Gellert tried to convince himself that he'd had a pleasant and enjoyable Yule holidays, with moderate success. He'd quickly given up on trying to build anything on the site of the old castle for several reasons. It had been built upon the warrens of caves and cellars and he'd given up on trying to fill them in such a way that there was solid ground beneath each wall of the new, much smaller castle. It had also proved to be a position that was difficult to defend, and many of the texts they'd studied had suggested having at least one side of the castle difficult to access.

So he'd taken a page from Avalon's book and moved the location of the new castle so that it perched precariously upon a cliff, with one facade protected by it's height and inaccessibility. The spot that Hermione had already marked with the name Nurmengard, proved to be ideal, which he took to mean that she'd already somehow figured that same thing out.

Or perhaps Mordred had; he had been the source of much of their information about muggle castle defences.

Once that decision had been made, it was a matter of getting Star to fly massive chunks of stone across the valley, where he could cut into pieces with a complex piece of sorcery that combined cutting charms into complex diagrams and angles that created bricks out of the massive slabs that had once made up Blau Berg.

So perhaps not enjoyable, but certainly productive. By the beginning of the next year he had large piles of bricks and had managed to complete most of the complex piece of magic that would actually build the castle for him.

He'd also visited the muggle village three times for supplies, each time trading some transfigured piece of jewellery. They were primitive, lacking in respect, hygiene and manners and he continually marvelled that Hermione had somehow come from them. But they had their uses, he couldn't deny that.

'You've been productive.' Hermione's voice was loud over the sound of grinding stone as his sorcery finished it's work and deposited the latest pile of bricks in the snow. He whipped around, startled and annoyed by yet another visit, when he'd made it perfectly clear that he had nothing to say to her.

'Go away.' He snapped, his eyes sliding over her appearance despite himself. At first glance, she was just as proud and perfect as usual, but he knew her too well despite their recent separation. She'd lost weight and her fingers fidgeted around Katana's reins impatiently. She was stressed, and perhaps her visit was taken from an already full day.

'I just came to check that you were okay.' Hermione bit her lip.

'Well I am.' Gellert retorted. 'You can go now.'

'Can't we talk for a bit?' She asked uncertainly. 'That bench you made on the lookout is still there.'

Gellert glanced back at the piles of stone, along with the massive boulder that Star had heaved up several days ago. He'd learned his lesson after that one; without the elder wand, it was too big for him to cut alone. He'd stuck to smaller chunks since then, but there was a powerful witch that he was pretty sure would to anything to sit with him for fifteen minutes.

'Fine. But you'll have to help me later, to make up for wasted time.' He bargained. Hermione's eyes lit up predictably and he had her agreement within moments. She swung down from Katana, petted the beast once on the neck and told him to stay, then hurried after Gellert towards the treeline, heading in the direction of one of their favourite childhood spots.

He wondered briefly what other errands she had been planning to perform that day; she wore an oddly formal blue velvet cloak, rather than the fenrir skin one that she usually favoured and her skirts were silk rather than the more sturdy fabric she usually wore. She certainly wasn't dressed to be clambering over snow-covered logs through knee deep snow. Had she been that certain he'd say no to talking with her, or had visiting been a last minute decision?

'That was impressive sorcery.' Hermione finally broke the silence, coming up beside him despite logic saying that she should follow in the track he'd already cut into the snow.

'I've been practicing.' Gellert admitted. His first attempts had been pitiful and full of uneven cuts. He'd had to banish a whole stack, then spent an entire day recovering from the magical exertion. In hindsight, he should have used those poor stones to cobble the courtyard.

'And you have a natural talent.' Hermione agreed. 'Your mother always said you'd be excellent at sorcery.'

