Gellert couldn't decipher his own feelings about the end of yet another school year. He was glad to be free of school and the pressures of always being a strong and doubtless leader among his allies but he was dreading the upcoming reunion with his mother.

His relationship with Hermione had always been easy compared to his relationship with his mother. Hermione was more willing to take him as he came, always supportive but rarely demanding. She'd forgiven him quickly… no, not forgiven, just put aside their differences. His relationship with his mother had always been more fraught and she had never been a forgiving woman. Gellert firmly believed he was in the right, and he knew his mother would be equally as unwilling to put aside her opinions.

Unsurprisingly, neither met him at the portal to Hexemeer. Gellert was late, having spent the last opening hours of the library working on Jori Mustonen's ritual. Hermione's family viewed the Fey as something similar to gods and he knew that she would view the ritual, which summoned one of the Sidhé like a bound demon, as sacrilegious. It was easier to make sure she never found out about it.'

Berg was still waiting, enjoying the summer warmth as he lounged in his saddle. He glanced up when Gellert arrived, but offered no greeting. He waited until Gellert drew level, and then heeled his Hippogriff over to the portal. The teacher, looking irritable, opened it up for them and the two boys rode through in silence.

Hermione must have had some kind of ward set up around the portal to notify her of their arrival. They'd barely passed the barrows - earth still bare and scarred from the wights that had risen more than a year ago, when the distinctive silvery figure of Katana shot up from the village at the other end of the island. Like a spell shot from a wand, he skimmed the rusting grasses of the island and scattered cattle until he suddenly filled Gellert's entire perspective, massive wings of silvery blue leather, flashing scales and gleaming talons. Hermione was bareback, indecently dressed in a pair of very short shorts that exposed bare legs and feet which hung against course scales and a shirt that Gellert could have sworn was his. Her hair blew around her in long tendrils, whipped up by the brisk sea breeze which always swept the island. She was tanned a deep brown, as always, and her cheeks glowed with a healthy flush.

'Welcome home, Gellert.' She greeted warmly, leaning over from Katana's back to give him a hug. Kelpie happily fell into step with Katana, bumping his shoulder against the Longma's folded wings.

'What am I? Jellied eels?' Berg asked, steeping his Hippogriff up on her other side.

'Yes.' Hermione joked, her magic swirling happily between them. 'Besides, I wrote to you yesterday.'

'You didn't write to me yesterday.' Gellert pointed out, slightly offended.

'That's because you still haven't replied to my last letter.' Hermione shot back easily and dismissively. It stung his pride to have her attention diverted; he'd come back to the island for her and now she was too busy chatting with Berg to pay attention to him.

But he had to concede that perhaps she was right and he hadn't replied to her last letter. In his defence, it had arrived along with two other letters and one had contained the long awaited response from Baghilda Bagshot. Organising a legal international portkey had been surprisingly involved - the British weren't keen on allowing members of the coven into their country. He'd managed, but it had taken the kind of political machinations that Grindelwalds rarely had to resort to.

The three beasts made their way up the long track that wound it's way from the portal to the village at the top of the island. Hermione battled the awkward silence between the two boys by enquiring about their years, their exams and what everyone else in their age group was planning to do when they graduated. Gellert and Berg's futures were dully predictable - they'd graduate well clear of the top of the class, achieve masteries that they'd probably never use, create a coven and join the war against the revolution, managing their estates once their parents stepped down. Their peers, however, had much more fluid futures. Many intended to jump straight into the workforce, either working for their parents or one of the old families. Others planned to join the ministry, take up apprenticeships and a bare handful intended to pursue a mastery. Of course, Hermione laughed, there was a fair chance that most of those ambitions would change several times before the end of their seventh year.

Gellert was surprised to find nobody waiting to greet them when they finally rode into the hamlet at the top of the island. Of course, he shouldn't have expected elves; they'd stopped bothering to take Hermione's beast back in Blau Berg and she'd guilted the two boys into personally caring for their mounts before Gorlois had even had the chance.

