Hermione had only been back in Gellert's life for a short handful of years but he'd already irrevocably changed. He'd have liked to think he'd become closer to what he was as a child; oh, he wasn't enough of a fool to believe he could ever become that boy again, but perhaps he had manage to regain some of his better characteristics.
He was aware of his own darkness. He could feel how the crisp coldness of his magic had warped, becoming tainted by the touch of the dark magic that he'd used. He was aware that he enjoyed power a little too much and of his own tendency towards arrogance. But he was aware of them as pitfalls now; he knew to catch himself before he dove into violent revenge and he knew to take the words of those around him and trust them… particularly the witches.
But he had also become accustomed to other people. It had been easier, before, to while away his days with twisted plots for revenge, escape plans and self recrimination. He hadn't missed anyone, he hadn't felt the isolation of his distant cell.
He'd loved Hermione's monthly letters, the weekly updates from the papers the warden brought and the occasional conversation with a guard as he was washed. Having all of that ripped away was like tearing out his newly revived heart.
Suddenly, every minute dragged by like it was another century. He spent hours staring out of the window, reaching out with his magic in the futile hopes that he would be able to glean some detail of goings on in the magical world. He meditated, scouring the future, present and past in his visions, he touched their bond, muted with distance and Hermione's distraction, reassuring himself that she was at least still alive.
His efforts gave him minimal relief from the loneliness that tugged at his admittedly fragile sanity. Often, he caught himself plotting his dark escape, blasting through the wards that Hermione had painstakingly designed and reigning dark fire down on those who held him captive. He hastily cut off his day dreams of marching on the International Confederation of Wizards, setting the chambers alight and… he cut himself off again.
Hermione had promised to come for him. He had to remember that, like the light at the end of the tunnel. He had earned his imprisonment and Hermione; the embodiment of everything he'd failed to preserve, would free him when she was ready for him. It was the light at the end of the tunnel… a light that he could see, but couldn't judge the distance of.
He ruthlessly returned to his task, re-exerting his control over his magic and re-learning how to wield it without the crutch of the elder wand. Stiff limbs forced to cross, eyes closed and magic winding around his fingers, Gellert reached out and lifted the first of Hermione's letters. It lifted off the ground with a rasp of parchment against stone. Once it was steady, he reached for the next, and the next.
The clang of the small service door opening startled him and he hastily dropped the letters, picking one up by hand to pretend that he was just like any wizard; rendered disarmed by the lack of wand.
A tray was dropped through and Gellert quickly caught it before the bowl could tip. Pasta, not as overcooked as usual, tomato sauce and the awful shredded ham that he hated but couldn't afford not to eat.
He paused for a minute before he started eating, admiring the way the ham had fallen across the sauce in a pattern that looked like a triskelion, one of Hermione's family's favourite symbols, then he stabbed it with the provided spoon and stirred it all together.
Half an hour later, the ham was cold, the pasta forgotten. Gellert was transfixed by the bottom of the bowl.
Some kind of syrup, smudged from when he'd stirred the pasta together, formed letters on the porcelain.
"Potter pass 2nd task, Gorlois well, no news."
It wasn't much, but it was like water to a drowning man. He didn't know who had sent the message; perhaps the warden, who'd seemed friendly. Perhaps Hermione had bribed or threaten a guard, or more likely managed to install an ally in the tower, or even convert one of the ones currently there to her side. He'd done it before, of course; it was how he'd escaped MACUSA and Hermione was just as capable of that kind of manipulation.
But he knew that it couldn't be anything like that. Hermione despised corruption so bribery was out and she would be more likely to give up the old ways than threaten anyone for something as minor as Gellert's comfort in his cell. Of course, Hermione was just as charismatic as he had been and was more than capable of gaining allies within the ICW, but Gellert was ready to bet Alice was watching both Grindelwalds like hawks and doubted anyone that had even remotely been in contact with Hermione would be allowed near him.
Which left two options; the unlikely one was that Gellert had somehow inspired that kind of loyalty himself. He hadn't been actively trying but the warden had certainly warmed up to him over the past couple of years. Enough to risk his job though? Unlikely.
Which left only one option. There was another player on the field; sympathetic to Hermione and Gellert, so presumably the old ways, but not related to anyone who had once followed Gellert and clearly not related to Hermione. They'd have to be well connected or very very lucky, to have managed to get a message to him under the nose of the Head of International Security herself. Gellert knew of no such group, but their presence was threatening. He wished he had a way to warn Hermione of them.
He read the words one last time, trying to fix the image of them in his memory, before he deliberately smeared them with the side of the spoon and finished his meal.