The gala, Daphne had promised, would be the largest in wizarding history, because the ministry were keen to take advantage of the massive venue to gain some prestige for their World Cup. They'd invited everyone that had been involved in the planning and organisation of the various matches, and by that Hermione knew they meant everyone, from the builders of the stadium to the players, the ministers of every country with a team to the owners of the broomstick companies to the potion testers that checked for banned substances. All in all, more than five thousand invitations had been sent out. Hermione was just grateful that she didn't actually have to greet everyone at the door.

'I would have thought Anneken would have made you support Bulgaria.' Harry commented, jumping up from his seat as Hermione emerged at the top of the spiral staircase that led down into their study. Hermione smiled, lifting her skirts to reveal that she was wearing red and black socks. Harry grinned and offered her his arm exactly as they'd been practicing.

'You're getting better at this.' Hermione observed, allowing him to open up the portal with a practiced rune against the wood.

'I talked guilted Sirius into helping me. He does know it all, even if he pretends that he doesn't.' Harry sent Hermione a very Slytherin smirk, which she returned equally slyly. Sirius Black was a very smart and naturally curious wizard, and Hermione was almost certain that once he got over his aversion to anything traditional, wizarding, or old, he'd be fascinated by the style of magic that her family dabbled in.

As it was, the newly named Lord Black spent his time alternately brooding, flirting with anything that wore a dress and poking at things with his wand. So far, there had only been one explosion - a negative reaction between something that they suspected was millenia old dragon dung and the much newer dragon heart strings in his wand. However, he had seemed to enjoy the Yule ritual and although he was too proud to admit it, Hermione knew that he'd been interested. She'd been carefully selecting another ritual for them to perform, but the task was demanding. It couldn't be big or dangerous, it couldn't have any blood or bones or call on any ancestors and it had to be one that Hermione knew would work.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought from her mind as they stepped through the portal and emerged into the busy entrance hall. It seemed that the final touches were just being completed and Hermione found herself in awe.

Avalon's main hall had always been rather simplistic in it's form and decoration; although no less grand for it. The sheer scale of the rooms made it very difficult to decorate; Anneken and Daphne had dealt with it by using minimal decorations and allowing the grandeur of the venue to speak for itself. The ministry couldn't allow the Gorlois crests to be the largest feature so they'd had to replace the tapestries with those of the Quidditch World Cup - a golden image of a globe with the wings of a snitch on a blue field, at least the blue went with the theme of the rest of the building.

Unfortunately, Avalon's tapestries had only survived as long as they had because of powerful protective enchantments. All attempts to transfigured them had backfired spectacularly and they'd ended up having to purchase new ones.

The international flags of all the competing countries were hung from the ceilings and Hermione knew from seeing them on the ground that they were each as large as a car, but strung from the distant vaults and stone rafters, they looked like bunting.

'Ah, Miss Gorlois.' Hermione glanced over to see the Bulgarian Minister. He was dressed in maroon velvet robes and was cradling a scroll in his arms like a treasured child. 'I vas hoping to catch you before Minister Fudge tried to pass me to zat awful man again.'

'Mr Crouch?' Hermione asked, unable to keep the smile from her face.

'Ya.' The Bulgarian's scowl was made even more impressive by his overlong eyebrows.

'Well, I would be an awful hostess if I allowed that to happen.' Hermione nodded to Harry, who passed her off politely to the minister, who'd shifted the scroll to his other hand. They switched to German as Hermione asked about what he was reading. The man was very interested in runes and had a mastery in ancient law, necessitating a reasonably thorough understanding of Futhark. He understood other languages too, so he'd been more than happy to neglect his ministerial duties and delve into Avalon's ancient records.

Hermione had obliged him, having Mordred dig out a whole bundle of communiques between Morgana and a Visigothic warlord who wanted metal from the Gorlois mines. They were all rather dull when Hermione had glanced over them but apparently they contained more information on the state of wixen relations with muggles during the period than every other surviving source combined.

