Hermione spent the remainder of summer studying furiously in preparation for attending Hogwarts. Gellert and Berg had joined her; guilted into action by her diligence. Both boys would be taking runes next term and when compared with Hermione, they both felt rather inadequate. Hermione, of course, was very good at Ogham and as if to spite them had written all of her notes in the difficult runic language.

Mordred would often join them, lounging in the sunlight and helping them with their Futhark and basic symbolism for their new ritual classes.

It was during one of those long, lazy afternoons that he finally had an opportunity to speak to Mordred alone. Hermione and Berg had gone for a dip in the moat but Gellert was still half way through one of the divination mediation he had learned, meant to make him more able to control what he saw in the little sticks he was trying to divine with.

When he opened his eyes several minutes later, roused by Hermione's shrieks, he was alone with the knight. Berg was throwing lily pads at Hermione and the young witch was trying to fend them off with blasts of conjured water.

'Gorlois thinks we should whack each other with a sword.' Gellert said idly, tossing a stick in the vague direction of the moat. Unsurprisingly, it fell short so he flicked his hand and magically sent it the rest of the way into the water.

'Gorlois believed everything can be solved by whacking it with a sword, but that didn't help when his wife slept with a muggle.'

'Merlin, is she still alive too?' Gellert said with a wince. Mordred winced as well.

'Yes, they all are. Four generations before him and two after me. Could you please use something other than "Merlin"?'

Gellert shrugged, not particularly bothered and too busy trying to work out how many wixen that meant per generation, judging by the hundred or so souls he'd seen on his visit to the barrows. He was about to ask more questions, then he paused and reconsidered. It would likely be a long time before he had a chance to speak with Mordred alone again and for Hermione's sake he really needed to settle their differences, whether by talking or whacking each other with swords.

'What he said made sense though, about not bottling it all up.' Gellert continued. Like he had moments before, Mordred also picked up a stick and chucked it towards the moat. With his longer reach it fell closer but the knight didn't bother to send it the rest of the way. Instead he chucked another stick at it, which fell within a couple of inches.

'I think he's wrong about that too.'

'Me too.' Gellert agreed carefully after a moment of thought. 'I mean, I think you can go evil without bottling it up; I think power is addictive, and its power that makes people do terrible things. Not bottled up dislike.'

'Wixen do terrible things for anger too, but it doesn't need to be bottled up first. I think keeping it all inside just means you get along with someone longer than you would have otherwise.' Mordred agreed.

'I don't think this is what Gorlois was aiming at though.' Gellert complained a moment later. The whole thing felt like a waste of time, even though the philosophy of their debate could perhaps be interesting he really didn't want to talk about light and darkness with the dark knight. He was already confused enough about it himself without adding the twisted morals of a maybe-dark-wizard into the mess.

'No. Gorlois wanted me to confess my deepest, darkest secrets to you, and you to do the same to me.' Mordred chucked a third stick with slightly more force and it ricocheted off the first, landing within reach of Gellert. He picked it up and tossed it back.

'I want Hermione to be happy.'

'And you want her to marry you.' Mordred pointed out. Gellert shrugged, unable to deny it.

'She would make a wonderful match, but it can't happen.'

'She can make it happen if she wants it enough. Age, wealth, allegiance, oaths and kingdoms are no obstacle to a High Priestess.' The dark wizard summoned all the sticks back to him and started tossing them toward the water again. Gellert's eyes followed each steady arc.

'Hermione wants a brother, not a husband.' Gellert pointed out, 'I will be whatever she requests of me.'

'She is eleven and I believe betrothal isn't even discussed among her people until well after they come of age.'

'What?' Gellert exclaimed, bolting upright.

'I know. It's bizarre, especially when you think about how short muggle's lives are.'

'You mean in her culture, she wouldn't be thinking about matches for years yet?' He confirmed, hope blooming in his chest. Perhaps, the reason Hermione had been so unreceptive to his initial suit was because she found it offensive to even be considered as a match yet. So, he plotted, he would woo her slowly until they came of age, then by the time she was old enough to consider marriage, he would be the obvious choice. He wouldn't mention anything about marriage of the future around her, except perhaps for her coven. Hermione still seemed set on creating a coven even though she already had a sect.

'What about you? Do you want to be her brother or her mentor?' Gellert eventually challenged.

'Hermione has many brothers, and many mentors. Her court is extensive and complex.' Mordred eventually said, after tossing several more sticks. Berg and Hermione had stopped fighting now and Hermione was floating on her back, an action which neither Berg nor Gellert had managed to imitate. 'I believe that despite being descended from Morgause, she has more in common with Morgana.'

'What do you mean?'

'My aunt, Morgana, always ruled alone. She had no physical kingdom, but she had more followers and influence than any king. Her court was powerful, influential but solely hers, she certainly did not share it with her husband, Urien of Gorre, nor with Accolon before he died.'

'You don't think Hermione will have anyone in her confidences?' Gellert confirmed.

'Morgana had four whom she trusted; Accolon, I believe she wished to marry, but he died before they could. Nimue, who finally defeated Merlin and her mentor, Argant. Finvarra...' Mordred shuddered and let the unfamiliar name trail off.

'So you, me, Berg and Anneken.' Gellert concluded. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Mordred's assessment of the situation. His words rang true, and he could easily picture Hermione's "court", but the young wizard was still disappointed. He didn't want to share Hermione with anyone.

'Finvarra will make himself known eventually and I imagine she will meet friends at Hogwarts as well.'

Jealousy spiked and Gellert forced it down.

'So you're content to just be in her court?' He challenged, disbelieving.

'Of course. It is the breadth of Hermione's court that will give it it's power and allows her dominion over various factions. If we tarry around with infighting and jealousy, we hinder not only ourselves but the court as a whole.'

That was all very well, Gellert though, but it was significantly more difficult to just dismiss his feelings than it was to talk about.

'Want to whack each other with swords?' He suggested eventually. Mordred laughed and a moment later they were swinging wildly at each other with conjured canes. Hermione spotted them and, dripping with moat water and still dressed in her outrageous men's shorts, jumped out to join them. Berg, not as physically inclined, stood in the sidelines and cheered them all on.

He didn't know about Mordred, but Gellert felt significantly better about the whole situation when, hot and sweaty, he jumped fully clothed into the moat an hour later. He resolved to trust Gorlois advice - fighting certainly did help to resolve a problem.