The courtyard didn't feel the same as it had for previous years. He didn't know whether it was the prospect of a cold and lonely Yule in the abandoned warrens beneath the ruins of Blau Berg, or the lack of camaraderie when everyone else around him was celebrating a return to their families.
He'd bid goodbye to his followers earlier in the day, in their planning room, so he was alone when he mounted Kelpie in a shadowed corner of the courtyard. Across from him, in a puddle of bright torchlight, the remaining coven children were mounting their own beasts. Mareike made some comment, mounting a Granian so white and glossy that it was almost pearlescent and Yannik Kollmann laughed. Berg, already mounted, hovered behind the two with a wry expression.
As if sensing his attention, Gellert's ward brother suddenly looked up and their eyes met over the heads of the milling students. He wasn't quick enough to look away, and suddenly Berg was spurring his hippogriff between students, heading in Gellert's direction. Hastily, Gellert barged his own beast through the crowd. Unlike Berg's, his predatory beast had no problems clearing a path to the gates and he escaped before the younger boy could catch up with him.
Once he'd escaped the torchlight of the courtyard, it was a simple matter to slip slightly off the main track where the snow was still fresh and less slippery and blend into the night as he cantered away.
Coincidentally, he'd ended up timing his arrival to the portal perfectly. A trio of very small second years had reached the front of the queue, unmounted and needing a beast to accompany them to the same destination as his. They trembled like the last leaves of autumn on their branches as they gripped onto Kelpie's harness, and they fled as soon as they stepped through into the pale winter sunlight of the small wizarding settlement. Their parents - progressionists, but not wealthy enough for the absurd outfits that some wore, pulled their children to safety with suspicious glances in his direction.
He sneered and barged Kelpie past the rest of the crowd of waiting families. Nobody questioned him, not once they saw the Grindelwald crest still embroidered on his beast's harness, and once he was clear of the small wixen settlement he could spur Kelpie up to his full pace. It was warmer in Germany than it had been in Norway and the sun would remain in the sky for another three hours still, but he had about a hundred miles to cover before he reached the ruins.
If he hadn't already experienced the long hours and hunger of the torturous return from the desert, Gellert didn't think he would have managed the ride. He'd never covered the route on the ground, and had failed to accommodate the rough terrain and the number of muggle villages he'd have to pass through, slowing to a muggle pace until he was out of sight. He was too tired by the time he arrived to explore the warrens or cast warming charms, let along hunt down something for either himself or Kelpie to eat. He ended up curling up in the same room as the exhausted beast, sharing meagre warmth and the saddle blanket.
He didn't even remember sleeping, but he woke up to disorientating warmth. For a minute, he lay there, trying to figure out what was happening. A fire crackled, heat stroking his skin and leaving him cosy beneath a thick fur blanket whilst the rich scent of hot meat tugged at his stomach, almost obscuring the mineral-rich, damp smell of the Grindelwald warrens. Kelpie has no longer at his back, but the beast's hooves scuffed against the stone floor, along with another beast. Whoever it was that had lit the fire was across the room, breathing lightly.
He cracked open an eye and immediately wished he hadn't.
It was Hermione that had found him.
He'd forgotten so much about her in the past term. The untamed glory of her dark curls, the elegance with which she held herself, the way that light glowed against her tanned skin. Her unique clothing; practical but no less rich fur cloak, simple skirts with just enough embroidery at the hems to not look plain.
'Oh, you're awake.' Hermione greeted, perhaps hearing the change in his breathing or noticing the reflection of the firelight against his slitted eyes. He briefly considered forgiving her, just to be able to enjoy the warmth of her magic and presence for a bit longer. Then he angrily stamped that idea down and pondered whether he should ignore her, or perhaps storm out instead, but his stomach vetoed that idea.
'How did you find me?' He asked instead, opting for a middle path. He sat up, discovering that she'd conjured a blanket - blue, of course; all her conjurations were blue unless she specifically chose otherwise. Katana was in the corner, snoozing with his tufted chin on Kelpie's back.
