Gellert hadn't been to the Unterhalb since his first year at Durmstrang - war and danger had left the Grindelwald family reclusive. The shock of seeing them step through the floo was enough to silence the patrons of the Hexenkessel.
They'd chosen to go with the full weight of their status rather than sneaking through the underground wizarding district like fugitives. They were the besieged ruling family of the country and hiding in the shadows in fear of danger would only show the people that they were losing. The publicity would also make it more difficult for anyone to try anything and it also increased the chances of assistance by the authorities and any traditionalists.
So they dressed to impress. Gellert donned a full midnight blue robe with the family crest shimmering in silver thread. He'd combed back his hair severely and carried his wand holstered at his belt like a sword. Hermione had a Grindelwald blue silk dress that shone nearly iridescent in the flickering firelight of the Unterhalb. Her goblin forged blade hung at her hip, silver hilt and decorative scabbard matching the flashing jewels that hung from her ears and neck. The athame that Gellert had gifted her hung at the other hip, declaring her as his betrothed. Together, they were the picture of traditional power - elegant, magic and might, a touch of wild witchcraft constrained within flashing silver and jewellery.
They arrived early when most wealthy revolutionaries, presumably including Alice, would still be recovering from the "Holiday Ball" which took place at the end of every Durmstrang school year. It took a moment for anyone to notice their arrival; the massive bonfire which acted as a floo for Hexemeer was always flaring green and back to orange, so very few people looked up.
Then, someone did.
Maybe the flash of the jewels in Hermione's hair or the clearly traditional lines of Gellert's cloak caught his attention. Or perhaps the man could feel the beacon of their magic, as bright as the bonfire they'd arrived through against the dull canvas of the rest of the population.
'Grindelwalds.' The whisper began lightly, ghosting through the gathered patrons with increasing volume until every eye was surreptitiously following them. A ministry uniformed official grovelled as he cleaned the soot from their robes - it wouldn't do for the Grindelwald children to break the newly passed Restriction of Underage Sorcery in public. Hermione flicked the man a coin for his services, then Gellert led her off down the Main Street.
The Unterhalb seemed oddly untouched by the conflict that had been so utterly world shaking to Gellert. A couple of shops had changed - Alterman's had been replaced by a far more revolutionary clothing shop, similar to the one they'd once visited in Paris. The seedy apothecary had finally gone bankrupt and had been replaced by a broom shop and the better apothecary had flourished without competition, expanding into the next door shop where there had once been a barber for those that couldn't afford to pay for a barber-elf to visit at home.
There were little markings on the shops - like he'd noticed on the flyers during his careers advice meeting at school. Some shops had advertisements in the window offering discounts to certain factions; a smith offered free potion knife sharpening when an athame was sharpened. An apothecary offered free cosmetics with their fertiliser potions, which would never be used by someone who used seasonal rituals for fear of disturbing the ambient magic over the fields.
The fashion had changed too, of course. Hermione and Anneken, the heiresses of traditional society, had heavily influenced the fashion of those who supported the old ways. Plain fabric, embroidered decoration, full skirts without bustles and minimal corsets, girdles and Celtic inspired brooches and light but voluminous cloaks. As if determined to make up for the increasingly casual dress of the traditionalists, the progressionists had buckled down on the severe, muggle influences. The brocade was finally gone, replaced by bold colours and patterns which were cut crisply over massive bustles, starched collars and puffy sleeves, which made the corseted waists look so small that Gellert feared they might snap. The men had finally gained some sense and shed the painfully tight trousers that Gellert had been forced into for the musical in favour of something similar to what Gellert wore, but they'd completely forgone robes in favour of bulky, short woollen coats and muggle top hats.
The reception they received was wildly varied. Some clearly didn't care who wore the hat at the top of the political hierarchy, or even which hat it was that was worn. They tended to be the rougher, grubbier working class who had little interaction with the upper echelons. They observed the Grindelwald couple with detached interest. The traditionalists dipped their heads to both Hermione and Gellert and a couple called out greetings whilst the progressionists looked down their noses, whispered snidely disapproving things about unescorted children and Hermione's dress without seeming to actually know Hermione's name.
