Hermione was right. There was considerably less fanfare than expected when he arrived home. His mother was not at all angry, if anything she seemed pleased although Hermione did get a 'lecture'. She also got banned from magic lessons for two weeks and was instead assigned additional dancing, etiquette, event planning and 'social recognition' (Hermione had made the mistake of calling Herr Lintzen "Viking" within hearing distance. The large wizard had found it hilarious, his mother, less so.) He didn't know how his mother had known exactly the best way to punish the girl who virtually lived and breathed magic but he suspected Legilimency was involved.
She was also right that he had to spend three days being tended to by a healer - his legs had been broken in what was called a complex fracture, so his healing spell had left the bone warped and had trapped several nerves. The healer had to vanish the entire bone and regrow it, which involved no less than seven doses of skelegro and a day and a half of excruciating pain whilst Hermione sat by his bedside and hummed silly muggle songs.
If he'd milked the skelegro situation a little once his legs were functional again so that he could hear more about Nelly the Elephant and Bob the Builder, nobody would have questioned him.
Hermione also spent some time with Atalanta, the girl who had stolen Katana and led to this whole situation in the first place. The girl was not quite an orphan, but with her father's addiction to dreamless sleep she may as well have been. He'd initially scorned the girl and her family, then there'd been the sobering realisation that her father had first taken dreamless sleep to avoid memories of his time bound under Frederich Grindelwald. Hadn't that been a difficult realisation!
That aside, it turned out that the girl had physically tackled one of the burning inferi to get out of the circle, using her momentum and the burning body to clear a path through the others. The dark magic which had been involved in the inferi meant that much of the scarring would never heal. He had to give her credit, for a girl of seven, she was incredibly brave. Her father had yet to realise his daughter was missing and had left the castle without her. That, or he'd crawled into some distant corridor of the warrens and was still down there somewhere.
The general public had been told that he had defeated the dark wizard but nothing more and his classmates only knew that he'd been captured first. Hermione brought him piles of cards and sweets from the departing population.
As much as everyone else seemed to think he was some kind of hero, Livius Lucan's last words continued to echo through his head and every time he shut his eyes, he saw that flake of skin falling off the wizard's face as he disintegrated. Most nights, he woke up from nightmares, hurling his latest dose of potions over the side of his bed where a concerned Beastie would vanish it with a pop. The healer offered dreamless sleep, but eventually settled on vitamin potions when he refused. The shadows beneath his eyes grew deeper and deeper because, although he'd never admit it to Hermione, or even really to himself, he had enjoyed it.
He had enjoyed pointing the wand at the powerful dark wizard, being in control, the magic had felt glorious and powerful as it rushed through him in a heady wave. He was sick, he knew he was. It was so completely wrong to feel that way and it was because of this that he knew Lucan was right. He was powerful, he was far more powerful than Lucan, and he was dark. He had to be dark if he could enjoy killing someone. And if he was dark and powerful... he knew what people had thought of his father, really, the potential was already there, a poisonous beast coiled beneath the surface and waiting for an excuse to come out.
He felt sick again at the thought.
He had had dreams of him and Hermione, side by side as they hunted down faceless dark wizards, but now he saw himself, standing near the doorway with darkness in his eyes as Hermione, hair flying, spat accusations at him. But he was the true Grindelwald, so it wasn't the dark wizard that was removed in his dream, it was the witch. Beautiful, kind, powerful Hermione was thrown like a rag doll through the gates.
He heaved over the side of the bed, then with a sinking feeling, realised that it was day time and Hermione was reading a book in the window seat.
She jumped up with a gasp, vanishing the mess with a wave of her small hand. The book thudded to the floor and landed open, face down. If she'd been any less distracted by him, she would have called it sacrilege and spent the next week nursing the spine back to health.
'Gellert? Are you okay?' She hurried over to the bed and pressed her hand to his forehead. He shrugged it off, feeling claustrophobic and clammy.
'I'm fine.' He bit out, squinting into the sunlight to try and read the clock by the window.
'It's late morning. Sunday, in case you forgot. I've just come back from a meeting with your mother and I'm finally allowed to do magic again.' She rolled her eyes as she said "finally". He almost thought she was going to let it go, then she plopped down on his bed, looked him in the eye and asked him to tell her about it.
He shook his head, but his attempt to escape was foiled by an unwillingness to cross the room in his nightshirt, something he was fairly certain she already knew.
'Talk to me Gellert.' She insisted softly. He looked between her and the screen across the room, calculating the distance. Then, nightshirt be damned, healing legs be damned, he dove for the screen. Hermione's squeak of surprise was gratifying, but more gratifying was that he was no longer trapped and subjected to her interrogation.
She was gone when he came out, and he found her moodily waiting beside the door, a cloak slung over her arm and a thick pair of heavy gloves in her spare hand.