But he had hoped for his mother.

Of course, he knew that she showed her affection differently and that she considered her children's independence to be their greatest strength. She'd never really greeted him after a term at school, not like his peers who told stories of hugs and tears and motherly love. He'd still believed that she might watch the return of her wayward son through the window of her office in the lighthouse, after he'd been away for almost a year.

There was no movement at the windows, no disruption to the gleaming golden light that warned away sailors.

They dismounted and stabled their beasts as Hermione brought them up to date on the current political situation at Berg's urging. Again, Gellert had been kept reasonably well informed by his group of allies but his mother's connections had given Hermione a very different perspective.

The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery looked like it was about to be passed, following the resounding success of a similar law in Britain but they'd managed to fend off a retroactive casting of a 'trace' on the wands of underage wizards. Only those new to the world would be inflicted with the constant supervision of the ministry - those who already had their wands would be under the supposed supervision of their parents. It was a victory that they had desperately needed as the coven children were almost all under age and their parents no longer had the magic to mask their own casting. It would have been quickly and publicly obvious that something was amiss.

But there had been other political wins; they'd conceded so stupid legislation that made apparition illegal without a licence, which hardly mattered to them when they actively avoided apparition. In return, the faction fighting for the phase out of the portal system had been decimated. A wand register had been voted down as had a petition for ministry required records of the warding systems on magical properties. The newly established Russian Ministry of Magic had finally settled and reached out to the international community, taking the place of the deposed Baba Yaga. The country had been devastated by the years of poor harvest, the plague of pestilences, muggle conflict and unrest and then the hasty and total removal of their ruling class and the inevitable conflict that came with the re-distribution of their mighty estates. Tattered, worn and desperate for external trade, the newly fledged political system were none-the-less violently anti-traditional and traded exclusively with those without links to the only remaining coven. A number of traditionalists had been forced to rescind their support at the threat of losing trade relation with the Russians and there had been a sudden influx of money into revolutionary coffers.

The political picture was far from in their favour and it only reinforced Gellert's belief that more authoritative action was needed. He remained silent on his opinions, knowing that it would only bring more conflict into their little family.

With their beasts stabled, Hermione informed them that his mother had requested their presence at dinner. They split off to their individual cottages to wash and change out of their riding clothes.

Beastie finally met him in his room. The elf took his trunk from him, resizing it and floating various items to their correct positions. Gellert was vaguely pleased that his elf had missed him at least, and he busied himself with settling back into the luxurious comfort of his rooms. There was a lavishly hot bath which he could soak in for as long as he wished, unlike the public baths at school where they had to wash quickly once the witches were finished. He soaked for almost an hour, relishing in the charms that kept the water at the perfect temperature. Then he stepped out and allowed his elf to wrap him in a robe and towel, spelling his hair dry in the careful manner that held it smoothly back from his face without any of the oils that the revolutionary boys favoured.

His trunk was unpacked by the time he returned to his rooms, the worn Durmstrang uniform likely already destroyed. His books filled in spaces on the shelves and his homework waited on the desk beneath fresh candles. Evening clothes had already been laid out for him in his usual preference of dark colours, the lack of cloak suggesting that they would be eating inside.

He dressed quickly, then allowed the Beastie to neaten his collar and shine his boots before heading out. Manners dictated that he wait for Hermione; up until last summer, he would have barged in and talked to her through the open dressing room door whilst she finished getting ready. They would have discussed advanced magical theory or sword craft as her elf finished battling her hair, and then Hermione would have emerged, somehow looking more stunning than the last time he'd seen her. She would have completely ignored his distraction as she argued with her elf against hats and cloaks, trusting Gellert to gather himself enough to offer his arm and rescue her before she could be forced into the cumbersome formal trappings of evening dress. Inevitably, she would then resort to warming charms later in the evening and Gellert would give her his jacket for the short walk back to the cottage after dinner.