'Berg told me you'd left alone.' She waved a hand vaguely, 'there weren't many options.'
'Berg needs to keep to himself.' Gellert sneered. He was starting to get bored of the younger boy reporting to Hermione and pestering him with updates from the family. In a casual display of power, Hermione twirled her hand and the dirt swirled up from the floor, forming the shape of a bowl and then transfiguring into delicate porcelain. He'd forgotten how casually she used wandless magic; it was rare outside the old families, where magic became so used to a wand that it forgot how to channel itself. Where wixen had to work hard to channel their power without the crutch.
She passed him the bowl, filled to the brim with soup ladled from a pot over the fire.
'I was worried. It's cold and you're out here alone…'
'I can handle it-'
'I know.' Hermione assured. She lifted her hand to forestall further argument and he was stunned by the sudden similarity to his mother. Hermione had been with the family for just over six years, and she was far from the excitable young witch that had first appeared in his bedroom. She was fifteen, but could have passed for an of-age witch. There was a gravity to her, a weight upon her shoulders that belonged on those of someone much older.
A spiteful voice in his head reminded him that he would have happily shared those burdens with her if she let him.
'I know you can handle it, but I was still worried. I haven't heard from you in weeks; you ignore all our letters and won't speak to Berg.'
Gellert took the stew, too hungry to be spiteful. It was delicious; made by the Grindelwald elves and heated to perfection by the witch that had spent years cooking over an open fire in her family stronghold.
'I'm fine.' Gellert finally informed her begrudgingly, when it became clear that she would just watch him eat with uncomfortable intensity until he gave her something. 'I don't need your help, and I don't need your worry.'
She pursed her lips.
'Well, your trust vault is available if you need it.' She pulled a golden chain from around her neck, chucking it over to him. The little key glittered in the firelight before it landed next to his knee. He snatched it up quickly, tucking the chain into his pocket.
'Is that all?' He demanded harshly. Hermione bit her lip but remained unafraid at the tone which sent his school followers cowering.
'I suppose.' She finally admitted reluctantly. Gellert put the bowl aside with a clink and it dissolved into dust. 'I just… I miss you.'
'All you have to do is apologise.' Gellert couldn't help but remind her, the old anger flaring in his gut again. It was hot, hotter than the comfort of her magic.
'I don't think I need to apologise for anything.' Hermione's open demeanour closed up, cooling to match the icy public persona that his mother wore. She'd become unnervingly good at it, and he found the experience more than a little unsettling. But he had his own mask to match it - cool, Grindelwald arrogance. They stared each other down for a long moment; two powerful wixen, trained to lead. He was glad when Hermione finally caved with a weary sigh.
'I don't have time for this.' She breathed, tossing her long hair as she strode to Katana and picked up his reins. The beast jolted in surprise, but followed after her with a reluctant brush of a wing over his stall-mate's flanks. Gellert remained seated, cold mask rigidly in place as Hermione flicked the fenrir-skin hood up over her hair, mounted up and rode out of the tunnel without a backwards glance.
There was a defeated cast to her shoulders, which was painful and satisfying in equal measure.
He waited a long time after she'd gone, extinguishing and relighting the fire out of spite, just so that it wasn't her magic warming the room. Then he headed outside to check that she really had left.
With his solitude assured, he set about making the space more comfortable. When he'd journeyed up from the desert on Star's back, he'd been an inexperienced wizard with little more than average spell casting ability. Now, he was far more competent.
The warrens had once been built to accommodate the population of wizarding Germany in a crisis, so each set of caves had been adapted to be basically hospitable. The doors only needed a simple reparo to fix the hinges but the plumbing charms in the communal bathrooms had collapsed with the wards so he was forced to resort to vanishing charms and conjured water. Pages of torn parchment were easy enough to transfigure into straw for Kelpie, considering the resemblance, and a textbook became a bed for Gellert on the other side of the room. He expanded his trunk at the end of the bed and pulled out the thick pile of parchments relating to the new castle - Nurmengard, spreading them over the top of the trunk like it was a desk.