'Congratulations on your country's win in the semi-finals.' Hermione broke the silence as the stopped at one of the small tables and the minister rolled out his scroll. It looked like a trade agreement of some description, written in gothic script and annotated in Pictish by Morgana' own hand.

'Now, now, Miss Gorlois. We both know that you care very little for Quidditch.' The minister chided, fixing a set of pince-nez across his eyes and peering down at a particular line of Morgana's script.

'True.' Hermione agreed with a wry smile, 'but the Lady Krum is a close friend of mine.'

'Ah yes, the Lady Krum. Her grandson is the seeker, no?'

'Great grandson.' Hermione corrected. Like Hermione, Anneken was no great fan of quidditch, but she was understandably proud of Viktor, who Hermione suspected had been named after the Viktor Krum in Gellert's year.

'I went to school with his father, you know. There's more masteries in that family than there are men. Quite the surprise when young Viktor took to Quidditch instead... Ah, here. I'm afraid I just can't work out what this word might be.'

Hermione peered over, then grimaced.

'White bone.' She replied.

'White bone? As opposed to?'

Hermione sighed heavily, wondering if it was a bad idea to reveal the depth of her knowledge into various rituals.

'White bone is the bone of something that has been dead for a while, where the soul has had time to move on. Red bone is fresh, and is often used for dark magic, because the sound still lingers and can be utilised, black bone is bone is when the animal is killed as a ritual sacrifice. If they're not properly cared for, they can retroactively alter the ritual.'

'Fascinating.' The Bulgarian minister sighed. 'They stopped offering ritual studies at Durmstrang at the beginning of the century after a group of students unleashed a pack of hell beasts on the school, so all of my knowledge is anecdotal.'

Hermione couldn't help but think that the careless expression that the politician wore was nothing but a mask as he rolled up the scroll again and offered her him arm. She took it, and found herself being escorted outside and then into the inner curtain wall, following the unused, physical route to the south curtain where the minister was staying.

My father remembers the old seasonal rituals... not that he ever played a major part, of course.' The minister began casually. 'He's quite senile now; claims that Grindelwald had a sister that could beat him in a duel, who hosted all the seasonal rituals. Of course, I've researched it a number of times and the absence of information is telling.'

'Oh.' Was all Hermione managed to say. She'd known that her presence in the past would be discovered eventually, but she wasn't sure if she was ready for the greater public to learn of it.

'Yes, quite. There are no school records for the year that my father believed she attended Durmstrang; the student honour board for that year has been rather conspicuously carved over with Grindelwald's symbol, there's no library records, no travel records, no beast registrations. The German ministry has no records of the time either, all suspiciously burned during Grindelwald's rise to power and most interestingly, the guest list for a night at a theatre is missing, among otherwise immaculate records... Your brother certainly did a good job of wiping your existence from the records, although how he managed to remove your name from memory too...'

'Pardon?' Hermione forced her mouth to close, occluding her shock back into a society image of calm perfection.

'Oh yes. As far as I can tell, she was rather reclusive even for a family as reclusive as the Grindelwalds, but Gellert Grindelwald certainly made an effort to erase any record that might have been made. I was fortunate enough to stumble across this little piece. I imagine it is the only remaining piece of hard evidence that Hermione Grindelwald ever existed.'

From the pocket of his waistcoat, the Bulgarian minister withdrew a small piece of card and passed it over to Hermione. Immediately, the young witch knew that it was old. The edges were fluffy and ragged, the ink faded and the creamy parchment almost green with dust and time. But Hermione recognised it; the smart calligraphy that named Hermione and Gellert Oberlander as the guests, and the faint impression where their true identity as Hermione and Gellert Grindelwald had been written, before someone had realised the error and corrected it to the name of Gellert's father.

'Where did you get this?' Hermione demanded. The minister was wearing a slightly smug smile, one of his large eyebrows lifted challengingly.

'My grandfather worked at the establishment. He kept the cards of anyone he considered to be a particularly significant guest. I didn't understand how such an insignificant name ended up with pride of place in his collection, until I heard of your name. Not very common, especially when you're claiming an even less common family name.'

