t was both upsetting and strangely magical, decorating for Yule among the ruins of his family home. It was the first time he had been back, although Hermione had been back earlier to help the elves salvage as much as possible and store it safely in the undamaged warrens.

The south tower had collapsed completely and nature had rapidly begun to reclaim it. Moss and lichen crawled over the once pearly stones. Leaves rotted beneath drifts of snow that had settled into the gaps between the massive chunks of fallen stone. The soaring staircase of the entrance hall still remained, now open to the sky. The corridor to the left that had once led to the children's wing was now a balcony that stretched precariously out into space. Several meters away, across the courtyard, the the tower that he and Hermione had once live in still stood, leaning alarmingly where the buttresses that had once soared up over the courtyard from the entrance hall had collapsed. It was now propped up by magic and the entrances to it magically sealed to keep everyone out of the dangerous rooms.

His mother's wing, or the main wing still stood but the colossal beacon tower had been brought down, tipping over the protective walls that had encircled the castle and breaking up into two-story chunks as it fell down the hillside.

The younger generation had clambered through the rubble straight after breakfast, excited and optimistic about working some magic and getting to prepare the ballroom for the stunning Yule celebration they had planned. In hindsight, they really should have expected the sight that met them as they finally managed to find a safe route by cutting around through the gardens and coming through the balcony doors.

The roof had burned out of the ballroom, stone arches now supporting air like the rib cage of a beast. The gilt panelled walls had burned back to bare stone and the parquet dance floor and dais had been reduced to a charred mess, piled high with shattered tiles and burned roof beams.

Then Hermione had come to the rescue. Tears glistening in silver trails down her cheeks, she'd held out a hand to him and Anneken. Gellert had grabbed Berg's hand too and Hermione had dragged them all down until they were sitting in damp, cold snow.

She stretched their magic out, burrowing through the ground and saturating the stones, sweeping upwards towards the unstable walls and twirling around the towers above them. She kept at it, pouring magic out at a slow, measured pace as she began to mutter - spells that he recognised but had never heard her use before, along with many that he'd never heard of. Their conjoined power recognised the words, assigning them to whatever Hermione willed at the time she spoke and performing the act without any further guidance. It was sorcery of the likes he'd never seen or heard of in recent times. It was unplanned, unrefined, a pure joining of wizardry and witchcraft in an instinctive display of power.

The magic solidified the walls and towers, anchoring them firmly with a sheen of magic that tied the crumbling stones together and protected them from the elements and the passage of time. With the nearby castle safe, she withdrew their magic to the ballroom, focusing it with such density and intensity that the air seemed to physically warm by several degrees. Snow hissed as it evaporated instantly, beams as thick as a man lifted like twigs, splintering themselves in the air whilst the shattered roof tiles shuffled and shifted on the floor edges glowing with magic as they fused into a smooth, even surface. Pearly chunks of masonry formed a ring where the dais had been, encircling the shattered beams as they built themselves into a bonfire. Shards of clear window-glass swirled up, flowing and twirling into tornados with the twisted remains of chandeliers, settling back to the floor as delicate tables. Ice flowed down the walls from the spoiled guttering, freezing into a wintery rendition of the panelling that had once covered the stone walls.

The sun peeked over the walls, glittering across the faceted ice and refracting into vibrant rainbows that danced across their faces. Foreign magic wound into theirs and Gellert realised his mother had joined them, along with the remaining nine members of her coven. Their magic funnelled powerfully through their coven bond, surging through Hermione and submitting to the will of the young High Priestess.

Hermione responded with relish, pouring the awe-inspiring magical power of the nine powerful, mature wixen into the air until he could barely feel the cold stones beneath him as he floated in a kaleidoscopic sea of colours and textures. Still their magic worked under his sister's sorcery. Witchlights shimmered in the shadows of the bare ribs, then icicles formed around them, growing down until they hung like spears above them and sending more light refracting around the space. Trees shot up around the walls, breaking up the overwhelming expanse of sparkling ice with deep green as branches unfurled and streams of crimson ribbon wound itself around them. They filled the air with their warm earthy scent which mixed with the metallic tang of magic that pulsed around them.