It had been several hours by the time he emerged into the bright light of the outside world. The sun was well overhead, glittering off the crystalline snow that lay in a thick blanket over the ruined estate. Deep gouges marked where Hermione had taken off and landed and Kelpie's own prints trudged up the slope from the night before, smudged with the weary dragging of his feet.
Otherwise, the estate had gone rather wild. The carefully manicured shrubs had escaped their careful beds in the gardens and started crawling over the hulking, boulder-like castle ruins. The mighty trees that had been seeded by Hermione's sorcery on the last Yule held in the castle had grown even further, towering over the remaining stubs of towers, surpassed only by the rib-like stone arches of the ballroom which were still protected and stabilised by the combined magic of their little group, which had been so promising back then.
He climbed over what had once been the kitchens, where he'd taken part in a food fight with Hermione and the garden where they'd had a snowball-fight-slash-duel and then been punished by his mother. To his right was the lawn where he'd taught her to ride on one of the massive sleipnir and further down the slope was the ritual altar where they'd celebrated their first Ostara together. A deep crack now rent the stone slab, rendering it useless, and one of the protective barrows had been blasted open, leaving another unsightly and misshapen lump beneath the snow.
A small doe made the mistake of wandering out into his field of vision. The deadly green light flashed from Gellert's fingers - the killing curse, he now knew. Wandless, wordless; the manifestation of his intent for a clean and painless death for the animal which would feed both him and Kelpie that evening. He hadn't forgotten how to clean the carcass either - an athame from his trunk proved neater and easier than using cutting charms with his wand.
He'd be okay over Yule. He didn't need Hermione, or his family.
Having known Hermione for several years, he no longer laboured under the delusion that all muggles were dirty and primitive. The village below may not be the urban landscape of gleaming lights and shiny metal that he'd seen in her memories meany years ago, but he knew he could trade for bread, milk and perhaps other vegetables to supplement his meat.
He saddled Kelpie - the sun had already dipped beneath the looming hills, and the slightly iridescent green sheen of the beast's coat could be mistaken for a particularly glossy black in the gathering twilight.
He followed his own prints down the track, dismounting half way down the hill and transfiguring several acorns into a pretty golden necklace. The enchantment wouldn't hold, but it would be enough for him to make the trade and be long gone by the time the muggles discovered that anything was wrong… and as Hermione had assured him when she enchanted the ship, it wasn't like the muggles would jump to magic as their first conclusion.
It was late afternoon by the time he reached the village, and the twilight was beginning to dim to darkness. The purplish light had changed to a cool blue-grey and the sky was smudged with black on the eastern horizon. The two small muggle shops had already closed, but a pub at the end of the main street was clearly open and several nags had been tethered to the bar outside. The dozed beneath thick blankets, munching idly on bags of hay.
Kelpie stood out among them like a sore thumb among them; tall, slender and fine coated, built for riding rather than farm work or pulling a cart. His harness glittered in the light from the door as it was thrown open, one of the patrons coming out.
The muggle man paused in the doorway, the loud farewell lost in his throat as he took in Gellert as he tethered his beast to the closest ring.
'Who're you?' The muggle demanded, eyeing up the beast and then the clearly well made, but obviously well worn trench coat that Gellert wore.
'Gellert Grindelwald.' Gellert replied. The man's eyes widened considerably.
'Grindelwald… from the castle?'
'From the castle.' Gellert confirmed. The muggles in this village had paid a tithe to his family since before the Statute of Secrecy and they still did now, to an unknown and unseen estate. They could see the castle, but the muggle repelling charms made sure that they never felt the need to visit.
'You planning to rebuild it then?' The muggle asked.
'That's what I'm here for.' Gellert finished tying up his beast, then turned back to the muggle, who'd whistled as if impressed.
'I can't imagine there's much left?'
Gellert was growing tired of the man pushing him for information. He stepped into the muggle's personal space, then raised his eyebrow in the direction of the door. Embarrassed, the man quickly pulled it open, then followed Gellert into the warm, loud, smokey room. A large fire blazed in a large place near the opposite wall, the chimney not quite working well and spilling smoke across the room which then mingled with the smoke curling from the mouths of several of the muggles. Gellert's nose wrinkled, particularly as he was forced up close to several men in grubby work clothes.
