Gellert had not misjudged his mother's fury. She stormed into the castle, still in her full battle regalia and astride her armoured battle Granian. She's come straight from Russia.
The headmaster fled from his office at the first opportunity, and Gellert was quickly sent out so that Berg could receive his punishment.
The two were secluded in the office for forty minutes. Forty minutes of the numbing silence of a privacy charm during which Gellert fought to occlude his panic away. When Berg emerged, he was pale and he shuffled awkwardly, suggesting that he'd been caned at the least.
'What did she say?' Gellert whispered urgently. Berg just shook his head, eyes wide, and shuffled away down the hall. That reaction concerned him more than the forty minute wait did.
Several tense minutes later, his mother called him in. Falling back on old habits, he bowed deeply as soon as he was through the door. She looked angrier than he'd ever seen her; angrier than when he'd been caught with muggles and she'd broken his wrist then. Would she disown him now, for losing her favourite child?
'What do you believe would happen if you three died?' His mother demanded coldly and Gellert bit his lip, unsure whether the question was rhetorical.
'I'll tell you exactly - you are the last Grindelwalds. You carry the weight of our traditions on your shoulders and without you, the old ways will die. You are the future coven and if you die before bearing your own heirs, there will not be another. If you die, everything that we have fought for over the last decade would have been for nothing; the sacrifice and bloodshed, wasted because you were bored and wanted to go for a walk in the woods.'
'We were looking for a wand, mother.' He defended weakly.
'A wand - if you'd written to tell me about it, I could have searched myself or sent an adult to accompany you. Instead, you took matters into your own hands.'
'We didn't want to distract you.' That had clearly been the wrong thing to say, despite being truthful.
'You didn't want to distract me...?' His mother echoed icily. 'As if Hermione going missing has not distracted me? As if the justified fury of the Gorlois family is not distracting. Do you think that they would allow Hermione to remain our ward if she is harmed? Your stupidity and failure to assess the danger of a situation had threatened everything.'
'And this is not the first time that you have put yourself and your peers at risk by trying to deal with matters alone. It was you following Alice and attacking Dumortier's camp that broke the French treaty, it was you that decided to leave the safety of this school not once, but three times. You have shirked your duty and your responsibility to not abuse your privileges and leadership position by putting everything on the line for some harebrained scheme and it is only pure, dumb luck that has had events not turning out worse.'
Gellert swallowed his protest down. He wanted to say that he had thought things through and he had assessed each escapade as necessary, but upon reflection he realised that going after the wand unaccompanied was stupid. There had been no rush; they could have written to Lady Grindelwald for permission and complied with whatever safety precautions she put in place. The wand had been there for years, it could have waited for a couple of days.
'I can only assume that you are not ready for the responsibility you have been given. Berg will receive the Locum Patriarchy; perhaps he will learn some independence and you will accompany me to the Russian front, where you will spend your time at my side considering the possible alternatives to ever decision I make and their consequences. Perhaps you will learn not to always take the simplest solution.'
Gellert's heart clenched as he slipped the family ring off his finger and placed it into his mother's waiting palm. He could barely remember a time when he hadn't worn one of the family rings, either on his finger or slung around his neck on a chain. His mother's fingers closed around the ring and then it vanished as she tucked it into a thick envelope.
'Saddle your Kelpie and pack your belongings. You have fifteen minutes to be waiting in the courtyard.'
Gellert hurried to comply, leaving the room with a quick bow and hurrying to his dormitory. Berg's curtains were charmed shut, so he didn't even get to wish him goodbye as he packed.
'Have you been expelled?' One of the Mustonen twins asked quietly and Gellert glowered at him.
'No. Mother is taking me to Russia.' He snapped, picking up a pile of shirts to hide his bare ring finger and shoving them into his trunk. The Elder Wand followed, roughly packed in alongside his broomstick whee he could forget that it was the reason he'd put his sister at risk.
'Wow.' The other Mustonen brother breathed. 'Are you going to get your sister back?'
'I am going to support mother and the coven.' He answered simply. His mother would retrieve Hermione and he suspected that trying to involve himself would only worsen his standing in his mother's eyes. But that didn't mean that he wouldn't do everything he could to help without putting anyone at risk... he picked up his divination text book thoughtfully, then put it in his trunk.
He had the gift of the sight, as much as he hated it. He had always worked to suppress it, considering the nightmares to be a curse but he would willingly live through those if it meant seeing something that could help Hermione.
He'd seen Mordred's past when he tried to use his sight with him. Perhaps if he had something with enough of Hermione attached to it, he could figure out how to see her past.
He checked his pocket watch and realising that he only had five minutes left to meet his mother, he dashed up to the girl's dormitory, bursting in and ignoring the startled squeaks of the witches. Hermione's bed was immaculate and he rummaged through the untouched trunk at it's foot. He passed over Mordred's sword and her clothes; there wasn't a strong enough signature on any of them because she clearly felt no great attachment to her clothes and Mordred's sword had it's own distinctive signature.
