There was a special spot in his cell now - the driest wall, pressed up behind the window where even the wildest wind couldn't lash rain. The collection of papers took pride of place, stuck up with the best sticking charm that he could produce without a wand. The warden found it endearing in a way that made Gellert irritable, but when it ensured a steady stream of news, he could hardly complain.

In the pride of place was a photograph of her, taken discretely at a ball in Avalon and carefully cut from a newspaper. She was standing just in front of one of her family's colossal banners, presumably in the ballroom, and a massive flower arrangement towered over her. A young witch that he presumed from the attached article was Ginevra Weasley stood beside her, both girls looked stunning in their gowns. He'd spent hours staring at the way that Hermione spoke to her peer; their serious expressions suggested that they were discussing something important.

Next to that was a letter from the witch herself.

Dear Gellert,

I still can't quite believe that you found me a white Grim! I've called her Cavella, as you suggested. Luckily, Snuffles is very good at keeping track of her because she's just starting to experiment with her powers. I've had to create a salt circle around my room to keep her there anytime we leave her unattended. At least it will keep the ghosts out at school! Thankfully, she has yet to figure out that she can apparate and I can only hope that she is trained before she does.

I hope you received the copy of the prophet that I sent last week. Rita Skeeter was ever so kind to only write good things, but I suspect that she'll become a problem in the future - I've been reading up on some of her other articles and she is quite sensationalist.

There was a bit of an incident yesterday in Diagon Alley. Heir Draco Malfoy and his mother confronted me, and he actually drew his wand on me! Of course, I still had my hair in braids then and the protective runes would have been strong enough to ward off anything he knew but there was a large crowd and we are both underage. Then, Cavella jumped up and pulled the wand out of his hand, breaking it. It was rather wonderful and a rather excellent solution to the situation, considering that I don't want to provoke a duel with Lord Malfoy.

I was hoping for your advice regarding a recent piece of legislation passed by the wizengamot regulating the registration and employment of werewolves. It looks like an awful piece designed to make it almost impossible to employ the victims of an awful curse under the pretence of protection. I was wondering if I might employ a couple to help manage the estate, and if employing a certain number would make the expensive measures economical?

I've also included a permission form. Anneken can't sign it because it is a matter of the ward, rather than a matter of the family.

Love, Hermione.

He'd read it so many times that the parchment had started to break along the folds before he'd decided to stick it to the stone wall. The thick bundle of legislative papers were scattered across his window seat and he knew them almost word for word, determined to give her the best advice possible.

He knew that the warden was coming long before he actually arrived; he'd seen an owl that he was fairly certain was Hermione's wing it's way down the valley earlier, and the height of the sun in the sky suggested that it was nearly lunch.

The door grated open and he was manacled, a squad of aurors marching him down to the meeting room. The warden awaited, sat across from the iron chair with a quill, parchment, ink and an opened letter at he elbow. Gellert found his eyes transfixed by the familiar seal on the scroll as he was forced down into the seat and his manacles chained to the chair.

There was a moment of silence as the squad of aurors left and Gellert dragged his eyes away from the letter and up to the warden's face. The man was watching him contemplatively.

'One smart girl you have here.' Flinch eventually commented, gesturing to the letter. 'Warding, runes, politics, law, economics... is there anything she can't do?'

'Broomstick flying.' Gellert replied shortly, a smile curling up the corners of his mouth despite his best efforts. The warden huffed, then unscrewed the lid on the pot of ink, dipping the quill in with a light tap.

'You can dictate your reply, then take this one back to read later.' The warden instructed. Gellert eyed him, then shrugged.

'Dear Hermione...' He began, leaning forwards to watch as the warden scratched the words onto the page. His handwriting was neat enough; blocky and uniform, almost like it had been printed onto the parchment. Nothing elegant, but perhaps more functional than the complex and embellished calligraphy that he and Hermione favoured.

'You looked spectacular at the ball and it sounds like you handled Mrs. Skeeter excellently. The trick with reporters is to ensure that your actions are so sensational that they don't need to sensationalise you.' Gellert paused to let the warden catch up, considering what else he wanted to say carefully. He didn't know what Hermione had told people in the current time about her relation to him, so he had to ensure that he inferred nothing incase it contradicted whatever she'd said.

'Take care with the Malfoy family; your familiar's assault could still be grounds for a duel. Whilst Lord Malfoy may be reluctant to challenge you to a duel at the moment, on the assumption that I would stand in as your patriarch; he may eventually realise that he can challenge the House of Gorlois for actions of it's members and allies, in which case you would have to select someone from your own line as a champion, or duel yourself. I can not stand in for you then.' He paused again, watching as the warden copied out his words.