The cutoff from the magic was sharp and shocking, the reality of the freezing winter air rushing back in and stealing his breath from his lungs. He swayed alarmingly, dropping Hermione and Berg's hands to steady himself as his head spun.

'Oh Hermione, it looks spectacular.' Anneken breathed.

The young witch nodded, looking very pale as she lay back on the gleaming slate floor.

'You okay?' Berg checked. Hermione nodded without opening her eyes. 'That was amazing magic.' He added after a moment.

'Very impressive, witchling.' Frau Fleiss agreed from behind them.

'I've never heard of anything like it.' Herr Hawdon shook his head. 'There must have been over forty simultaneous magical focuses and you only used singular words for each one.'

'She cedes focuses to members of her Sect, I believe. The magical residues through here are... unbelievable.' Frau Kollmann still had her eyes closed and he assumed she was surveying the magical world around them.

'Perhaps that is the true power of the Sect.' Herr Hawdon pondered. 'To have that many individuals engaged in a unified act of magic... as a coven, we have never yet been limited by power, rather by the number of focuses we can control without explicit instructions to our magic. To do this magic here, the incantation alone would be longer than we could memorise and it would have taken days, rather that hours. The sheer numbers of the sect allows enchantments we couldn't even consider otherwise.'

'I can't get them to do complex stuff.' Hermione said from the ground where she still lay with her eyes closed. 'I have to begin the casting and then I can pass control over to someone from the Sect. Unless they can actually see the enchantment, they can't really do much more than monitor and maintain focuses. I have to tell them when to stop or if something needs to change.'

'So if you could get the whole sect in one place...'

There was a pause as they all considered the implications.

'They're almost all dead though.' Hermione pointed out, 'most can't actually travel more than five miles from their homes except under very special circumstances.'

'When they were, their magic shook the ley lines and brought down a bolt of... it wasn't lightning. It wasn't even a true storm. It was magic, physical magic that darkened the sky and battered the seas.' His mother woke lowly, her voice quiet as she remembered the event.

'Do you think Dumortier's lot know?' Frau Lintzen asked tersely.

'What do you mean?' Anneken demanded, concern heavy in her voice.

'They don't like the coven because it's a consolidation of power in a select, unelected group, above the law and unanswerable to anyone.' Frau Lintzen explained slowly. A dead silence fell across the ballroom.

'I don't understand.' Berg said.

'If they didn't like the coven, they'll hate me as a High Priestess. That's probably why they're so desperate to get rid of me. Kill me before I get stronger I guess.' Hermione laughed humourlessly.

'We'll just have to keep you safe.' Berg decided resolutely.

'Yes.' Gellert agreed, shuffling across the cold stone and taking Hermione hand in his. 'Between me, Berg and Mordred, Alice's crowd have no chance.'

'And me!' Anneken added.

'And Katana. If that beast could fit through the castle doors...' Herr Lintzen grumbled.

'Thank you.' Hermione replied warmly, a smile ticking up the corners of her mouth.

'Now, Gellert, find your costume. I imagine it's been stored in the warrens somewhere - if anything survived the fire, it will be the yule-sun's robe. Berg, take Hermione back to the carriage to rest and no, you may not stop to take her for a fly on Star. She can help you carry the Yule Log back with him tonight. The rest of us will see if we can clear an easier way in than that mess outside.' His mother began issuing marching orders as her coven drew their wands and headed out through the balcony to clear some space.

The plan was that the guests would arrive throughout the day, pitching tents or picketing their carriages on the rolling lawns. Without the portals, everyone would have to arrive much earlier and stay overnight after the party, which made things a little more complex but they were all certain the atmosphere would be jolly anyway. They had missed Samhain this year - the powerful protective ritual circle had been irreparably damaged and it would have to be remade from scratch, so everyone was aching to complete a successful ritual and turn the tide on what was quickly becoming a terrible year.

With the assistance of the elves he eventually found the Yule costume and he took it to the carriage to dress.