They didn't stop as they made their way down the main street towards the edge of the cavern. Large institutions were built into the very walls of the massive chamber; the duelling circuit reared out like the bow of a ghostly ship, hung with purple and silver banners, opposite it was the Ministry of Magic with it's massive facade of green marble and towering columns, the Hallen der Heilung with many arched entrances cut into the stone above, distinctive red and white flying carpets delivering patients to the healers within. Gringotts looked right at home, all white marble and gold, massive bronze doors flanked by uniformed goblin guards.
They were greeted in with deep bows and immediately approached by another goblin as soon as they were inside. They didn't linger in the cavernous main room, being led through a bejewelled side door and into the warren of private offices belonging to the account managers of each old family.
Strongsaw was the current Grindelwald manager; an elderly goblin, who'd served their family since long before Gellert's birth. Strongsaw dealt with the practicalities of the accounts, rather than managing their investments as most account managers did. It was his job to collect the gold they were owed and to deliver the gold they offered.
'Heir Grindelwald, Lady Gorlois.' Strongsaw bowed deeply, gesturing them to take the two seats in front of his desk. Gellert did so, glancing at the framed gobbledegook commissions behind Strongsaw's desk and the massive two handed blade that lay beneath the glass surface of the desk. Once they were seated, the goblin made its way back around the desk, hopping up into it's tall chair and affixing a pair of thick pince nez to it's prominent hooked nose. A soft thumb of wax was pushed over and Gellert pressed his seal ring into it, leaving a clear impression behind, then passing the wax back. The goblin inspected the impression for several long moments.
'This appears to be in order.' The goblin eventually croaked. 'How may I assist, Heir Grindelwald?'
Gellert glanced at Hermione, who nodded reassuringly. He'd shadowed his mother as she dealt with the goblins but he'd never actually dealt with them himself. He'd been warned to treat them respectfully, but to not appear weak and to make sure he was clear in what he desired.
'I need unfettered access to the Grindelwald vaults, to manage our business.' Gellert turned back to the goblin, making sure that his voice was firm and didn't trail up uncertainly at the end.
'Ahh.' The goblin purred, steepling his fingers. 'Yes, the nation had heard rumours that your mother is indisposed.'
Hermione gripped his hand in unnecessary warning, cautioning him to not get angry. Goblins were nothing if not discrete and never shared potentially sensitive information outside the nation.
'The rumours are unfortunately correct. She has an affliction of the magic.'
'How unfortunate.' Strongsaw didn't sound like that was very unfortunate at all.
'I have a signed and sealed letter.' Gellert withdrew the scroll from his robes and passed it over to the goblin. His mother had written it before they left and used the head's ring to seal it closed with a ribbon. Gellert didn't actually know what the letter said. The goblin snapped the seal and spent a very long time reading the short missive.
'Unfortunately we cannot authorise this.' Strongsaw dropped the scroll onto his desk. 'A single transfer of that magnitude… we would need to see the matriarch visit in person, pass through a thief's downfall and take several anti-coercion potions.'
Curious, Gellert reached across the table and picked up the scroll. It was only five lines long, but the figure caught his attention for almost as long as it had caught Strongsaw's. Wordlessly, he passed the parchment to Hermione.
'I understand.' Gellert said truthfully. Fourteen million galleons was enough to put a dent in even the Grindelwald vault, and was a huge chunk of their liquid assets - it would mean that they could operate out of Hermione's trust vault for a year or longer if they could redirect income into the vault and Hermione would be able to continue managing their affairs via owl. But it was more than most families could earn in a century and he could see why a transfer that big would require the presence of the matriarch.
'The maximum that we could consider transferring would be five million.' Strongsaw explained, clicking his nails against the desk. Gellert grimaced, glancing across at Hermione. His witch bit her lip and shrugged; they needed what they could get and at least five million would tide them over until the end of the summer, when newly qualified students were looking for investors. It wouldn't allow them as much political funding as they were used to, but… it was the only option.
'Five million per fiscal year?' Hermione asked, her tone expectant. The goblin agreed after a moment of consideration. Gellert wondered how much of what they were being told was actually bank policy - the Grindelwald family had always had a unique relationship with the financial institution, as such a large player in the economy. Gellert suspected Strongsaw would drastically alter the "policy" depending on how well he thought the Grindelwald in question could handle their finances. Clearly, Hermione had proven herself with her trust fund investments, unlike Gellert who wasn't even sure how much was in his trust account.