'Why did this survive?' She asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at the minister. Rolled his shoulders in a move that might have been a shrug.

'I can only assume that Grindelwald could somehow track mentions of your name. It's the only way he could have achieved such an absolute removal of you from history. This, however, has the name of a much earlier dark wizard... an odd choice for an alias..?'

'His father.' Hermione confirmed, feeling slightly dazed. What she didn't understand was why Gellert had gone to such lengths. Was it because he had intentionally courted the purist factions, rather than the conflict attracting them? Had he removed her memory so that nobody would know he was betrothed to a newblood?

'Ah.' There was a moment of silence as they emerged into the courtyard, skirting around the gaggle of Asian witches that were waiting to go through the enchanted door to the ball. They all curtsied to Hermione, who returned the gesture with a gracious nod.

'I assume you haven't met the head of the Magical International Security Council yet?' The minister asked one they were out of earshot.

'No?' Hermione asked. The Quidditch World Cup was an international event, so traditionally security was managed by MISC but when they'd listed their demands, Daphne had done an admirable job of shutting them down. Fudge, who was desperate to have the event hosted at Avalon, had backed her up and the only concession that had been made was a battalion of aurors that mingled with the guardians on the walls.

'It is widely considered that the imprisonment of your brother was the end to the string of revolutionary wars, primarily because there was nobody left to lead the traditional side.' The minister surprised her by turning off the path and into the courtyard garden, where a stone bench nestled between beds of fragrant lavender and heather.

'I have read Great Events of the Twentieth Century.'

'Of course.' The minister acknowledged, sitting down on the bench. Hermione remained standing, mindful of the pristine cobalt chiffon that made up her skirts. 'What I mean, is that the imprisonment of the leader was considered the end of the war, but if another leader was to emerge...'

'Is that a promise of support, or a threat?' The young witch asked.

'Both.' The Bulgarian said concisely, pulling a pocket watch from his robes. Immediately, Hermione's eyes were drawn to the intricately decorated triskele that had been carved into the back. To anyone unfamiliar, the symbol could be passed off as an elaborate swirl. 'Those of us who were less vocal about our beliefs were under less scrutiny after the Revolutionary Wars; we've continued to practice as much as we can, but if someone were... hypothetically, of course... practicing the seasonal rituals again, the Triskelion Order would be delighted to take part.'

'And the threat?' Hermione demanded coldly, her eyes fixed on the ancient symbol.

'A warning, rather than a threat.' The minister's heavy brows drew together and he glanced around furtively. 'The Head of the Security Council has a deep and passionate grudge against the Grindelwald family and the old ways.'

Hermione opened her mouth to ask for more details, but the minister held up his hand to stop her.

'I don't know why. She's from an old family, but they were all switching sides left, right and centre during the revolutionary war and they were reclusive at the best of times, as you well know; it could be a broken betrothal contract for all the rest of us know. What I do know is that she is ruthless and... well, who is going to challenge the Head of international law enforcement? Wixen that disagree with her have a habit of disappearing.'

Hermione was silent, absorbing what she had been told. The Bulgarian minister seemed to feel like his warning had been delivered and understood, because he got up, brushing off his velvet robes and offering her an arm again. He led her back through the courtyard and through the magic door. Almost in a daze, Hermione thanked him politely, curtseyed and suddenly found herself alone.

Sirius Black came to her rescue, looking dashing in his velvet robes.

'You look like someone just knocked you off that beast of yours.'

'Impossible.' Hermione scoffed instinctively.

'Of course. What's got you so off balance?' He offered his arm, betraying his usual tendency to avoid every pureblood tradition like it carried the plague.

'Did you know that the Head of MISC has a grudge against the Grindelwald family?' Hermione mused.

'Yeah.' Sirius looked at Hermione like she'd just told him the sky was blue. 'Horrible woman. Like someone tossed my mother through a blender then shoved her in Lady Longbottom's funeral gown... talking of horrible women, look out!'