Hermione had ignored his mother's advice to rest and had somehow sweet talked Berg into practicing her dancing. She wore her Yule outfit already; a traditional, ivory gown with a gold ribbon around her waist and she wore a crown of young, soft holly leaves. They stopped when he came in, a casual wave of Berg's hand stopping the music.

'Do you want to come and look at the tents with me?' Hermione asked and Gellert sighed heavily. He just couldn't say no to her when she looked at him like that. They jumped down from the carriage onto the overgrown gravel of one of the garden paths. The sleipnir were picketed on the nearby triangle of grass, along with Kelpie and Star had come from his roost up in the mountains to visit. He roosted behind their carriage, his massive feathery bulk like a sandy hill behind the carriage. Germany had suited him well and his feathers were now glossy with health.

There were fourteen other carriages parked in what had once been the walled gardens and he immediately recognised a number of family crests; there was the horse and dragon on the purple shield - that was the Dunhaupts and the silver and sky blue ribbons that made up the Delacour crest. To Hermione's delight, one of the plainer carriages held a simple, blood red owl on the door which he was reasonably certain was the Flamels. She knocked eagerly on the door and a moment later it swung open to reveal the elderly Perenell in her evening gown.

She called out to her husband, receiving a crash followed by a string of curses in return. A moment later, Nicholas Flamel appeared at the carriage doorway. He too was already in his Yule robes, but he had a smear of some kind of potion above his pocket which was bulging with interesting looking instruments.

They were invited in, finding themselves in a very feminine, rosy pink living room. Two doors led off - one that was open to a dark potions lab and another that he assumed must go to a bedroom. Perenell gestured for them to take a seat on the delicate silk chairs and a second later she was serving tea in delicate chinaware. She fussed for a moment over Nicholas' robes, casting a litany of vanishing charms before allowing him to sit on the small sofa opposite them.

'You must have been busy all morning, we've been feeling powerful magical surges all day.' Perenell asked, offering up a plate of little sandwiches.

'Yes, there were significant repairs to the ballroom to make it usable.' Hermione said, folding her hands across her lap. 'The coven are just finishing off now, Lady Grindelwald sent us all home to rest before this evening.'

'In my day, resting meant sitting down, usually with a book.' Nicholas Flamel grumbled. Hermione smiled winningly.

'I don't get much free time and I'm so looking forwards to hearing about your research.'

Nicholas huffed.

'There are many wixen chasing immortality. Usually they are a little older.'

'Immortality?' Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'No, undeath is the family tradition. If I was immortal, the family line would stop.'

There was a moment of dumbstruck silence then Nicholas laughed, sounding half a century younger than he looked.

'You are an interesting one. Very well. Have you studied much alchemy before?'

He couldn't tell if it was his imagination or not, but Hermione seemed surprised by this question. Had she not actually known that Flamel would talk about alchemy?

'Nothing much, unfortunately. It's only covered as an optional topic in fifth year if there's enough interest.' She admitted.

'Well, tell me what you do know.' Nicholas prompted, leaning forwards in his seat and observing her with his dark, sunken eyes.

'I think it's like magical science; it deals with stuff like metals and elements and immortality through powerful healing substances. It includes experimentation, astronomy and elemental magic.' Hermione said slowly. Where she had gotten that information, he had no idea. He had only vaguely heard of alchemy as an odd, secretive area of magic.

'Excellent, excellent. Alchemy is primarily about purity; purity of matter, purity of body and purity of soul. With all three, one can achieve eternal life.'

The lecture that followed was detailed and fascinating, tell them all about the concepts that had to line up to create the philosopher's stone, which was the crowning achievement of alchemy. He never told them how to achieve such a feat and Hermione never pressed, seeming more interested in the "magical molecular relation." He had no idea what those words meant, but she did and it delighted Flamel. They spoke until the sun dipped below the horizon, then Perenell reminded them all that there was a ritual to complete in an hour and that they should really be going.

They were ushered out of the cosy Flamel carriage and into the freezing night air. The gardens were packed with tents and carriages, beasts grazing in every spare spot of overgrown lawn as wizards emerged in their finery to saddle up. Witches were polishing their broomsticks and charming their heels before the dance and they waved as the trio passed, following the path of lanterns around the debris and along the cleared route to the ballroom.