'What on earth are you planning?' He asked warily. Hermione's ideas tended to leave at least one member of the household angry and almost unfailingly resulted in punishment. She sniffed, clearly offended by his tone.
'The elves have promised to let me help in the gardens. They're dealing with the magical gardens today.'
His worst suspicions confirmed, Gellert groaned but summoned his own set of thick gloves. He could at least hope to perform damage control. Already, possible disasters were running through his mind's eye; Hermione would be eaten by devil's snare, or, she would accidentally burn the whole lot. Perhaps she would somehow manage to find a doxy nest or uproot a particularly mature mandrake.
The young witch was already excitedly hurrying down the hallway, gloves and cloak flapping in her hand. Resigned, he followed afterwards.
They stopped by the paddock first where Katana was recuperating. He was the same as ever on his left side, but his right was marred by long, deep scars that ran across his hindquarters and up his wing, leaving the delicate leathery skin in irreparable tatters, then slashing brutally over his unprotected neck and face. The healer had managed to restore his eyesight, despite the cut that ran just beneath his eye. They observed him grazing for a moment, his movements had begun to loosen and his back leg only limped a little now, then Hermione called him over and gently rubbed the healing cream into his scars whilst Gellert held his head still.
She regained some of her perk as they left the stables and headed for the garden.
They didn't even make it there before his mother popped into existence, a brown wrapped package in her hand and a scowl on her face. Gellert swallowed nervously, wondering how on earth Hermione seemed to consistently annoy his mother but somehow come out of it more in her favour than before.
'What is this?' His mother demanded, waving the package at the young witch who stood in front of her, completely un-cowed.
'Acromantula silk.' She replied, completely straight faced. Gellert's jaw dropped.
'And why, exactly, did you deem it necessary to buy no less than twenty yards of acromantula silk?'
'I thought I could spend my allowance?' Hermione replied innocently. 'But I promise it's a good idea. Do you think Frau Hassel would help me to develop a potion?'
If his mouth hadn't already been hanging open, it would have hit the floor then. Not only had Hermione bought something more than a little outrageous, she'd then spoken back to his mother and iced the cake by asking for a favour. His mother gave a resigned sigh.
'If you write her a letter, I will see that it is delivered. I make no promises for Rose's reply.' His mother gave a resigned sigh and passed the package to an elf. 'The silk will be stored in the treasury. I don't want to know how you managed to get hold of it.'
Then Hermione was grinning wildly and skipping on her way down to the gardens.
Their gardening experience, much to his surprise, went off almost without a hitch. Hermione managed to trim the thieve's roses and helped an elf repot a devil snare (the old one had been a casualty of their snowy duel) without a single incident, only losing a single button to the roses which was quickly recovered and reattached by elf magic.
He was thunderstruck when they arrived back to the castle and found Frau Hassel waiting for them. She wore work robes, which was rather irregular when visiting someone, although so was sitting in the children's living room to wait for said children. The dark skinned witch stood to greet them and Gellert bowed as Hermione curtsied next to him.
'Good afternoon children, I see you've been getting an early start on your herbology.' She didn't gesture to a seat, so they all remained standing. This may have been Gellert's home, but still the Lady Hassel was the one in charge.
'Oh yes, Frau Hassel!' Hermione said eagerly. 'We've been pruning thieve's roses and repotting devil's snare.'
Gellert wondered how she seemed to consistently know exactly how to make adults melt. It wasn't just her age, he was certain he hadn't had the ability to wheedle favours from his superiors at that age. Perhaps it was her boldness; he never would have dared try to pull what she had with his mother earlier and now here she was, one of the coven waiting for her.
No, he didn't think he could have gotten away with being so bold. Hermione just seemed to know how to push and when to bend.
'I couldn't help but wonder what you wanted this time. I was surprised by your last request, but I could see it was put to good use in those self inking quills.' The older witch smiled.
'I was hoping to make a potion that could be painted over something to protect it from sunlight.' Hermione answered. 'It needs to not react badly with a permanent sticking charm or the impervious charm.'
The potions master nodded in consideration.
'You want to stop something fading?' The witch asked.
'No, I want to stop the sun weakening some special fabric. I don't really mind which colour it ends up.' Hermione answered. Gellert was foxed and Frau Hassel seemed intrigued.
'I'll need a sample of the fabric.'
'Of course.' Hermione replied with a smile. 'I can have it tomorrow.'
'Please owl it to me.'
Then Frau Hassel swept from the room, her rough green skirts rustling behind her. Gellert stared between the now empty doorway and Hermione. The young witch had taken a seat on the armchair and was now casually reading The Witch of the Wasps from one of the books of children's stories.
Merlin, he wished he could marry her. He couldn't imagine a more perfect witch.