Hermione followed Sirius' eyes to see Minister Fudge forcing his way through the large crowd, followed closely by a very squat woman with a square face and a magenta dress. Hermione's first thought was that she would make an excellent candidate for one of Cinderella's ugly step-sisters, her second was that the woman needed to wear a different colour. The pink did nothing for her slightly ruddy cheeks and the large ruffle at the collar made her neck look even shorter.

'Ah, Lady Gorlois, Lord Black!' Fudge greeted them as if he hadn't obviously been searching them out in the crowd. 'I'm so glad I found you, excellent event. It will be the talk of the community for years!'

Really, Hermione thought, the percentage of British wixen at the ball was very small. Even Malfoy had only warranted an invitation because he'd donated a truly eye-watering sum to go towards the construction of the stadium.

'It has turned out rather well.' She managed.

'Might I introduce my Senior Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge. She's a strong voice for werewolf rights in the Wizengamot...'

Hermione used the disguise offered by her voluminous skirts to drive her heel into Black's foot, hard. His intake of breath wheezed out sharply and he shot her a betrayed look as Hermione bit back every insult she wanted to spit at the woman and greeted her blandly, unable to quite summon pleasantness. Unlike the Minister, who was determined to pander to Hermione's every whim, Umbridge clearly already hated the young hostess.

'Madam Umbridge has been kind enough to accept a position at Hogwarts this year.' Fudge continued, entirely oblivious to the tension, 'it's unacceptable, what's been going on at that school, and entirely without the ministry's knowledge. Lucius agreed with me, of course, and the wizengamot have agreed that it's high time for some supervision.'

'Oh?' Hermione asked, not needing to falsify the interest. 'What kind of supervision?'

'Well!' Fudge looked immensely pleased that she'd asked. 'We'll begin with an assessment of the teachers and their curriculums, then we'll give those that aren't quite up to par a term to get things in order. Some rules might need to be changed; we're not sure of the value of some clubs and the school could certainly do with a couple more... it is a very important year after all, and we must put out best foot forwards, as it were.' Fudge laughed as if he was amused by some joke, whilst Umbridge tittered.

'Sounds very thorough.' Hermione managed dryly. 'I imagine Madam Umbridge will be reporting to the wizengamot, then?'

'Oh no!' Fudge laughed as though she had suggested something absurd. 'The wizengamot doesn't have time for such trivial matters. This will be a long term solution; they've audited the department of magical education and Madam Umbridge will report to them.'

'Oh, look!' Sirius bounced up on his toes, tall enough to look over the crowd. 'I think Miss Greengrass wants you, Hermione.'

'Oh. If you'll excuse us, Minister, Madam Umbridge.' Hermione nodded to the to officials then allowed Lord Black to lead her away. As soon as they were deep enough into the crowd to be invisible, Hermione jostled her arm to draw Sirius' attention. 'You didn't actually see Daphne, did you?'

'Of course not.' Black scoffed, 'I just didn't think I could manage another second without punching that toad in the face.'

'She did look like a toad.' Hermione agreed, her lips curving up. Sirius snagged a passing attendant, lifting a little pastry for each of them of the tray, then snagged a glass of something that was presumably alcoholic from the next.

'So the head of MISC... Do you know her?' The High Priestess brought the conversation back to her previous concern.

'Not really.' Sirius frowned. 'None of the British really understood the fighting in Europe, so most preferred to call them all savages and leave it at that. I think she's pretty friendly with Dumbledore though.'

'Ah.' Hermione nodded. 'So even if she didn't hate Grindelwalds, she'd hate me because of Dumbledore.'

'Probably.' Sirius agreed cheerfully. 'Brilliant, I can see the Irish. Come on, lets go and meet them.'

With a sigh, Hermione allowed herself to be led over to the rather boisterous quidditch team. Unfortunately, it seemed the quidditch players were just as keen to meet the notorious Azkaban escapee and pardoned mass murderer as he was to meet them, and Hermione was subjected to half an hour of inane chatter about the upcoming match before she was finally rescued by Anneken, only to be taken straight outside to meet the Bulgarian team. They were all sulking around one of the gleaming standing stones that made up the portal, looking miserable in their matching dress robes.