There was a bar at the far end of the room, attended by a father and son. Several other farmers were at the bar, holding slips of greyish paper and talking loudly about some kind of races. It took some time for Gellert to gain the elder of the two barkeep's attention.
The barkeep was a jovial sort of man, who also seemed to have nothing but questions.
'Little young to be out and about this late. Far from home?' The man commented, instead of asking what he needed. In the wizarding world, he was recognised by anyone and everyone, and nobody would dare question a Grindelwald, no matter their age or the oddness of their actions. It was irritating, to experience the limitations of his age now.
'I'd like dinner, bread and milk to take away with me.' Gellert ignored the question, pulling the transfigured necklace from his pockets.
'Blimey.' The flashing of the emeralds was bright and conspicuous in the room of dull greys and worn browns.
'From the castle, he is.' The muggle that had spotted Gellert outside had come back in, and his voice carried over the silence falling across the bar. It was far more attention than Gellert had anticipated or wanted to receive, he just hadn't realised that the German muggle world had been so dull. The family they'd stayed with years earlier had worn bright colours and decorated their buildings with painted pottery and bright weavings.
'The castle?' The inn keeper sounded fascinated.
'Came on a mighty fine beast - all dressed up with skinny legs and shining like wet ink.' The muggle from outside shared. Gellert rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
'Thought that castle had been abandoned, what with how overgrown the path was.' One of the other muggles commented.
'Except for those parties; could see the lights from here. What was it? Fireworks?'
'I thought it was a summer house.' A woman, dressed in a corset as tight as a revolutionary but bustier and somehow more revealing than a tranditionalist.
'Don't be ridiculous, Anna. The parties are always in winter, must have a summer house elsewhere - maybe one of those chateaux in France.'
'Well?' One of the muggles turned to Gellert. 'Do you? Have another castle somewhere?'
Resigned, Gellert heaved a reply.
'We have an island, with a couple of small cottages. My mother, sister and ward-brother have been living there since the fire.'
'You got anywhere to stay, lad? You're a long way from your family.' The innkeeper deposited a bowl of stew in front of him and Gellert cautiously poked at the lumps of meat. For once, the muggle sounded concerned rather than just nosy.
'There are rooms built into the caves beneath the castle.' Gellert revealed; it wasn't like that fact was a secret. 'They're more than habitable.'
'Don't pester the lad, Ernst, they're a funny lot those Lords and Ladies. Always sending their children away - bet he went to one of those fancy boarding schools.'
'In Norway.' Gellert agreed, hoping to reassure the muggles enough to stop them worrying. The last thing he wanted was any would-be helpful visitors during his stay, particularly when he wasn't confident in the strength and status of the muggle repelling charms remaining over the estate.
'I'd wager some sort of military service too, by the looks of that jacket.'
Gellert self consciously pulled his jacket closed around him at the comment. It was well made, but plain and unembellished; hardly fitting for a young heir, particularly for those used to the fancy muggle nobles.
'How old are you, boy?'
Gellert drank the last of the stew; it had been bland, bulked up with barley rather than meat but hot and filling. Better than anything he could have managed with only the meat he'd caught that morning.
'Fifteen.' Gellert replied, turning to the barkeep and continuing before anyone could say anything else. He was tired of the questions. 'Do you have that bread and milk?'
'Certainly.' The inn owner's eyes darted down to the glittering emeralds at Gellert's elbow. 'Anything else? That's worth a darn sight more than the bare essentials, I wouldn't feel right.'
Fifteen minutes later, Gellert finally handed over the necklace in exchange for several large packages, selected by the inn keeper's wife, who'd cooked the stew. Several of the muggles offered to help tie it onto Kelpie and Gellert suspected they just wanted an excuse to see the fine horse up close, judging by their comments.
All in all, he thought, as he rode back up to his room in the caves, the muggles had been far too nosy, but still helpful. It was a trip he would make again.