Gellert hummed in agreement, letting another awkward silence settle. They reached a small dip, crossed a frozen stream and startled a herd of unicorns as they clambered up the slippery rock to reach the stone bench that Gellert had magically moulded out of a boulder back before either of them went to school. It had a spectacular view - although not quite as tall as the spot where Gellert had chosen to build Nurmengard, the bench sat at the top of a short rocky cliff which allowed them to look out over the treetops to the rolling hills and down the valley to the muggle farmland below, whilst still being sheltered from the bitter wind by the trees at their backs.

He waved his hand, sweeping off all the snow. Hermione conjured blue flames in the shallow depression that she'd made for just such a purpose, several years ago. She sat, pulling her splaying skirts beneath her as a layer of insulation from the cold stone and allowing him space to sit beside her. The bench had been considerably more spacious when they were younger.

'Berg tells me that you've become rather popular at school.' Hermione attempted conversation again.

'I've been helping them.' Gellert shrugged. 'None of them are particularly good witches or wizards, but they're allies.'

'They'll be stronger for your help.' Hermione assured, glancing at him. She bit her lip again and he realised abruptly that she was nervous - not of him; he didn't think anyone could intimidate the High Priestess. No, she was going to ask him to do something, and she was trying to work out how best to talk him into it. He needed to remember to remain on his guard around her; she was not one of his malleable followers at school; she was his equal, and he'd seen her talk people into wrapping themselves around her fingers. But he was a Grindelwald by blood and he would not fall for her tricks.

'Yes, they will be. We've been so caught up in our duty to protect the people that we've forgotten that they can protect themselves.'

Hermione twisted too look at him, at first looking startled at the strength of his tone, then quickly becoming contemplative as her eyes seemed to slide over his shoulder and into nothingness.

'You're right.' She agreed after a moment, her voice still heavy with thought. 'And this restriction on underage sorcery…'

'It was passed?' Gellert found himself asking grimly. He quickly assuaged his annoyance at his reliance on her information by reminding himself that a restrictive law would severely limit what he could do at Blau Berg until he came of age. It was vital to his plans to know that kind of information before he was caught unawares.

'Postponed.' Hermione's nose wrinkled. 'The wizengamot were unable to reach a majority vote.'

Gellert hissed in distaste and the silence fell between them again as both made the conscious effort to steer away from overly political subjects. Gellert was very aware of how their views had separated and he didn't want to ruin the peacefulness of sitting next to her with more arguments. His magic had missed hers, like he was a cold-blooded creature that had been slowly freezing to death without her warmth. Then Hermione had to go and ruin it.

'Anneken and Andon Krum are getting married.' Hermione informed him, confirming Gellert's suspicion that she had been intending to ask something of him. She forged on before he could open his mouth to refuse. 'It's going to be a private ceremony, so that the Lintzens can attend without it getting out that they can't do magic.'

'And you desperately need someone else with magic to act as a witness, because you'll be performing the ceremony and Yannik and Mareike don't have the strength. As usual, you want me for my power, not my person.' Gellert concluded bitterly. No wonder she'd stopped by, and it wasn't because she actually wanted to spend time with him.

'No!' Hermione gasped, and it was genuine enough to draw his attention back to her. He was shocked by the sudden change in her demeanour; all occulumency shields fallen to leave the young, emotive face of his childhood friend. Then it clouded with anger - a darkness that he'd never seen her wear, and he found it pinned him to the seat as effectively as a sticking charm.

'How dare you!' She rose. 'How dare you say that I only care for your power. I love you. I see you, and I see what you will become. I see it happening, even now - you gathering your little posse of followers, planning your war and your ruin, and yet I still love you. I see you neglecting your duty to the family, planning to harm those you swore to protect, obsessing over power when you should be supporting us… supporting me.'

'How dare you!?' Gellert found himself unstuck by his own red-hot fury. 'I see what will happen, and I am working to prevent it. I see what is coming, the pain and ruin that we will be dragged into by the revolutionaries. Now is the time to fight, before we are dragged into a war worse than anything we have seen before. You do not know the future. You should be the one supporting me, instead of getting hung up on petty morals and hiding behind your history books.'

