Gellert Grindelwald looked sightlessly out over the familiar mountains, currently coloured with the vibrant greens and purples of summer. He didn't see the physical world though, he was immersed in the magical world. For months he'd worked on skills long forgotten, nurturing, rebuilding and repairing the tentative bonds he'd shared as a child. Golden tendrils of magic, built by a promise and bound by shared conviction, worn and frayed by time, distance and war.
It was painful, hard to do after so much time. His magic had grown accustomed to violence and destruction and he had almost forgotten the subtleties of wielding it without his beloved elder wand. Oh, how his mother would roll in her grave at what he had become.
He cut that train of the thought brutally, self hatred would not assist him in his task.
Once more, he returned to the bonds. There were four - two that he could work with, spiderweb thin and almost gone. The third, that one was like smoke, still powerful and strong, but dormant. It had been like that for years. The fourth, the fourth he had no intention of repairing. He would leave the tattered remains of that bond forever as a reminder of his mistakes. It was the first two he worked on now, caressing them, repairing the damage he'd wrought.
Both bonds were firmly closed at the other end but he had the attention of at least one of them. Even now it moved, footsteps treading up forgotten staircases and robes dirtied on thick dust.
He could hear them now, stopping at the door and muttering the counter curses to the wards across the door. Those were not her wards, Hermione's spellwork had never required something as crude as a spoken counter curse. Those wards had been cast by his nemesis - powerful yet poorly refined and crudely executed.
The door opened and two aurors marched in, dressed in the black and purple that denoted his own, personal guards. Didn't that make him feel special?
He almost giggled.
'Up.' The one on the right ordered. Gellert would have argued but he didn't want to risk this meeting. He needed this to happen.
He stood meekly and held out his wrists in offering. The auror was suspicious but clamped the silver cuffs around his wrists anyway, cinching them up painfully tight around his bony wrists. Another of Hermione's ideas, corrupted by people who didn't understand her work. They didn't need to be big and heavy and the runework; oh, it was painful to look at.
He was shuffled out of his cell and down a corridor that had once been familiar to him. His castle had changed in the twenty years since his last visitor - moths had gotten into the carpet and the paintings had all been removed, leaving bare patches on the walls.
Two more aurors closed in behind him and more pairs of guards framed every doorway and window. As if he would try to escape out of a 13th story window with his magic bound and a very solid, very stone cliff at the bottom. Idiots.
It was rather flattering that they felt the need for such measures though. He had to restrain the urge to giggle again. That was Hermione's influence, knowing that she was alive was spoiling his dark lord persona.
The meeting room had been kept in better condition than the rest of the castle, or perhaps it had been hastily cleaned in preparation for a visitor. The carpet certainly wasn't something that he would have chosen; he really disliked purple.
But he wasn't concerned with the carpet.
He was captured by the witch that stood at the window. She was as tall as he remembered, and just at statuesque. Her robes were crimson velvet, tied with a black belt and embroidered with flowers around the sleeves. Her hair was a smooth wave of silver, flowing over her shoulders and almost bushing her elbows.
'Anneken.' He breathed. He knew it was her; her magical signature was unmistakable, as familiar to him as his own even after so much time.
'Grindelwald.' She replied coldly, turning on one heel to look down on him. She had aged well, her skin smooth and glowing healthily despite being marred by the creases of time.
The auror guards forced him down into the heavy chair and fastened manacles around his ankles and wrists. He let them manhandle him, even when one caught the skin of his leg in the lock and drew blood, unable to tear his eyes away from her. At her sharp nod, the guards withdrew and left them alone.
Anneken did not sit.
'You have my attention.' She finally said, her voice still cold. He deserved that, he supposed. He had killed her son, the insolent brat.
'Well, what do you want?' She demanded again after a moment. 'I have felt you, teasing at the bond the Hermione made between us.'
A year ago, that would have hurt him. He would have killed her for even daring to mention her name. Now though, now it only brought a smile to his face. Anneken was testing him, he knew.
'Albus Dumbledore sent me a letter, months ago.' His voice was still harsh with disuse but it was better than it had been before he'd started practicing with it again. 'He asked me about a student that began her schooling this year; Hermione Granger.'
'Hermione is dead.' Anneken said harshly, but she had faltered slightly. She didn't believe that Hermione was dead, perhaps she had never believed it... perhaps, Anneken had known.
'No. Hermione is not dead. Hermione was only born eleven years ago.' He insisted. 'I think you knew that.'
Anneken finally sat, leaning back in the comfortable chair that they had provided for her and placing her bag onto the table between them.
'I knew that she was from the future - attending Hogwarts by day and Germany by night. I did not know that she was from so far into the future.' Anneken admitted. 'I watched the students very carefully, waiting for her to arrive but she never came. I had begun to believe that by visiting the past, she had diverted the timeline so far that she was not born.'
