When Lady Grindelwald and Berg finally emerged from the study, Berg looked considerably more relaxed. His skin was still far too pale, but his hands had stopped shaking and his magic had stopped spiking unpredictably.

Lady Grindelwald turned to look at her other ward and her blood son, fixing them with one of her best intimidating looks. When he was younger Gellert would have quailed but now he stood tall and withstood her inspection. She hummed, clearly satisfied by what she'd seen.

'Do either of you have clandestine amours that I should know about?' His mother asked and both replied no quickly.

'Excellent. I have contacts in the Shafiq family and Berg will be spending his summer with them. He will, I hope, learn enough about the culture of his beau to be able to include her in our world with the minimum adjustment.' His mother informed them, looking significantly at Berg. The Tunninger heir nodded and hurried off, presumably to pack.

'Hermione, I've spoken to Nicholas and Perenell and they would be glad to have you accompany them on their trip to the pyramids. They will be along later to pick you up.'

Hermione curtsied briefly in thanks then also hurried off to prepare her belongings. Betrayed, Gellert was left along with his mother. He'd had no idea that Hermione had requested to spend time away and he wondered if he'd somehow offended her; did she hold him responsible for the Russian incident?

'Hermione wished to see the wards in Egypt. She wishes to look into hieroglyphics before she begins Ancient Runes at Hogwarts. I organised the visit because your respective educations are clearly failing to engage you if you can go gallivanting off to the forest to look for wands. You, however, will be learning sorcery. Your father left several journals which I believe you are now old and mature enough to handle.'

Over the next hour, his mother sentenced him to a whole summer of lessons. His father had written a twenty journals - one for every year after his graduation. Every one was packed full of tiny writing and incredibly complex pieces of magic which chronicled his descent into dark madness. Gellert would never admit it, but he was terrified to read it; how much of himself would he see in his father?

Hermione was just leaving her own cottage when he reached the door to his and she darted over to help him open it.

'Why didn't you tell me that you were talking to the Flamels about going abroad?' Gellert demanded as she helped him unload all of the books onto his desk. The look she gave him was so genuinely surprised and innocent that it almost smoothed the sting of her betrayal.

'They asked me. Nicholas remembered that I was rather good at runes and when Lady Grindelwald said that you'd be studying your father's journals this summer... I don't know, I thought you might want to be alone for that.'

Gellert glanced down at the many worn books that now stacked high enough to obscure the light reaching his desk. When he thought about it from that angle, he still wasn't sure that he wouldn't have rather had her here; with her uncanny wisdom and insight, Hermione was very good at reassuring him and making him see sense when he was being emotional.

But then again, he didn't know what the books would contain; Hermione was the light, bright as the sun and pure as the summer solstice. She'd comforted him after the death of Livius Lucan, but would she turn away when she realised just who had spawned him and what his blood was capable of?

He put the last of the books down with a sigh.

'You'll write every day, tell me what you're learning?' He checked and she smiled.

'Of course. It's only two weeks, Gellert. Then we're going to Avalon.'

'Avalon?' Gellert questioned, surprised. Neither witch had confided that they would be going to the ancient island.

'Yes, Avalon. There's lots of work to do there.'

'I thought you wanted a holiday?' He groaned. The thought of spending his entire summer cleaning up the dusty, decaying fortress did not appeal.

'I'm getting one.' She pointed out smugly. Gellert wrinkled his nose and Hermione laughed at his silly expression. 'Besides, its not that bad. I bet Avalon is full of incredible stuff.'

She left, soon after that. Her house elf arrived with a pop, furious as usual that Hermione had shirked the rules of propriety and was unchaperoned in a boy's room. His sister allowed herself to be shepherded out, a smile on her face as she pointed out that if Flighty really minded, Flighty would have come and found her earlier.

'Hermione's right.' Gellert told his own house elf, who'd arrived with Gellert's lunch at some point during the commotion. 'Why doesn't Flighty come and fetch Hermione earlier if it's such a problem?'

'Because Flighty is being a bad young elf. She is dreaming and wishing to interfere in the important businesses of wixen.' Beastie grumbled. 'Flighty should be boiling her toes, but Missy Hermione had been forbidding Flighty to intentionally harm herself.'

Gellert raised an eyebrow.

'What do you think?'

His elf looked at him in disbelief.

'Beastie is knowing better than to comment.' The elf scolded, slapping Gellert's fingers in light reprimand.

'Okay... What about you? Any elves catch your eye?'

'Young Master is gossiping like a witch.' The elf scolded again, but his ears were twitching tellingly.

'No. I'm procrastinating. Now, tell me if any elves have caught your eye. I'll do my best to organise a match.'

'Beastie is liking Flighty very much.' His elf admitted shyly, then his expression changed quickly. 'But Flighty is being a bad elf, so I is not liking her now. The young master Grindelwald should be getting to work.'

With that the elf dissapreaed with a sharp crack, taking Gellert's half eaten lunch and leaving him alone in his room with his father's books.

He opened the first one.

The date indicated that it had been written during his father's last year of Durmstrang and Gellert couldn't help but compare his handwriting to his father's. His father had come from a new family, pureblood but still not part of the Grindelwald's circle. It showed in the jagged shapes of his rushed letters which were worlds away from the classy calligraphy that everyone he knew wrote in.