'You are not the only one with knowledge, and your arrogance will be your undoing. You haven't learned, despite everything we've been through. War is never the solution; the war to end all wars does not exist, because there will be another and another.' Gellert was shocked to notice tears, angry tears, but tears none-the-less, streaking down Hermione's cheeks. 'Because there are no winners, just losers; those who lost family, friends and livelihoods in the pursuit of someone else's ideals. And discontent breeds discontent, and when you fall you will leave a vacuum, which only another aggressor can hope to fill, rallying and raging until war comes again. And I am sick of war, I am sick of cleaning up your mess, of dealing with the repercussions of your deeds, of bearing the burden of your name and family because you've been caught up in your own fantasies and self importance!'

Gellert's fury disappeared as fast as it had risen, because this was not Hermione of Gorlois, the cool, collected High Priestess, daughter of an ancient line of kings and legends, whose mind was as sharp as her magic. This was Hermione Granger, the lost muggle girl who'd appeared on his bed and found herself cracking under the burden of ruling a crumbling nation at fifteen. He didn't understand much of what she was saying, but he could feel the emotion in her voice, in the way her magic collapsed in on itself.

'And I'm fighting the ministry and stupid duels, and I need you - I need your advice and, yes, your strength, because you're my friend and I love you.'

He found himself moving in, wrapping arms around her and pulling her to his chest. She sobbed into the shoulder of his coat, her hair escaping it's braids and tickling his face.

'And I had to take Viktor Krum to the ball!' She finally wailed, the end of her emotional outburst lost to the epaulettes of his coat, except for the last line. Gellert roughly quashed the jealousy that surged through him at the suggestion of another wizard; particularly Viktor Krum, the overweight and lazy boy in his dormitory, taking his witch to a ball.

'I'm sorry.' Gellert finally admitted to her hair. Hermione pulled away from him, red rimmed eyes wide with surprise. Gellert suddenly found his boots fascinating. Or hers; dragonhide, and far too practical for the gown she wore. Even when she pretended to be a civilised, high bred society witch, she was still the fiery muggleborn he'd first come to know. He'd been a fool to think she was after him just for his power and name; she'd been his first friend, long before she could have hoped to understand just what she was getting into with their family. He was the one who had dragged her into all of this mess, and then left her to carry the burden over a wand and his own pride.

He disagreed with her still, of course; the wand was powerful and could be the solution to their problems, but he was her family and her betrothed. He could forgive and forget the difference in opinions, because she needed him. His beautiful, strong, indomitable witch was faltering.

'I'm sorry for leaving you alone, to try and hold things together.'

'Please come home.' Hermione begged softly. Gellert met her eyes, then glanced up towards where he'd been working that morning. 'I'll help you with the castle - every weekend.' She promised.

'Okay.' He held up a hand, 'I'm not changing my opinions, but I'll support you now, and we can discuss it more. Calmly, like adults.'

'Thank you.' Hermione smiled, then sniffed and swiped at her eyes, laughing weakly when her hand came away wet. Gellert offered her his handkerchief and she took it gratefully. 'I'm sorry too, by the way. I should have realised that we were being too confrontational. I could have handled it all better, and I should have realised that you were feeling undervalued… and for crying.'

'You, Hermione, are my best friend, my sister and my betrothed. I should have noticed that you were struggling.'

She laughed weakly again, then hurled herself in for another hug. He held her for a one moment, relishing the warmth and her magic as it slowly unfurled again; first a candle, then a camp fire, then a Yule fire, warm and cleansing. She pulled away, eventually, and took a deep breath. Before his eyes, the facade of the High Priestess was rebuilt. She straightened her shoulders and turned up her chin, smoothing her hair back into braids and rearranging her cloak around her shoulders. Gellert offered her his arm gallantly, and she took it.

'Now, I believe I owe you some sorcery?' Hermione asked lightly, her voice carrying virtually no trace of her earlier emotions. Gellert smiled and helped her down the rock face, retracing their tracks to the hilltop.