Finding out what happened to the Baba Yaga's wards in Russia would be almost impossible. Gellert already knew that visiting would be out of the question - there was no disguise which would make that safe enough to do. So he was left with one option and it was distasteful.

'I didn't bother taking divination at school when I chose my subjects.' Hermione informed him, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees, finger and thumb pointing upwards in the oddest gesture he'd ever seen.

'No?' Gellert sighed, his concentration shattered. The crystal ball in front of him shimmered back to blank.

'No. I did some research - the sight rarely surfaces in people whose magic manifests as fire; the two are particularly incompatible. The author believed it to be related to temperament.'

'How fascinating.' He said dryly, closing his eyes again.

'Of course, it could also be genetic. I've noticed that magical manifestations are hereditary, and it's generally believed that the sight is as well.'

'No.' Gellert finally said. 'It's definitely the temperament.'

Hermione fell silent. She took several exaggeratedly long breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth, then shifted on the large cushion she'd insisted they sit on. He repressed the urge to sigh.

'How are you going with those wards from the Revolutionaries' castle?' He asked after a moment, hoping that she'd stop trying to meditate with him and pull out a book to study instead. The scratching of her quill was oddly easy to work with, and the flick of pages was calming.

'I've got the magic suppressing runes right for a set of handcuffs and I've managed to eliminate the susceptibility to water. Unfortunately, actually producing them is another matter. I've tried but I just don't have the level of craftsmanship to include all the elements that I want into something of the size that I want.' Hermione explained, her hands coming out of their odd gesture to emphasise what she was saying.

'And the castle runes?' He asked.

'More complex. The slab that he had me on was the ward stone, so when he painted the runes onto me, I was designated but definition but chaining your prisoner to the ward stone and relying on them to be still is terrible. Imagine if I'd gotten loose? I haven't found a way to broaden it to include a whole room... Mordred says that will weaken the whole thing too far to be useful.'

'Can you designate an area and then reference that on the wardstone.'

He could almost see Hermione's mind flicking through the pages of her memory to see if she'd seen it done.

'Referencing is possible...' She stood up, drifting into the bedroom of her Hexemeer rooms and returning a moment later with an armful of books, quills, ink and parchment. Relief and victory twisted in his chest as she settled back down on the cushion and started opening books full of complex runic diagrams. Seconds later, the sound of her scratching quill replaced the stirring of her meditation attempts.

It only took seconds to run through the focusing exercises and then open his eyes to a different time.

He put off doing his divination meditations for years because he didn't want to make his nightmares worse but now that he was actively doing them he found he could more actively control when and how he saw visions. Rarely was he awoken by scenes of muggle horror and he'd actually managed to glean such useful tidbits as what the weather would be the next day and when one of his mother's Granians would have a difficult birth.

However, total control still eluded him.

He was using his memories of the palace when he'd been there with Berg after their desert adventure, meditating on those to focus his inner eye... which sounded awful but truly did describe how he saw things.

The mist in the ball materialised into a set of large, dark doors. They opened, revealing what was unmistakably a courtroom although the hundreds of wixen that packed that stands were dressed in a nasty shade of purple uniform rather than the dark shade that was considered acceptable for such an event. A wizard with a long beard presided over events and he peered down sternly at the person in the chair.

Gellert strolled sideways, realising that it was Hermione on trial. She didn't look nervous; she lounged in the ominous seat with the confidence of someone who was absolutely certain that they would get off.

He dismissed the vision; as interesting as it was, Gellert was looking for images of the past in an attempt to figure out what had happened to the Russian Coven.

As that thought crossed his mind, he saw a quick glimpse; a strategy room. Like the one that had once stood in Blau Berg, this room was dominated by a massive table upon which was unrolled a massive map. Little silver figurines were scattered across the map - Auror units depicted by wands and shields, scouts in the form of little winged horses and coven members with their own individual figures. Combined with those silver figures were blue pebbles which he knew from the camp had signified foreign units, and were probably labelled with which unit exactly it represented. A handful of mahogany figures from his mother's own set marked her coven.

'We could ride out immediately.' Arika Fleiss pointed at the little flag, around which were gathered the figurines of the three Baba Yaga and several coven members from both sides. 'We're worth a a whole contingent of aurors. We cannot let this foray go unanswered, not if we're right and he plans to come through here with his foul. There's thousands of muggles in these two towns.'

Arika's stick wandered through a large arch, toppling little black pins that represented muggles.

'Arika's right.' His mother agreed. 'We can get there in time and stop them pressing any further in, but we also need a coven member to investigate my son's claims that they're using Morevna Castle again.'

'I can do that.' Arika offered, eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure. 'I wouldn't mind testing the wards if they are.'