The first entry was twelve pages of detailed notes on a ritual; the harvest ritual, observed through the eyes of an outsider. Reading his father's words on such an intimately familiar process was almost eerie; he didn't understand may crucial details that Gellert just knew instinctually and he had a detached, analytical assessment of the spellwork involved.

Not that he wasn't keen, Gellert could almost feel the enthusiasm for this new, powerful form of magic in the words inked into the page. It was evident in the ink splattered diagrams of energy flows and nets and the way that he occasionally went off on an enthusiastic tangent before seeming to remember that he was analysing the ritual.

His father also delved into concepts that Gellert had yet to cover. Metal channels; volatile, powerful and expensive. Iron was protective, silver repelled blood magic which explained why neither was allowed at the ritual And that gold was allowed as the only metal left by elimination. He touched briefly onto the colour of clothing, speculating that it was relating to the dyes and that woad and hazel, which usually created green and blue in older times, would have corrupted the enchantment with their potent energies. Gellert knew that the rules of white and red for witches was just to signal who was of age, but he wondered if there was any truth to his father's other theories.

But whilst the spellwork was fascinating, the glimpses into his father's personality were better. People didn't talk about him, in the age way that they didn't talk about Livius Lucan. When they did, it was only in passing - as an insult, or remembering his crimes and lamenting the aftermath.

But Gellert didn't remember his father as the dark wizard, the terrible man who enslaved hundreds. He remembered the man who used to let him play with his wand and who used to let him help brew potions. The man that he met each year on Samhain was not that man. The man that visited was what remained of the man he had once been, twisted by dark magic and addicted to power. He no longer loved, Gellert knew that... or at least, not in the way his mother and Hermione loved, and not in the way he himself loved, but he pretended to and for one day each year, Gellert could pretend.

The journals were better. They showed the father Gellert remembered; curious, fiercely intelligent and devoted to his soon to be wife and the old ways that she followed.

The time passed in a blur and before he knew it he had pages of notes and the candles were being lit.

Beastie returned with a soft pop, informing him that his mother wished to dine with him. She had begun the habit during their time in the camp in Russia but he hadn't expected it to continue when they got home.

With a snap of Beastie's fingers, his robes were clean and crisp and he headed outside, crossing to the public building.

'Good evening.' His mother greeted. She was already seated at the head of the dark table, her meal already served but untouched, shining tasting in the candlelight and filling the room with the rich smell of gravy and herbs. The windows behind her were thrown open to allow gentle summer breezes to stir through the room. Gellert took the seat beside her.

'How did you find the journals?' His mother asked as Gellert carved into the golden roast chicken and served it up to her.

'Interesting.' He replied neutrally. 'I've been reading about his analysis of the harvest festival.'

'He always had an interesting viewpoint. I thought at the time that it was because he was an outsider, but I believe Hermione sees the rituals in much the way we do.'

'I think Hermione understands more about the rituals than we do.' Gellert commented with a smile. 'She says things sometimes - I wonder if it her family, her magic or her power.'

'Do you think she is stronger than you?' His mother demanded after a moment and Gellert paused before decisively answering yes. His mother would not have asked such an obvious question.

'Her sect is more powerful than any individual wixen.' He began slowly, aware of his mother's sharp eyes on him. 'If you compare our individual magical cores, I believe we are similar but my magic is not as independent and intuitive. I need much more focus to cast wandlessly and my magic will not fill in details that I fail to consider, so she isn't affected by the inefficiency of wands or limited by the strength of a core.'

'That is true, but the wood on her wand is working much harder to channel her errant magic when she does use it. Her wand is inefficient, and focus can be difficult in the heat of battle. She often relies on magic which is simple and easily countered and it takes her time to prepare.'

'What do you mean?' Gellert asked, fascinated. Gravy dripped off the carrot that was forgotten half way to his mouth, staining the tablecloth.

'A wand responds to a command and then drags magic up from the core and forces into the netting required to fulfil the command. Your magic will go along willingly; all your wand needs to do it provide a map. Hermione's will fight every inch of the way in an attempt to create new roads and her wand wastes magical energy to force it all back to the right path.'

'Oh.' Gellert murmured, his gravy covered carrot returning to his plate as he brushed his wand with his fingertips.

'The same problem arises in sorcery when the objective of the spell is beyond a single moment of focus, where the magic is channelled through runes and diagrams. She has to not only focus on what she is doing, but also on keeping her own magic from deviating.'

'But she doesn't need sorcery.' Gellert pointed out. 'You saw what she did with her sect at Blau Berg.'

His mother smiled wryly, tapping at her mouth with her napkin to hide the expression. By the time she lowered the white cloth, her expression was neutral again.

'Her feat at the castle was impressive - most would have needed to use sorcery to perform that many things at once, but no individual spell was complex. You might have to write out all of the respective enchantments in runes, but you would be able to perform the whole thing alone. Hermione will never be able to do things of that magnitude without her sect.'

'What does that mean?' Gellert asked after a moment, suddenly worried that his sister was finally losing his mother's favour.

'It means that you two will make a formidable pair.' His mother announced and Gellert felt his heart skip a beat. 'There are trials still before you, hurdles that you do not even comprehend yet, but someday nobody will be able to stand against the two of you.'