But things had changed. Gellert waited outside the cottage, listening to the familiar argument drifting through the open windows. A part of him desperately wanted to barge in as he used to but another part was terrifyingly aware that she was a nearly adult witch - a year of distance had emphasised just how different she was from the wild sprite of his childhood. Being in her rooms whilst she was dressing just beyond an open door was wildly inappropriate.

She emerged eventually, scowling fiercely and swathed in a pastel pale lilac robe which flowed around her deep purple dress. Flashes of silver wolves embroidered into the fabric where one would have expected a floral design prevented the thing becoming too feminine, but it was still a deviation from anything he'd seen her in before.

'Oh good. I thought you'd drowned in your bath.' Hermione remarked, taking his offered arm. Clearly, she still didn't see what was wrong with him being so close to her whist she changed. Of course, Hermione had always been wildly out of touch with what was appropriate for a young witch of influence and he was eternally grateful that he'd never had to contend with teenage wizards before she'd left Hogwarts.

It was another surprise to remember how Hermione never allowed herself to be led. The insidious muggle interpretation of witches being escorted as if they were weak had infiltrated wizarding society so completely that very few even remembered it was so that they could dual cast at a moment's notice. Most witches were more than happy to use the escorting arm to assist with their balance in their heels as they navigated uneven terrain. Hermione was as balanced and agile as a cat and her grip was the commanding grasp of a queen rather than a damsel.

He'd expected Berg to join them at his mother's rooms, taking Hermione's arm to escort her whilst Gellert escorted his mother. But they went straight to the cottage that held the dining room, meeting Berg at the door. His brother opened the door for them, heading straight into the room that Gellert remembered most recently from the terrible meeting after the attack of the wights, when they'd met to decide the fate of the coven.

It felt less dark and ominous than the last time he'd been inside. The missing wall allowed golden evening sunlight to set the silverware afire with a flare that was matched only by the glittering sea which stretched away beneath them. In the bright natural light, he almost missed the newly installed lamps on the walls, which flushed the corners with cleaner, brighter light than the old enchanted candles.

His mother…

His mother looked twice her age; like she'd skipped her fifties and soared straight into her seventies where her dark silver hair had lost its smooth sheen and started to wisp uncontrollably out of the severe bun that held it. Lines had spiderwebbed across smooth skin around her eyes and lips. She'd also made a surprising return to the severe corsets and high necked silk gowns that she'd worn during Hermione's early days.

'Gellert.' She greeted, not rising from her place at the head of the table.

'Mother.' Gellert barely withheld his sneer at the dispassionate greeting. Dark eyes followed him around the table as he escorted Hermione to her seat, relieved her of her robe and handed it off to an attentive elf as he pushed in his witch's chair.

'I'm glad to see you haven't lost your manners as well as your sense.' His mother commented. Hermione's fingers clamped around his arm, forestalling his sharp retort.

'Gellert has been working on recreating Blau Berg.' Hermione informed his mother, a touch of chill in her voice. Gellert never would have spoken to his mother like that, and neither would Hermione. Clearly, however, the dynamic between the two had changed in his absence.

'Of course.' His mother agreed sourly, after a pause that was fractionally too long.

'He has also been working hard to fulfil the duty of the family by instructing his peers in magical defence.' Hermione continued on firmly. For a moment, the two women held each other's gaze. If his mother had still been a witch, Gellert would have imagined some kind of battle of legilimency or perhaps a battle between two silently cast imperius curses.

'We are glad to have you supporting the family at home.' His mother finally acceded, looking away from Hermione. He would have been more forthright with his irritation if the vice-like grip on his wrist didn't remind him that those bones had been broken by the woman at the head of the table for a far lesser infraction than cutting contact for a year and, as Hermione had put it, abandoning the coven in their greatest time of need.

There was a brief pause, awkward, but studiously ignored by everyone in the room. Berg took his seat at Hermione's elbow and Gellert sat opposite her at his mother's right. His mother flicked her hand and food melted into being on their plates.