'Thank you, Lady Katerina.' The crone sighed, her shoulders bowing beneath the weight of the decisions she was making. 'My people owe Germany their lives, and thank you Frau Arika. Will you leave before or after dinner?'

'Before. There is no reason to dally.' His mother decided. She left the room, the coven hurrying after her. Arika paused for a moment, dark eyes drifting over the board before she too sighed heavily.

'It will be over soon, Baba Yaga.' She assured before following after the coven.

The vision faded to black and Gellert looked up excitedly.

'I'm getting closer!' He exclaimed.

'Me too.' Hermione agreed with a grin. She had ink splattered across her cheek and was surrounded by pages of parchment.

'I think we deserve a reward.' He decided. 'I think we should talk the elves into making strawberry tart.'

'For lunch?'

'We might even be able to coax Berg out of his sulk.' Gellert tried to tempt her.

'Berg isn't sulking; he feels terrible for angering your mother.' His sister reprimanded him.

'You anger her all the time and you don't sulk.' Gellert pointed out.

'No... I needle her, I push her boundaries, I test her but I very rarely actually make her angry.'

'Snowball fight?' Gellert asked, remembering when Hermione had tried to pass off a snow fight as duelling practice during their first winter together.

'No, that wasn't angry. Livius Lucan was angry. She's only not angry this time because she figures that six weeks in a cell is punishment enough.'

Gellert nodded in understanding, then shrugged.

'Okay, but that doesn't mean Berg gets to spend all summer sulking.' Gellert crossed the chalky space between his cottage and Berg's. He threw open the door without knocking, fully prepared to drag Berg out by the scruff of his neck if he had to... only to find that Berg wasn't moping. He was at his desk, writing.

The youngest Tunninger hastily pushed the parchment beneath one of the books that were open on his desk.

'Who are you writing to?' Gellert demanded, crossing the room quickly. Hermione glided in behind him, her bare feet almost silent.

'I'm doing homework.' Berg replied quickly - too quickly.

'We don't have homework.' He pointed out, looping around the settee and crossing to the massive window.

'Voluntary homework.' Berg sounded uncertain.

Hermione, who had been sliding around behind his chair, whipped out the sheet of parchment by the corner and darted back out of Berg's reach. The older boy made an incoherent yell and dove after her but Gellert stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around him, holding him back. Sword training with Hermione had done him a lot of good, and he was able to hold Berg back reasonably easily whilst Hermione glanced over the letter.

'Berg is writing to some Arabic girl. I think he has a girlfriend.'

'What?' Gellert asked, dumbfounded. Berg took the opportunity to slip out of his grasp and snatched the parchment back, cheeks aflame.

'I mean, I only know a couple of words but I can't see any other reason why he would be speaking to a girl in Arabic.'

'She's not my girlfriend.' Berg defended weakly, hugging the letter to his chest.

'No?' Hermione asked, peering down at his desk again. 'Well, you shouldn't lead her on then. I don't need to speak or write Arabic well to know that putting little hearts at the end means she likes you.'

Hermione tapped another letter meaningfully and Gellert realised that there were indeed little hearts at the bottom of the letter, as well as a remarkable sketch of a cow beneath a tree.

'That's just how she signs her name, and it's Persian, not Arabic.'

'No, Berg.' Hermione gave him a look that said she thought he was being stupid. 'Those are hearts. She likes you and you clearly like her or you wouldn't be writing letters to her all summer. Why not admit it?'

'I can't.' Berg whined. 'She's a muggle.'

'And?' Hermione asked, rolling her eyes. 'It's not like Lady Grindelwald will care, and I think Alice has sort of lost the authority to judge. Sure, you'll have some explaining to do to her, but if you're sending letters by owl I'm pretty sure she already knows something.'

Berg looked at her like she'd told him the sky was yellow.

'It's not that family... from the desert?' Gellert demanded suspiciously. Berg's instant guilty face answered his expression. 'How long have you been writing to her?'

'Only a half a year.' Berg answered quickly. 'I wrote to her family to thank them for their hospitality and assistance and to say that they could always write if they needed help and her father wrote back to say that it was his duty to Allah. Then, six months ago, the magic charm that I gave them triggered and we started writing again. Her brother had broken his leg and would never work and she wanted to know if we could do anything. I could - I mean, a broken bone is nothing - I sent her a vial of skelegro and we've been talking since.'

'So do you like her?'

'Azadeh - yeah, she's nice and fun and she's into healing too. But she thinks I'm a servant of Allah or something.'

'Allah is their king.' Gellert informed Hermione.

'No he's not.' Hermione giggled. 'Allah is their God. Perhaps you should clear that up with her in your next letter. Then, once you've managed to figure out whether you do like her, you should tell Lady Grindelwald. I imagine she'd be more irritated that you didn't tell her than that you are interested in a muggle.'