Finally, he found a book among the pile. It was the shabby runic copy of Beedle the Bard that he'd bought her on their first trip to the Unterhalb. The cover was even more worn than he remembered, and he let it fall open to see the bright and detailed illustrations that had been printed onto each page. With her proficiency in runes, it was highly likely that she could read the simple children's stories as easily as he could read German.
He left, taking the book with him and putting it into his trunk along with the other texts he'd chosen to take.
He left without saying goodbye to Berg, or even good luck.
Lady Grindelwald was already mounted on her horse when Gellert emerged. But he hadn't saddled Kelpie; he'd saddled Katana instead. Kelpie was a good steed, but Katana was vicious in his protection and adoration of Hermione. His devotion was proven by his scarred face and wings, and Gellert was willing to use everything he had to help find Hermione.
Lady Grindelwald raised her eyebrows but said nothing, taking flight towards the portal. Gellert followed behind, gritting his teeth as the beast surged and flapped beneath him. He hated flying on beasts - he'd only managed Star's leisurely pace because it was so smooth.
He didn't voice a word of complaint, determined to follow.
His mother opened the portal to a camp. Like the revolutionary camp that he had once destroyed, this camp was built of heavy pavilions. Most had their doors thrown open to allow air to circulate and revealed bunks surrounded by wooden duckboards. Mud was everywhere, splattering the canvas and almost rising over the planks and boards that allowed them to cross between sections.
They left their beasts at one of the stable pavilions and he trailed her through the maze of different tents. This was not a single army; he'd expected to see Russians, supported by a couple of other nations. Instead, he saw very few Russians - the bearskin clad Baba Yaga's guard were conspicuously absent, as was the Thestral mounted Russian coven in the sky's above the ominous castle that hulked on the horizon.
He did spot many other countries; Germans, Bulgarians and French, even the occasional tent full of British aurors. Accompanying their relevant fighters was a massive support network of cooks and healers, wandmakers and broomstick builders, quartermasters and wardbreakers.
His mother went straight to the largest of the tents, ignoring him completely until she handed him a slate and chalk like he was a child.
'Make notes.' She instructed sternly.
The following meeting was eye opening in the extreme. The dark wizard that was controlling the pestilences had captured the entire Russian coven and the three Baba Yaga and so far his wards had been impenetrable. Somehow, the coven's magical signatures were painted across the wards for anyone with the ability to read. It looked an awful lot like the coven had switched sides and now supported the dark wizard's petition for the international community to retract the bans on necromancy and dark magic.
He obediently noted every decision that his mother made on the slate. She made very few, and just seemed to spend a lot of time listening to other people. He wrinkled his nose, wondering if that life of inaction was what she wanted him to lead?
After the meeting finished, he followed his mother to the medic's tent where she discussed several of the injured's conditions then a filthy, muddy slog down to the watch positions that surrounded the castle.
One of the aurors leant him a set of binoculars, and he tapped his wand against them to zoom them in. The castle was decrepit and crumbling, surrounded by an obstacle course of shattered towers and walls that could provide cover to anyone within whilst making it incredibly difficult for anyone to cross the expanse of flat ground between the camp and the castle. Several pestilences crawled between boulders; frost bitten and injured.
He gave them back, his mind buzzing with ideas which he forcefully suppressed. His mother had made it very clear that he was here to learn and not to fight. He really shouldn't be getting into more trouble.
But his ideas were good - he'd been coached in castle siege by Mordred himself.
He resolved to write them down and present them to his mother on parchment that night.
His bunk was miserable - if he'd thought he might receive better accomodation because of her status, he was sorely mistaken. He was crammed into a tiny tent barely big enough for the small cot, his trunk and a desk but at least as the only child in the camp he didn't have to share.
He wrote out his ideas in a notebook, then used the next couple of pages to complete his mother's assignment before wiping the slate clean - nobody would know which of his analysed decisions was actually the one his mother had taken.
Then, after a moment of thought he did the same for every one of his siege ideas. By the time he extinguished his witchlight, dinner was long past and the sky was beginning to grey with morning light.
He presented the notebook to his mother before the meeting after breakfast and she flicked through the filled pages.
'So you are not incapable of thinking things through.' She mused, 'you just do not.'
Gellert remained silent.
'Which of these would you recommend, having made your analysis?' She demanded after a moment. Surprised, Gellert leaned over the book and glanced quickly over his recommendations.
'This. It's nasty but it would greatly accelerate the deterioration of the pestilences with low risk to ourselves.'
'And the risk to the wixen prisoners?' She demanded and he flicked to the page with the more detailed analysis.
'Infection is always a risk, but pestilences will rarely take the time to prevent it.'
His mother nodded.
'It is gruesome, but it will help. I shall suggest it at the strategy meeting.'
Gratified, Gellert retreated back to his seat with his slate to begin another day of taking notes.