'Frau Kollmann's eyesight is getting worse.' Berg finally said, pausing between two spoonfuls of soup. Hermione made an unhappy noise and his mother sighed heavily.

'Is the other eye affected yet?' His mother asked. Gellert was almost horrified to notice a slight tremble in the spoon that carried the soup to her mouth.

'No.' Berg affirmed, glancing at Hermione. 'It looks like Frau Lintzen's theory was correct; the magical reconstruction is beginning to fail.'

There was a long, grave silence. Gellert felt like he was severely out of a loop that had already been spiralling downwards for some time.

'Why that one particularly?' His mother asked.

'I suspect because it is not an injury that the body would have been able to repair without magic.' Berg explained.

'Like my legs?'

Berg confirmed with a jerk of his head. Hermione sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, her slight slump betraying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

'We will need a comprehensive medical history from everyone.' Hermione decided. Gellert couldn't help but wonder if every dinner since he'd left had been like this; as grim as a command centre during a war whilst the upkeep of the coven was plotted over soup.

'Rumours of illness among the coven are already spreading.' Berg pointed out. Nobody needed to say that requesting medical histories would only add substance to those rumours and it was very unlikely that kind of information would remain buried for long.

'Then we will have to write them ourselves. Enlist Yannik - he is good at that kind of thing.'

Berg nodded to an elf, who popped away to do as bidden.

'And Gringotts?'

'Still proving difficult. I suspect a visit from Gellert would resolve issues.'

'What issues?' Gellert asked curiously. He'd known that Hermione must have been engaging in business beyond the island's wards, considering the formal wear she'd worn when she'd visited him at Blau Berg but he hadn't thought to question exactly what it was she was doing.

'The goblins will not release financial records or quantities of gold greater than a thousand galleons without a blood signature from the family head.' A thousand galleons was a lot, Gellert knew now, to his less titled peers. But he knew that his family tended to deal with galleons by the tens of thousand, with monthly outgoings and incomes into six figures across their various investments, interests and properties.

'And you can't access the vaults as locum matriarch?' Gellert demanded disbelievingly.

'Hermione is not the locum matriarch.' His mother interrupted as Hermione drew breath. 'The position of locum matriarch must be recognised magically - it is not just the passing of the ring. Hermione can act as locum matriarch but she is not. Without my magic, I cannot transfer control of the house to either of you.'

For a moment, Gellert was thunderstruck. He glanced around, as if searching for signs of the poverty that they must have been struggling through without access to the Grindelwald vaults. Hermione's gowns had probably been made by Anneken, the delicate slices of beef rolled into little funnels on his plate came from the cattle on the island, the fluffy potatoes… perhaps they were selling his mother's jewels? She wasn't wearing her usual diamond earrings. Gellert was no financial genius but he doubted all the jewels on the island would cover a year of Grindelwald expenditure, even if they had somehow managed to redirect some of their income before it went into the main vault.

'Fortunately, your sister has made some remarkably astute investments with her trust fund and the income from her patents.' His mother's expression warmed infinitesimally as it slid over Hermione, who looked somewhat embarrassed. 'She has been able to sustain the family's interests so far but a trust fund, no matter how well bolstered, is not the same as a family vault. We can not sustain ourselves for long on her gold - Gorlois gold, by rights, which must be returned.'

'I hope that the goblins might be willing to negotiate with the heir.'

'The heir?' Somehow, despite his adamance that he was the heir and that it was his position by right, he still found it hard to believe that the position was actually his. It had been a role he'd grown up in, but over time it had looked increasingly like he might be passed over for Hermione. She was magically stronger, more political and clearly better with money than he was; she'd already taken control of the family so many times.

'Yes, Gellert.' His mother drawled, 'the heir. If you were not so busy running off in pursuit of power, you might realise that you already held it.'

'Lady Grindelwald…' Hermione began quickly, then cut herself off abruptly with a sharp intake of breath, breathing out slowly through her nose. 'Please, let us put that past year behind us. We are under attack from all fronts, we can not afford conflict within.'