His witch nodded to him and Gellert nodded in turn to the goblin. Strongsaw pulled out parchment and began drawing up transfer request for the requested amount. Hermione was chewing on her lip, gaze distant as she considered one of their many problems. Once more, Gellert felt very inadequate. Hermione was half way to solutions to problems he didn't even know about yet. All he could think about was the numbers he'd looked over that morning, the eight figure number that signified Grindelwald annual expenses and the economic damage of every year of lean Grindelwald investments.
Once the transfer had been signed and sealed with Gellert's ring, he had the goblin clean combine their trust vaults with Hermione managing both. An easy transaction with both owners there, that one was completed in moments.
Strongsaw left them alone for a moment to file the two transactions.
'How do you know which are the best investments?' Gellert finally asked and was surprised when Hermione coloured slightly and shifted uncomfortably.
'I have a… unique perspective.' She finally said. 'I imagine you would be rather good at it too, if you used your sight.'
'Oh.' Twice, Hermione had hinted that she knew who he would become in the future and even more often she had hinted at greater knowledge than his own. She never seemed truly surprised by the terrible events of the war; horrified, upset, but resigned rather than surprised. Surely his witch didn't have the sight? She would never have let him suffer through his early nightmares alone if she did. So what was her perspective?
Unless he was drawing false conclusions and her unique perspective was simply being newblood and British. Either way, he was confident that Hermione would use her perspective to further their position.
And with that consideration, perhaps Gellert could venture to use his sight to assist with the situation? It would mean opening himself up to the nightmares again - the cost of focusing his sight during the day was the uncontrolled visions of the upcoming war at night when his mind was at rest. That was a small price to pay if it helped with their financial situation…
And wasn't that a ridiculous situation; Grindelwalds, in financial difficulty.
He was dreading the return to Hexemeer, where they would spend another day buried in politics, finances and coven obligations, desperately trying to hold everything together.
The streets of the Unterhalb had filled whilst they were in the bank; families out for lunch together to celebrate the end of term, young witches queuing up at the various tailors and robe shops to order dresses for the vitally important summer season of ball, their chaperone-brothers hovering in groups nearby.
It was painful to see the vibrancy of the population, when even the air seemed to have gained an ominous weight on the island. He spotted Leonard Loos, one of his allies, who came from a revolutionary family, being dragged by his younger brother into the sweet shop with a fist full of galleons and not a care beyond counting liquorice wands.
Hermione was younger that both boys, yet she seemed closer in demeanour to their mother. Her eyes swept the crowd, alert for danger and her magic thrummed in readiness. She'd been like that too once; he remembered dragging her away from a stall of cursed spectacles on their first trip to the Unterhalb, and placating her with first edition runic volumes. She'd been just as curious and energetic, without a care for society or how she was perceived. That was before his family had piled all their politics upon her.
Yet he couldn't bring himself to regret bringing her into the family. He was just too selfish.
He didn't allow himself a moment to reconsider as he sharply yanked on her arm, adjusting their course down a small back alley. Hermione, ever the graceful swordswoman, barely stumbled and certainly didn't make a scene although he could feel her concern in the way her nails dug into his arm.
'It's fine, just a detour.' Gellert assured, not wanting her to think he was fleeing some danger.
She was unhappy, he could tell by the way her magic unfurled infront of them, scouring every shadow and corner for danger and he nails dug into his arm. Gellert didn't begrudge her caution considering the size of the target on their backs but he couldn't help but feel it was a perfect illustration of everything wrong with the coven.
Hermione alone had survived the Russian Revolution, unarmed, when even the coven could not. She'd fought in pitched battles, raided the ministry of magic and duelled some of the most feared wixen of their time before she even started school. She was a High Priestess with the power to raze the country, to freeze the very air in their lungs, yet she wouldn't even go to the shops for fear of conflict. How could she expect to remain in charge if she never showed the people what she was capable of?
