Hermione was receiving special lessons from his mother, cramming her already full timetable to bursting. Gellert didn't know whether to be pleased of jealous that his mother seemed to favour her so much. He'd always known his mother really wanted a daughter and that fact that he'd been born a male had been a disappointment to her. He had wished when he was younger that their family followed the newer, muggle tradition of having males inherit and women taking their husband's name. It would have at least given him some value in her eyes.
As it was, his mother begrudgingly accepted him but now that Hermione was here - the daughter she'd never had - Gellert felt rather like he'd been pushed to the wayside.
To make matters worse, he now hardly got to see Hermione. Between lessons where she spent every spare moment catching up, evenings with his mother and Anneken and the large chunk committed to the court at the warrens, he really only got to see her for the short walk between the grotto and the castle.
The snow melted into slush, the wetness causing a slew of new problems in the warrens as the discovered exactly where the water carved it's trails. Green speckled the branches of the trees, snowdrops, primroses and pink antflowers ventured up from the soil, creating spots of pastel among the fresh greens of early spring.
A Hippogriff broke loose and bred with a prize Abraxan, causing a dispute that took him days to resolve between two influential family heads. The apothecary reported missing ingredients and a unicorn had its horn shaved. People were beginning to get restless.
Livius Lucan remained uncaught.
News trickled in of casualties and deaths among those who had declined the invitation to shelter and even higher casualties among muggles. The ministry were struggling to persuade the muggles it was just another outbreak of the bubonic plague.
Ostara couldn't come soon enough, although it came with a strange feeling. The majority of the public didn't participate in Ostara as one of the more obscure festivals and now only the traditional old families really celebrated. However, as the entire coven was now living at Grindelwald Castle and they most certainly did celebrate the festival, it would be happening.
Gellert wouldn't be taking a major role in this one, much to his relief. Alice however had come home from Durmstrang a week early to fulfil her position as Moon. It would be her first time and remembering his own nerves before Yule and his debut as the channel, he could only imagine how bad it must be to perform in front of everyone else.
True enough, she was almost as pale as her silver dress when Ostara dawned on 19th March. Hermione made a valiant effort to comfort her. The young witch looked like a spring spirit herself in a pale green and cream light dress, flowers and silver bells woven through her long, loose hair. Like everyone else today her feet were bare, and he noticed that her toe nails were somehow coloured pale blue. It looked very pretty.
He snapped his eyes back up to her face, fighting down a blush.
His own robe was a darker green and like all the other boys he wore a crown of budding branches and young leaves.
Berg plopped into the seat opposite and greeted him with a mischievous grin and Gellert spied a crimson bloom in his crown.
'No way.' Gellert drawled, awe at the other boy's bravery clear in his tone.
'Yes way! I'm going to do it. My mother didn't say no.' Berg bragged, fingering the flower.
'Who?' He demanded.
'Neele Fleiss, that's who!' Mareike answered, dropping in next to him in a swirl of green and a cloud of flowery smells. She was fingering her own crimson flower, tucked behind her ear.
'Not you too!' He groaned.
'Yes. Dominick Wach,' she preened. Gellert let his head fall into his hands. 'You know, we're off to school next year. It's important to start staking your claims early, otherwise some new-blood might come along and claim them!'
'What about you? Aren't you going to give something to Hermione?' Inquired Berg. Gellert winced.
'I don't know if she'd be receptive.' He muttered. He hadn't missed Hermione bolting from the room, even if it had taken him a moment to realise it was marriage that had made her so nervous. He doubted she would be receptive so such a public gesture, then again, it wasn't a commitment, girls liked to be thought of on Ostara.
'Well, its not like you have to give her a rose! Just give her an Amaryllis or something.' Mareike waved her hand dismissively, as though it should be obvious.
'An Ama-what?' Gellert was grateful that Berg had asked the question.
'An Amaryllis... its a red flower, but without the commitment of a rose.' The witch explained, rolling her eyes.
'A tulip is okay though, right?' Berg asked, suddenly seeming uncertain.
'Of course, you wouldn't give a rose to someone you don't know anyway, but that seems like more of a commitment than Hermione would be comfortable with. She'd very progressive for a Grindelwald. There's no commitment of intent behind an Amaryllis.' Mareike had a tulip, he noticed. He shared a mystified look with Berg, both wizards understanding that this was some mysterious interpretation that only women could make.
Never-the-less, Gellert did take her advice and hurried to retrieve a book on botany from the library.
With a conjured flower tucked into his crown, he managed to reach the breakfast room before Hermione left with Alice. Both girls smiled welcomingly as him and Alice's eyes sparkled when she caught sight of the flower in his crown. The witch looked meaningfully at Hermione and raised her eyebrows. Gellert nodded confirmation, resigning himself to this same reaction all day. Thank Merlin Petrovna was in her family castle in Russia or he'd never hear the end of it.