Gellert wanted to scoff that he hadn't been the source of the conflict but he could see the sense in her words. Unfortunately, he also couldn't deny the truth of his mother's claims. It was becoming increasingly clear that his family had needed him and he hadn't been there.

'We'll go tomorrow.' He decided, determined to prove he could do better. Determined to prove that he could take up the role of heir just as well as Hermione had taken up locum matriarch. 'I could attend investment meetings as well; I'm sixteen, it wouldn't be suspicious if I was starting to take up some of the duties of the family head.'

'Yes!' Hermione breathed, 'I've been having to communicate by owl as much as possible. We're running out of polyjuice and my magical signature is so far off your mother's that I can't use the polyjuice trick unless we're certain that the person we're meeting doesn't know how to feel magical signatures.'

'That will allow you more time to focus on the wards.' Berg agreed eagerly. Hermione nodded and Gellert cocked his head in askance.

'We have had some ward requests, which usually would have been fulfilled by myself or the coven. We have had to refuse some, but the true traditionalists recognise the title of High Priestess and are more than pleased to have such an illustrious witch cast their wards instead of the coven… phrased correctly it sounds like a favour rather than a requirement.' His mother elaborated. She had softened a little throughout the meal, leaning back against the wing of her chair as much as the corset would allow.

'Perhaps we should retire?' Berg suggested abruptly. The conversation cut off as Gellert turned incredulous eyes on his ward brother. But Berg wasn't looking at him; his eyes were fixed on his mother. Lady Grindelwald sighed reluctantly, then agreed. Gellert's head whipped around to look at his mother, noticing suddenly the way that the newly wrinkled skin around her eyes was drawn and pale. Her hands trembled, despite being clasped on the table.

'Gellert?' Hermione's voice jumped him out of the unsettling weakness of his mother. She'd stood and made her way around the table whilst he'd been distracted and was now waiting expectantly for him to escort her from the room. He jumped up, glancing back at his mother twice as he helped Hermione into her cloak and then dragged himself from the room.

'What's wrong with her?' He demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them. His siblings went a little further before Hermione took a deep, steadying breath to reply.

'Wixen live much longer than muggles, and suffer much worse injuries. Without her magic to protect her… fifty is much older for a muggle than a witch and her body is not accustomed to living without the support of magic; she catches illnesses that she has never been susceptible to before, without the youth that helps muggles fight them off for the first time. Without the Gorlois staff, her bones are brittle again as well. The fracture from our fight last summer has healed but we have to be very careful that they do not break again.'

'Is she dying?' Gellert asked morbidly, a leaden feeling in his stomach.

'No.' Hermione managed a slight smile. 'But she will only live as long as a muggle. Seventy, or perhaps eighty if we are lucky and there are no complications.'

Gellert couldn't conceal his horror at the concept of such a short life. How did muggles manage knowing that they were almost at death's door from the moment they were fully grown?

'Complications?' He asked nervously, dreading the answer.

'Sickness or injury. So far, Berg has been able to cure most with simple muggle remedies, but there are things that muggles cannot cure.'

'Oh.' Was all he could muster.

'She does not like to admit to weakness… she would rather we see her seated. The elves have to hover her to her bed.' Suddenly, that explained the corsets and collars - supportive clothing. She could slouch against her own dress without appearing any less composed. It was warm too, defending against any chill in the air.

His mind flickered back to the way she'd leaned back against the wings of her chair, the lines, the tremor of the soup spoon in her hand.

'What do I do?' He asked helplessly. Hermione paused, turning to look up at him.

'Be her heir.' Hermione replied, as if it were simple. 'Support the family, take care of her… anything you can. Like you did today - offering to help, to be proactive.'

'Okay.' Gellert agreed, glancing back at the dining cottage and wondering whether his mother was still inside. 'I can do that.'

'Of course you can.' Hermione agreed. Her hand slipped down, from his elbow and caught his hand, squeezing it comfortingly. 'Always towards better things, remember? We can do anything when we're together.'