I don't reply to reviews often; I usually receive them, then get inspired to write and after several hours remember that I meant to reply and... oh well, you'll probably appreciate a chapter more anyway. I do want to let you all know that I really appreciate you taking the time to not only read this, but to provide encouraging and in some cases very detailed and constructive feedback.

On with the fic...

'I've found it.' Berg announced eagerly. Hermione and Gellert looked up quickly and Berg pushed the thick book across the table so that they could read it.

Even without seeing the pictures of people in horrific pain, Gellert knew that the potion was bound to be nasty. Moste Potente Potions had been shelved in the dark arts section, rather than the potions section and only Berg had been committed enough to actually read through the nasty book. Hermione had decided that she would be better served using an ingredient encyclopaedia which would recommend the exact book and page and Gellert had been only too keen to assist her.

'It's got to be this.' Hermione agreed, running her finger down the instructions. 'But where is she brewing it? It takes forever.'

'She could be brewing it outside and just bringing in vials.' Gellert pointed out.

'No.' Hermione tapped a small line of print near the bottom of the page. 'It's only got a vial life of a month.'

'So she's brewing it somewhere on the grounds.'

'I bet she tells her allies where she keeps it.' Berg pondered. Gellert understood what he meant immediately.

'No.' He decided straight away.

'There's nothing in the treaty to stop us.' Berg pointed out.

'It's still dangerous. If she catches us...'

'She won't. Not if we do it right.' Berg assured. 'There's nothing here that reacts with felix felicis.'

'And you think we can brew both?' Gellert demanded, reaching for the sixth year potions text book that he'd been looking at earlier and scanning the contents. Felix felicis was right near the back of the book, and all that was included was an ingredient list and a short description. Apparently, if one wanted to brew it, they needed to be beyond a sixth year student.

'And just where would we do it?' Hermione demanded. She'd been looking over the instructions closely. 'The temperature control alone would have to be perfect.'

'Simple. We do it in the potions lab; tell them we're having a brewing competition. Make a cauldron each and get the professors to judge it at the end. That way we'll be absolutely sure we've gotten it right.'

Gellert and Hermione looked at him with their mouths hanging open.

'That's either madness or brilliance.' Hermione informed him after a moment.

'Brilliance.' Gellert agreed. Nobody would ever expect them to take it either, not after they'd just brewed it right under the teacher's noses. He pulled over both books and began carefully copying down the lists of ingredients.

'Occamy eggshell, that will be tricky to get ahold of.' He mused briefly, 'and boomslang skin.'

'Atalanta can get them for me.' Hermione assured, 'but really, neither are illegal and I have money in my trust vault. If the teachers know that we're brewing them, we may as well just order them via owl post.'

'Here.' Gellert announced, passing his list to Berg and Hermione. 'Double check that there's definitely not going to be any adverse reactions.'

The study room fell into silence, broken by the scratching of quills and the rustle of turning pages. Upstairs, Gellert heard the stirring of voices as other students woke up. Exclamations of excitement echoed dow the stairs as people realised that it was the morning of "Christmas" and piles of presents had appeared at their beds overnight.

Hermione sighed, stretching backwards until her spine popped.

'Let's go and see if Lady Grindelwald has sent news.'

Without waiting for agreement, she started packing away her things. With a shrug, Berg copied her and decided that he did want to unwrap his presents more than he wanted to continue plotting against Alice. He shoved his books and parchment into his bag and bounded up the stairs.

There was news from his mother - she'd included a short letter in with her gifts to the three of them. Hermione had received an incredibly advanced looking book on ancient wards; he only understood two of the words in the title which scrolled across almost the entire first page. Berg had also received a book on Arabic wizarding customs which made him blush for some reason whilst Gellert had received mirror that was supposed to focus and clarify his visions. He chucked the offending silver disk into his trunk derisively; he hated his visions and certainly didn't need to clarify them.

Berg understood him better and had gifted a gleaming set of riding boots that were functionally enchanted to remain dry, warm and clean yet smart enough to wear to formal events and best of all, not carrying any metal which meant they could be worn to all rituals. He'd received a royal blue cloak from Anneken, which conspicuously matched what Hermione was currently unwrapping.

'No.' Gellert decided, as soon as his sister pulled out the dress.

'Oh, I like it.' Hermione disagreed, pushing him off his bed so that she could draw the curtains shut to change immediately.

'No...' He groaned. 'She is going to be the death of me.'

'Her and Anneken.' Berg agreed sympathetically, his eyes lingering on the drawn curtains then flickering sideways to glare at the closest watching boy. A moment later, the curtains flew open again and revealed Hermione in her new dress.

He blinked twice... hard.

Anneken did have taste. Hermione looked like a goddess... an inappropriate, indecent goddess. Her shoulders were exposed without even the suggestion of lace to cover them; the sleeves started half way down her upper arm and the top was a ribbon tied around her neck. It was clearly inspired by what Morgana had worn at Samhain, even matching the luxurious deep blue. But Gellert hadn't been obliged to fend off unwelcome suitors for Morgana.

One of the boys across the room whistled appreciatively as Hermione spun, skirt spiralling around her ankles. She froze suddenly, levelling a glare at the unfortunate whistler.

'Keep your eyes to yourself, or I shall remove them.' She threatened coldly with no hint that she was bluffing. Then she turned back to Gellert and Berg, performing another twirl for them.

'I think it's lovely.' Berg complimented. 'Very modern.'

'Modern...' Gellert grumbled. 'That's a polite way of saying scandalous. I'm meant to be defending your honour; I can't fight off every boy in the castle.'

'Well, you don't need to.' Hermione replied, a coolness to her voice as she turned her nose up. 'I think its quite barbaric. I'm perfectly capable of defending myself.'

Gellert sighed in exasperation and turned to Berg, horrified to find that he had no support in that quarter.

'You're not meant to be defending yourself, it means I haven't been able to defend you well enough.'

'Oh! So it's actually about your honour.' She said derisively.

'No!' Gellert defended immediately. 'Well, yes in a way. It would look terrible for my future wife if I wasn't even able to protect and defend my sister.'

'Any witch worth her salt wouldn't need defending.' Hermione sneered.

'Not every witch is you, Hermione.' He snapped irritably. He knew that the witch he ended up marrying wouldn't be her; wouldn't even be able to hold a candle to her. He didn't need her to rub it in. Annoyingly, she still seemed to have no concept of that. Her mouth opened and shut a couple of times at his tone, then she blinked and seemed to decide to push the whole incident under the rug.

'Berg, I got this for you.' She passed him an unmistakably square package that could only be a book, then she hesitated before passing a very different package to Gellert.

It was long and heavy, wide at one end and narrow at the other.

'A broomstick?' Viktor Krum asked, peering over from behind his pile of brown paper wrapping.

'Only if I was still five.' Gellert replied scathingly, already opening the paper. It was far too heavy to be a broomstick anyway and he was fairly certain that Hermione knew he already had one of the best brooms and had no desire to improve on it.

'I thought we could practice together.' Hermione explained as he withdrew the gleaming sword from the paper and tore at the layers of tissue that protected it. It was a magnificent weapon; practical in shape and design, but with an inscription embossed into the leather sheath in Ogham. He ran his fingers down it, realising that it translated into Latin - the oath they had made as a quartet when the Freidl family had become revolutionaries.

'I like it.' He informed her, unsheathing it with a slither of steel.