space where a quadrille was forming up. They were stopped several times so that Gellert could be congratulated on his successful performance of his role, his first time as anchor in a ritual. Several people commented on his age, and a couple more predicted great things from him in a way that was perhaps meant to sound supportive but became repetitive quickly.
He danced with Hermione and two adults - the Delacours, if he remembered correctly. They had a son, but he was apparently travelling in Bulgaria and couldn't return for Yule this year, he learned as they waited for the dance to start. Hermione's dancing had improved significantly since the last time and she managed to perform the dance flawlessly. Her dress swirling around her feet in direct contrast to the huge hoops skirt Madame Delacour wore. Her face was happy and he wished he didn't have to wear the mask so that he could maintain proper eye contact with her.
After the first dance, he passed her off to Berg and took his mother around the room, feeling like he was under the microscope the whole while. It was tricky dancing with someone taller, but expected and most sons had had to take their mothers for a dance many times, so any awkwardness was excused. His next round was with Anneken in her bold dress and by then the ridiculous robes were growing heavy on his shoulders so he took a break.
The feast delicious; a traditional roast with vegetables and fluffy bread to soak up the gravy, followed by Hermione's odd but somehow congruous dessert of fruity bread. Surprisingly in keeping with it being a fire festival, Hermione held a candle to the huge cake, and it ignited with blue flame with a whuff. The guests at the head table applauded and her actions were copied on the other tables to great applause. Once the flames died down, a gooey, rich cake with a crisp caramelised shell was served and eaten with cream.
The evening drew to a close and Gellert took his spot before the still burning Yule log. The departing guests, starting with the Delacours, formed a line. Monsieur delacour bowed and thanked him for a warm hearth. Gellert plunged his hand into the roaring fire before he could chicken out, snapped off a burning branch and handed it to the French wizard.
The branch extinguished as soon as it left his hand and the Delacours left, carrying the half-burned branch down the hall with them. He flexed his unharmed hand nervously, wondering if the enchantments on the robe had ever failed before as he reached in and broke off another burning branch for Anneken and her family.
It took over an hour to see everyone off, and the last branch was handed to the Dolohovs. The elves shut the massive front doors with a bang and Gellert pulled off the mask with a relieved gasp. An elf helped him dispense of the outer layers of the costume, popping off to hang it back on display in the robe hall. Hermione hugged him, finally able to do so properly.
'You did amazingly.' She told him sincerely. He grinned, her praise more genuine than every adult that had just left.
'Not as well as you'll do someday.' He offered. 'This has been the best Yule ever.'