They headed down to the ritual gardens. It was hardly the normal setting for Ostara, but it wasn't normal times either. Large crowds had already gathered, the ritual table had been scrubbed clean by both elves and hands to remove the taint of the blood sacrifice on Samhain. A massive cauldron had been set up and the ingredients lay on a table behind the potion. His mother waited behind the altar.
She was a beautiful witch, there was no denying it. She wore a deep, emerald robe that looked like it was made of leaves and her hair cascaded in a silvery wave over her shoulder, dotted with flowers. Alice made her way over to the older witch, leaving Hermione alone with him for a moment. He hesitated, pulling her to a stop with him.
'Er... Hermione?' He berated himself for sounding so uncertain, but his voice seemed disinclined to listen to his brain. 'I don't know if you know, but its tradition on Ostara, to spend it with someone.' The witch was looking at him now, giving him her full, undivided attention. He swallowed nervously, hoping that if this went badly they would be able to salvage some friendship at least. He hoped she didn't miss-interpret it.
'Anneken explained, about the red flower.' Her eyes flitted to the flower in his crown. He swallowed again.
'Well, I.. er... that is...' He plucked the flower from his crown and shoved it in her direction. She eyed it as though it was liable to sprout thorns and poison her. 'It's er... not a rose, or a tulip, so no commitment beyond spending the day together...'
He stumbled through something that he really didn't remember, because next moment the witch threw her arms around him and hugged him, narrowly avoiding crushing the delicate flower.
'Oh Gellert, I'd love to!' She exclaimed, pulling away and letting him tuck the Amyrillis behind her ear. She smiled prettily at him, then her brows drew together. A moment later a flower appeared in her hands. He was fairly certain it wasn't a real flower because he'd never seen one anything like it. As seemed common with her magic, blue had snuck in, spreading out like ink from glittering silver stamens to five pointed crimson petals. She eyed it for a moment contemplatively.
'There's nothing against blue, right?' The witch confirmed. Gellert smiled, reassuring her that there wasn't. Blue wasn't traditional, but hardly anyone would blame an 8 year old for accidentally getting some blue on her flower. It was almost their family colours anyway, so most people would probably think it was intentional.
Berg gave him a thumbs up from across the circle. He had a red flower tucked into the breast pocket of his robes and he noticed Neele grinning wildly from a couple of spots down. Mareike was absent, but so was Dominick so that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
His mother stepped up and welcomed everyone, breaking tradition slightly to reiterate the proceedings to those who'd never done it before. Gellert had already told everyone several nights before to give them time to prepare their crowns but it wouldn't do to have anyone mess it up mid-way.
Ostara was a far simpler ritual than any of the others. Hermione lined up with six other girls behind the altar, clutching an ingredient each. Hermione held bleeding heart, which he thought was a bit of a risk as she was the least experienced at potions or herbology of all the girls in the line, but his mother must have judged her ready.
For each girl, a huddle of witches formed, both traditionalists and progressives, a blend of ages and powers. As Alice called forwards each ingredient, the girl holding it walked around the circle to the chants of one of the huddles of witches. From each huddle would step forwards a maiden, a mother and a crone, each touching the ingredient to imbue their power. Then they would continue chanting until the girl had completed her walk of the circle, kneeling before the cauldron.
Alice called for hippogriff milk, and an older girl with a dark complexion walked the circle, a willowy blonde followed with cinnamon, the aroma drifting in waves and spreading far further than was natural. Something primal seemed to awaken in him as he caught it's scent. She called for a golden apple, and Gellert's mouth dampened with hunger. Unicorn hair came next, drifting in billows from the clump in the hand of the girl. He felt as light as the hair, as though all his concerns had floated away. Hermione was next, the crimson flower in her hair bringing out the rosiness of her cheeks. His heart pounded as the bleeding heart was carried past and he followed it's path as Hermione knelt in front of the cauldron. Lavender steam billowed from the cauldron, changing to deep red as the bleeding heart flower was added. Rose thorns and finally, Powdered moonstone.
Every witch joined together in their chant, the words somehow sounding smooth despite the different rhythm and words of each huddle. Alice stepped back and withdrew a single flower from his mother's crown, then did the same for each of the seven girls at the foot of the cauldron. She dropped them into the potion and the smoke paled to a light, pearly pink.