The coven had been hard at work - young pine trees strung with multicoloured witchlights hid the worst of the damaged castle and fresh snow crunched under their feet, enchanted to stop it becoming slushy. Strangely, they couldn't actually see the ballroom until they were actually standing right by the doorway and Gellert reached out to feel an invisible barrier that fell like a veil across the arch. He couldn't tell what it actually did from the feel of the magic - that was a skill that he had yet to learn, but he could guess that it was some kind of barrier to keep the weather out.

Stepping inside, he could only marvel at what they had accomplished in such a short time - what the power of their sorcery had accomplished. The floor was a smooth and dark, a contrast to the white, glistening walls and the glittering, refracted light that danced across the room from the icicle-encased witchlights. Snow fell in big, fluffy flakes that disappeared before they could settle, brushing his head and shoulders like cool feathers.

He took his throne on the dais, in front of the unlit bonfire of shattered beams, Hermione and Berg stopping by the door to welcome guests. He barely had time to fully fix the ceremonial mask over his face before the first guest arrived.

It was somewhat gratifying to see the expressions of awe on the faces of everyone who walked through the doorway. The ballroom looked spectacular, although why they would expect anything else when both Hermione, Anneken and his mother had been involved in the decorating...

The pile of offerings was notably smaller than two years ago but he tried to put it out of his mind and focused on Hermione. She was greeting people at the door with his mother, who still leaned on the healing staff that had been gifted to her by Gorlois. There hadn't been a Yule celebration the year before, but in that time his sister had grown from the quiet, pretty and darling Grindelwald ward; a curiosity because his family never took new bloods as wards. Now, she was a powerful young witch in her own right and she stood next to his mother, greeting their guests by name with an incline of her head that fitted her status as High Priestess. He wondered if she could see such obvious differences in him? He still felt like the same Gellert Grindelwald, he might have been imagining it but the nods seemed slightly different - perhaps there was a slight bend at the waist there, and a brush of a skirt hem against the ground as a witch curtsied?

At his mother's nod, he started the ritual. Words rolled off his tongue with ease but his eyes followed Hermione, Anneken and the other coven witches as they patrolled the edges of the crowd, alert for any sign that something was amiss whilst the wizards performed the ritual that would bless the next season. The pale shape of Star soared overhead, the smaller form of Katana glittering like a moon as the Longma accompanied the massive golden bird.

He looked back to Berg who was the link for his very first time. It was easier to work with his brother's familiar magic, and Gellert found it almost laughably easy to force the magic offered by the link into the roaring fire that burned around him. He may not be able to perform the unprecedented feats that Hermione pulled off every day, but once he'd performed a piece of magic he never forgot it.

As it had two years ago, the burning gifts roared higher and higher. The robes protected him and he had to blink a couple of times to clear his memory of the last time he'd been surrounded by fire. The moment passed quickly as the fire burned into smoke, the phoenix forming to the raucous cheers of the guests. He did not allow himself to relax, tearing after the bird and into the cleared courtyard. Hermione met him, her hair and dress whipping about her as Star and Katana settled behind her. She already held Kelpie's reins and she pressed a quick kiss to Gellert's brow, wishing him luck as he mounted up.

'Remember, blue sparks and we'll be there in a moment.' She reminded him as he swung Kelpie around. The thunder of his hooves was lost to the shuddering booms of beasts taking flight. Katana whizzed over his head, bare-backed whilst Hermione rode Star up high into the sky to keep an eye on him. The smoky phoenix soared over his head, circling the host once before soaring out and down the pathway. With a warcry, he urged Kelpie after it, hooves thundering behind him as he was trailed through the crumbling gardens and through a collapsed section of wall.

The bird was difficult to follow, swooping down the overgrown trail and plunging into deep, impenetrable undergrowth. More than once he lost sight of it and cold fear began to trickle into his chest, freezing his heart into an unsteady beat. They could not afford another failed ritual, not after the year they'd just had. He had to find the Yule log, there was no other choice.