'What will happen, has happened and therefore must happen.' He repeated the mantra that Hermione had so often told him, words that he realised now meant more to her than he could possibly have comprehended at the time. 'She knew exactly what would become of us all.'
'Yes, I believe so.' Anneken pursed her lips.
'I was always going to fail.' He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.
'She did not say as much. In fact, I believe she only ever told your mother of the future. I am glad, I would not have wanted to be burdened by the knowledge of what would happen.'
'You are right, of course.' He looked down at his hands; the leeching dark magic, his twisted and shattered soul. He didn't understand how she had treated him so well, despite knowing what he would become. How could she have loved a monster?
'So, did you just wish to talk, or was there something else?' Anneken demanded after a moment of silence.
'Yes, Hermione needs support; the support of the family.' He flexed his finger where his seal had once sat. The manacles clanked heavily against his chair with the movement.
'You want me to assume the mantle of your family? Your tainted name?' Anneken demanded. She wouldn't refuse, he knew she wouldn't. Anneken was of Hermione's court, perhaps the only one of them that had held true to Hermione's ideals through the passage of time. She would do whatever was needed to assist the young witch.
'I want you to become Locum matriarch, to stand for her against Dumbledore. She carries my name, and Albus will hate her for it. She needs someone influential, with authority, to protect her from him.' He leaned forwards as much as the chains would let him, earnest. He knew that Anneken would agree with him, but at the same time he was terrified that she wouldn't.
'Very well.' Anneken agreed heavily.
'Albus has my seal, but the heir's ring is in the vaults of Gorlois. Hermione will be able to take you there. With that, you will have the authority to challenge Albus for the head's ring. Give Hermione the heir ring; it will give her authority even among those who do not believe in her Gorlois heritage.'
'Do you still have vaults, or did you drain your coffers to fund your war?' She demanded. Gellert ignored the jab.
'There will be vaults in Germany, which I have not touched. They contain the entirety of the Grindelwald fortune - unless Albus has been into them. Hermione had two vaults, 407 and 409, one of which is a trust of the family vault and the other contains her earnings from her patents.'
He honestly hadn't even touched the Grindelwald vaults; his family had been collecting coven tax for as long as anyone could remember. His trust vault - that had taken a heavy hit, but his family vaults would need more than a war to drain them. Even for an old, wealthy family like the Lintzens, the Grindelwalds were rich. Not only had they managed their wealth with investments, they had also received a tithe from the magical people of Germany up until his grandfather had abolished it.
'I can pursue Albus for damages if he has been into the vaults. He may have defeated you, but he has no legal right to your family fortune.'
'The magic.' Gellert hesitated slightly, glancing down at the cuffs on his hands. Anneken bit her red-painted lip.
'If you try anything, I will burn you alive.' She threatened. Then she stood, her skirts swishing against the floor as she rounded the table. She tapped one long, elegant nail against the silver, magic suppressing cuffs and they sprang open. The resultant rush of returning magic was powerful and heady, like a first breath of air after being submerged for too long.
The more mundane restraints were next and a moment later he was unbound. He rubbed his wrists, then bent down to do the same to his ankles. Both joints were thick with scar tissue, but he could still find the scars from his very first imprisonment, when Livius Lucan had broken his legs to keep him still.
He stood up and held one arm out to Anneken. She grasped it firmly, wrapping her smooth fingers around his wrist. His skin was grubby against hers and he realised that he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd cleaned out under his nails.
'Lord Gellert, Patriarch of House Grindelwald. I am Anneken, a witch born of House Lintzen and married into House Krum. Should you take me in, I swear to be an asset to House Grindelwald, to adhere to your values and to bring glory to the name.' He was impressed that Anneken actually knew the words to the ritual, but perhaps her family had used the same one.
'The house will have you, bring us strength.' He said, feeling the family magic uncoiling within him. It was interested, after so long being dormant.
Anneken rummaged with her free hand in her purse, eventually pulling out the athame that had been gifted to her by Krum as her courting knife. He used one toe to flip the edge of the carpet over so that their blood would be hidden beneath it when they were finished. She passed the blade to Gellert who pulled his hand out of hers and sliced across his palm. He passed the knife back to Anneken and she did the same. They joined hands again, allowing their blood to mingle as it dripped towards the stone floor.
'As our blood mixes here, let it flow in you. Become my sister in name and magic.' He spoke the next line slowly but Anneken did not object.
'Esto Perpetua.' She murmured with him.
Anneken pulled a small vial from her bag, tipped out the contents and caught some of their mingled blood inside it. Gellert released her hand and, because he was proud that he could perform this charm again wandlessly; he brushed his finger over the cuts on both of their hands, healing them.
They took their seats again and he was relieved when Anneken left him unbound. It made the hour it took him to summarise the family affairs much more comfortable.