Still chanting, the maidens, mothers and crones from every huddle turned to the wizards and each wizard withdrew a leaf from his crown, placing it in their hands. The witches returned to their huddles and every witch did the same with a flower from their crown, then Alice walked the circle, taking the leaves and flowers and adding them to the cauldron. With each armful, the smoke thickened, becoming denser, stronger and more pungent. It settled over the ground in a thick fog of rose-quartz.
He could barely see the others now, just the cauldron, still billowing smoke. It was like he was alone in the world, him, his thundering heart and the warm, heavy scent of cinnamon. Then he heard something else, a soft fluttering. Before his eyes, the flower that Hermione had given him transformed into a butterfly, fluttering for a moment in front of him. Then it fluttered off, leading the way through the mist. He followed it, feeling somewhat light and whimsical.
He saw her, a slash of light through the mist. She was being led by her own butterfly, following it dutifully in his direction. She smiled when she saw him, the two butterflies dancing together.
'What do we do now?' She asked. Her voice sounded lighter, smoother. When he replied, his had the same effect. He rather like it, a strange, warm tone that was different to his usual aristocratic drawl.
'What ever we want. We could go for a walk?' He offered her his arm and she took it. Her skin was incredibly soft against his, their feet brushing through cool dew on invisible grass. They didn't meet anyone, in fact it was like they were the only ones here.
'What happens to the people without flowers?' She asked curiously, interrupting the idle conversation about types of mist.
'A kind of hallucination. It's meant to reveal what or who is most dear to you. I went for a ride on Kelpie last year.'
'What do you think Crone Tunninger does?' Hermione asked with a giggle. Gellert's mouth dropped open in shock, then scrunched in disgust. Crone Tunninger was well over a century old and had outlived her children and grand children. It seemed age had dulled her propriety as she was wont to make explicit comments on anyone who hesitated near her for long enough. Many young man had been graphically propositioned by her at some point.
'A young whippersnapper.' Gellert finally replied.
'Or several...' Both youth's faces screwed up even more at this image and Gellert broke into a coughing fit.
A bench materialised in front of them, strangely dark against the pale mist. Hermione gave a sigh that suggested she had strongly wanted to sit for a while and lowered herself onto the seat. Gellert sat next to her and the mist cleared to give them a view. The view was not of anywhere he knew. Grassy hills rolled smoothly away from them, dotted by small coppices of bright hazel trees. Fluffy-cloud-sheep wandered in one paddock, hairy brown cattle in the one just further. The sky was a dark silver, lances of sunlight piercing the clouds to give everything a golden glow.
He suspected it was England, perhaps Hermione's home.
They sat in contemplative silence.
'Gellert, I spoke to your mother a couple of weeks ago.' She began, tension ran through his body.
'Yes.'
'We spoke... I can't marry you.' She was very determinedly not looking at him and a sheet of her brown hair hid her face.
'Why not? We are both powerful, intelligent. It would be a perfect match.' He answered, desperately keeping a reasonable tone.
'There's... other stuff happening. Your mother agreed with me.'
Cold trickled through him. Eight was young, very young to be betrothed, particularly among the common folk that Hermione was certainly born from. Was it possible that he was too late, that her parents had already made an agreement with someone else?
'You're already betrothed.' He stated flatly. Hermione inflated with indignation.
'I am not! I'm eight, I'm far too young to even be thinking about that kind of thing!' She was glaring at him now, but that couldn't damped the relief that flooded through him. If there was no formal agreement, there was still a chance. He'd initially just found her a good match, but the longer he'd known her, the more he'd realised she wasn't just a good match. She was smart, powerful, ambitious, an asset to the family but she was also an incredible friend, lively, interesting and fun. It wouldn't just be a match, it would be a true partnership. His magic sang when it was near her, it melded with hers flawlessly and gained a life of its own. He couldn't imagine marrying anyone else.
'If you're not betrothed already, what is the problem?' He could scarcely believe she din't feel the same way. The realisation was cold and crushing, the reality that he'd given away his heart to have it thrown back so quickly.
Hermione must have heard some of that in his tone, 'no, no, its nothing like that. I'm not allowed to tell you, I can't. If it were different I wouldn't say no, I'd see if things worked between us, but it can't work.' She rambled somewhat but he didn't really mind. He was too busy trying to figure out what could possibly be stopping them marrying if she was interested and there was nobody else.
'Can we keep it open?' He finally asked.
'It can't happen.' She repeated.
'It might. Stranger things have happened. I'd like to not disqualify anything just because there's not a ready made solution.' He could see the moment that Hermione relented and agreed.
He'd never expected to have to persuade a witch to marry him. It sounded silly and arrogant in retrospect but he'd always expected his name to do all the hard work for him. He found that he rather relished the challenge of having to prove himself to her, to make her realise that whatever obstacle she was seeing, he was worth overcoming it.