'Viktor!' Anneken called over the youngest of the team. He was burly, large for a seeker even to Hermione's untrained eye, and looked absolutely nothing like his great grandmother.

'Fräulein Gorlois.' Viktor bowed deeply, and the movement drew the attention of his teammates. Within seconds, the two women were surrounded by the Bulgarians.

'It's lovely to meet you, Viktor. Anneken is very proud.'

'I am very happy to meet the witch that inspires my Oma so much.' Krum's German was clearly accented, even more than Hermione's, but she presumed it was better than his English if that was the language he'd chosen to speak in.

'Fräulein Gorlois! The owner of this castle?' A massive man loomed over her, 'I am Ivan.'

'Yes.' Hermione smiled faintly, 'It's my castle.'

'Very impressive!' Another massive man pushed Ivan aside and bowed to her. 'I am Vulchanov. The Lady Krum tells us you fly too.'

'Oh, not on a broom.'

'Lady Krum tells us you're unbeatable.' A tall, lithe redhead pushed between the two men.

'Oh.' Hermione could feel herself flushing. 'It's mostly Katana. I ride a beast, not a broom.'

'I don't suppose you'd be interested in a race? This whole evening is boring.' The woman waved vaguely in the direction of the festivities around them and Hermione couldn't help but glance longingly at the stables. She hated balls, and it was even worse when she didn't even speak the same language as most of the guests.

'I'm sure nobody would notice you missing.' Anneken whispered conspiratorially. 'There's so many people here that I doubt anyone would notice the difference.'

It took Hermione half a second to decide that she would rather be with her beast.

'Okay.'

'We will see you when you're changed.' The Bulgarian witch glanced down at Hermione's ball gown and the young witch looked at the enviably comfortable uniform that the quidditch player wore.

'I don't need to change.' She decided. 'I'll meet you on the west tower in fifteen minutes, I have to warm Katana up if I'm going to race.'

'I shall walk you.' Viktor announced proudly. 'Clara can bring my broom.'

The rest of the team headed off, looking far more cheerful than they had a moment ago.

'They will be very competitive.' Krum cautioned as they headed for the stables.

'Oh.' Hermione's eyes gleamed. 'Don't worry. I will be too.'

'We have firebolts.'

'So does Harry.' She pointed out. 'Perhaps I could introduce you to him. He plays seeker for his house and I'm sure he'd love a few pointers.'

Viktor grunted an assent, pulling open the door to the stables. To her pleasure, Flighty was already there and Katana was bridled. As she preferred for tricky flying, he was bareback, which meant that the harness couldn't interfere with his flexible frame.

'He is a magnificent beast.' Viktor acknowledged, running his hand over the gleaming scales. 'Oma Lintzen told us he was trained as a war horse, but that you were the only one who could control him. We used to try to see how close we could get to him, until he almost took one of my school friend's head off.'

'This was from a dark wizard's curse.' Hermione traced the Kevlar weave that had been grafted over the scar in his wings. It was slightly grey, but the potions that Frau Hassel had created to preserve it had more than done their job. 'He was defending me from an army of inferi.'

'Impressive.' Krum mounted up smoothly enough to suggest that he'd had lessons, although he looked less than comfortable when Hermione led Katana out the back of the stable and into the dirt training courtyard, then mounted up behind him.

A flick of the reins later they were soaring up into the air, hugging the rooftops as they circled around the back of the castle, then rocketing upwards once they were out of sight. In under a minute they were alighting on the roof and Viktor stumbled down.

'I think I will stick to brooms.' He decided. 'Brooms have charms to reduce the wind.'

'That wasn't even fast.' Hermione grinned. 'I'm going to warm him up properly. I'll be back in a moment.'

Needless to say, they all enjoyed the rest of the evening far more than they would have otherwise and the matter of the head of MISC was quickly forgotten.