'Is all of this stuff written down somewhere?' The warden asked as Gellert checked that he'd gotten in all down correctly.

'I believe it was first formally recorded by the Wizard's Council; the Gorlois line tended to alter rules to suit their purposes and after they fell, the Council decided to solidify them. Most European wizarding communities adopted those rules later simply because they'd already been written.' Gellert cocked his head, remembering the ancient sheets of parchment that had held the German translation of the old laws. The original had been in Blau Berg when it was destroyed and although the elves had managed to recover some, much of it had been lost to fire.

'Okay, keep going.' The warden instructed.

'As for the werewolves; I agree, the legislation would make employment incredibly difficult. They would likely be looking at unstable, menial labour at low wages, probably well below their education and skill level. With the facilities at Avalon, you could easily meet most requirements already, with the exception of the potion's master. However, although the costs might not be quite economical, you will be doing them a great kindness.' Gellert glanced up as the warden paused in his writing. 'What?' He asked.

'I thought your rhetoric was anti-half breed... purist?' Flinch asked. Gellert allowed his displeasure to twist his features darkly.

'I am not a purist.' He snapped. The warden looked surprised.

'No?'

'I have never been a purist... the wizarding world seemed to believe that purism is synonymous for the old ways.' He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He would need to learn to discuss such matters in a calm and rational manner - the rage which had once fuelled his rallies would only hinder him in his fight to assist Hermione. 'Hermione's parents are muggles; we used to call her kind newbloods, and the tradition of taking a ward meant that the important parts of our culture could be passed on to them, along with the protection of an established family name...'

'That sounds sensible.' The warden acknowledged, his tone betraying blatant surprise.

'Unfortunately, the prejudice snuck in and wixen were to preoccupied with looking down of newbloods that they forgot how essential they are to out survival. With the numbers of families willing to take wards decreasing, they system fell apart. The newbloods were never given the opportunity to learn our culture and the rift between them and the purists only grew wider.'

The warden looked troubled, not meeting Gellert's eyes as he considered his words.

'It doesn't make sense.' He finally said. Gellert shrugged smoothly.

'As I said, the world believed purism was synonymous with the old ways. I grew up fighting in wars against the revolutionaries which shattered centuries of relative peace, then when I was older thousands of us were killed when we were drawn into muggle conflicts. It was easy to believe that muggles and the mugglisation of our society was to blame. It was a war; I was more than willing to take advantage of more radical opinions and settle the details afterwards.' He shifted his hands in an approximation of a shrug and forced his lips into a wry smile, forcing down any resentment that managed to linger after fifty years in prison.

The warden seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts, dipping the quill back into the ink.

'Anything else?' He demanded, hovering the gleaming nib just below his previous line of text.

'Yes... Please write; you should consider employing a permanent potion's master to brew from the ingredients you grow on your various properties. The Grindelwald family will provide the initial investments at seven percent and you are more than welcome to harvest from Grindelwald land. With appropriate coordination with your allies in Nott and Longbottom, who are also producers of ingredients, you should be able to obtain most of what you require; perhaps at the cost of an exchange for brewed potions.'

'I imagine that your largest hurdle will be contacting the werewolves to employ. They are usually a very secretive community and with all the new laws, I imagine it will be even harder to find them.'

'You're running out of parchment.' The warden cautioned. Gellert shrugged; he'd covered everything important anyway.

'Am I allowed to sign?' He drawled, lifting one hand. The warden eyed him suspiciously, then pushed the parchment over. Gellert was able to awkwardly balance it and the quill, twisting awkwardly through the manacles to sign the bottom of the letter. 'And her permission form?' He asked. Again, the warden glared suspiciously before producing a slip of parchment with and swapping it quickly; almost as if he thought that having access to two bits of parchment would arm him somehow. Gellert thought that if it came down to it, he'd use the quill.

Once the permission slip was signed, the warden folded it inside the letter, took back the quill and finally allowed Gellert to take the newest letter from Hermione. He would be allowed to read it in his own time.

Tell me, Grindelwald?' The warden eventually asked. 'Your ward... should we be afraid? Will she follow in your footsteps?'

'Hermione?' Gellert's lips curled up into a smile. 'No, she follows in nobody's footsteps... as to whether you should be afraid? You may as well ask if you should be afraid of a storm... she brings change; inevitable and powerful. I was a child throwing a tantrum; Hermione is a queen.'