Kelpie jumped, twisted and spun, weaving between trees and clearing undergrowth with serpentine agility. More and more wizards fell behind as they were led deeper into the hills, mounts unable to go any further at the pace they were forced to keep. He caught a glimpse of the smoky tail whipping between two large, mossy stones and faltered. Kelpie was wheezing heavily and they were about to cross the boundaries of the muggle repelling charm. Branches lashed at his robes and glanced off the golden mask of the Yule costume. He was almost knocked from his position, bent low over Kelpie's shoulder, several times and once he was almost thrown as his beast swerved to avoid an obstacle.

He shook himself and pushed onwards, bursting through the delicate magical barrier and emerging onto a dirty muggle track. The shifting form of the bird was a fearful distance down the road and he tried to turn Kelpie after it, and his beast swung into a lumbering canter.

The bird drew further away. Cold air burned in his lungs, but the pain was nothing compared to the urgent pounding of his head and heart.

A screech echoed above him and he glanced up to see Katana soaring just overhead. Angular wings brushed the hedgerows to either side of him and then with a heavy thud the draconian horse landed just ahead of him, wings awkwardly arched to fit into the tight gap. The Longma drew alongside them just as Kelpie stumbled and Gellert realised that Hermione had probably sent her beast for this exact reason. He reached out awkwardly, tangling one hand in the silky mane of the Longma and kicking his feel free of the stirrups. Then, before he could think better of it, he threw himself sideways out of the saddle.

He landed heavily across Katana's bony back and the beast stumbled as Gellert desperately tried to find purchase on his slick, slippery scales. A hoof lashed his dangling foot just as his sore hand found the opposite wing joint and he wriggled upwards, slithering his right leg over Katana's back. The beast didn't even wait for him to secure his grip, launching into the air with a powerful snap of his wings.

He hated flying and Katana certainly didn't help. His speed was dazzling, shooting like a bolt of silver lightning and catching up with the distant phoenix with ease. Gellert remained draped across the beast's back, his legs desperately gripping his hindquarters and his elbows hooked awkwardly around the wing joints. He didn't dare to fix his position at the speed they were flying at, but he could tuck his head into his elbow to look behind him. Kelpie had stopped and was a dark silhouette in the distance, barely visible on the dark track. In the air, a handful of thestrals were still keeping up and further behind was the more colourful array of hippogriffs and Granians.

They flashed over a small coppice of trees, then screeched to a halt. Silence fell as the silvery wings beat around him, circling slowly. Gellert hauled himself up, eyes scanning nervously.

'In there?' A Russian voice asked, calling from the first of the thestrals to catch up.

'I hope.' He panted. Like Hermione often did, he crossed his fingers, praying that the gesture would bring as much luck as she promised it would.

Katana set him down in the field that enclosed the coppice and he dismounted, landing in soft soil. More beasts landed around him, filling the air with the rich scent of carnivorous breath and hot beast.

'One hell of a chase.' The Russian who'd spoken to him commented, pulling his fur coat around him as he ducked beneath his beast's wing. Up close, Gellert realised it was Herr Dolohov.

'Yeah.' Gellert agreed, wishing he could pull off the mask to wipe his eyes of the water that had streamed from them.

'Lucky your sister thought to send that beast. Damned fast.' The wizard looked over Katana appraisingly and the beast tossed his silver mane as if he knew he was being discussed.

'Yeah. Come on, lets get looking. Someone send up some gold sparks please.'

He had to cast several cutting spells to force his way into the small patch of woodland, then once he was disguised by the thick wall of briars he lit a witchlight. Men spread out around him, lighting their own lights and methodically checking each tree for the mark of the Yule log.

It was twenty minute later, just as the lumbering abaxans were arriving that the tree was finally found. There was a part of him that had expected it to be particularly impressive after the long chase they had been led on to get it, but it was small - barely large enough to burn for the whole night. The spread wings of the mark almost wrapped the entire way around the trunk and once it was felled, it only took two of the abraxans of lift it.

It was an omen, he knew it. Even though, by Hermione's quick thinking, they'd found the tree, the year would not be a good one.