And she wasn't even alone. Gellert might not be as great a duellist as she was without the elder wand to augment his casting, but he was hardly a common wixen either. He too had fought in wars, and he was confident that there was nobody alive who could hope to challenge them both together, now that the coven no longer existed. So why shouldn't he take his witch to the national library?
Their path cut through the large market near the back where the stalls were small and less frequented. In Gellert's opinion, these had always been the more interesting stalls. The larger ones sold perishables; fish, potion ingredients, vegetables and pet foods, which were items acquired by the elves in Gellert's household. The smaller stalls tended to be incredibly specialised, attended by a more sedate crowd and with vendors that didn't bother to hawk their wares.
Finally, Hermione's natural curiosity began to overwhelm her caution and she relaxed, pausing at a stand that sold enchanted necklaces - nothing like the warded jewellery Hermione sometimes wore. These all held minor enchantments, carved into smooth river stones, that had minor uses. One could have a time chalked onto it's surface and would warm when that time was up, another could unlock a paired door as soon as it was within a certain distance. Others were a little more powerful, carved into semi precious stones and able to hide anything strung on the same chain or prevent pests getting into a linen drawer.
They did buy one, because it would have been odd for a family as wealthy as the Grindelwalds to express an interest in a stall without purchasing something. Realistically, the cost was minimal compared to most of their expenses and Hermione did seem happy with a trinket that could keep flies away from a table.
Once Hermione had relaxed they were able to meander through the stalls. They drew attention - that was unavoidable, but It was probably good for the people to see the next generation of leaders out and about in public, spending their money and admiring the creations of Germany's many skilled craftsmen.
It took them an hour to reach the library. An hour in which Gellert gallantly carried Hermione's small purchases and pointed out things that he thought might interest her. They ended up buying cakes from a bakery in lieu of lunch and ate them as they meandered closer to the library, liking their fingers in a wholly undignified manner as they climbed the stone steps to the library.
It was far less grand than the other institutions built into the rock wall of the Unterhalb; red brick, unembellished except for the name and build date etched into the stone above the door. But the sheer size of the place was enough to keep it from looking out of place. Massive glassed windows towered up to the distant ceiling, glowing like stars in some oddly geometric night sky. The windows reached out to the sides as well - disappearing over the rooves of Library Plaza to eventually touch up against Embassy Building, right next to the ministry, on one side and the distant university on the other.
Stepping through the doors was like passing through a muffling charm. Instantly, the bustle and noise of the Unterhalb seemed to fade into the distance, replaced by a near constant rustle of parchment. A set of rails wound up the walls of the entrance hall, levelling out at platforms on each floor. A small train chuffed with methodical, soothing sounds, pulling up at platforms on each floor to allow librarians to place books into the cars, or passengers to get on.
A librarian greeted them quietly, his green stole marking him as assigned to the Herbology section. They were handed a pamphlet of tiny, cramped script that held a map on one side and a list of sections on the other.
Hermione ran her finger down the list, hovering over "H", then "I", and then drifting up to "D" for dark magic when the previous two letters failed to provide the section she wished to explore.
'What are you looking for?' Gellert asked, morbidly curious. Hermione frequently researched obscure things, but she generally showed little inclination towards anything remotely dark. That was more his forte.
'I want to know more about how Mordred bound himself to his sword.' Hermione explained, peering upwards. The little train was making its way back down again.
'Would you like me to help?' Gellert offered, finding "Fey" in the demonology section on the fifth floor. Hermione would be going to the twelfth floor for her research - the top floor, restricted to those with approval from either the coven or the ministry.
'I'll be fine.' Hermione was already heading over to the staircase, any reluctance at their unscheduled side trip forgotten. Hastily, Gellert caught up to offer his arm; Hermione may not need his assistance with her research but she was wearing a formal dress, heeled boots and cloak for their outing and climbing into the small train car would be no small challenge.
He rode all the way to the top floor with her, helping her out over the slightly dizzying drop. The restricted floor was somewhat darker than the others; it held dark, malevolent tomes but also ancient manuscripts that tended to age better when not stored under bright witchlights or sooty candles. The librarian at the door, garbed in a black stole, allowed Hermione in, perhaps assuming that her mere presence was declaration of the coven's approval.
Gellert was about to leave, already back in the train car, when his eyes caught on one of the sections listed on the sign outside the door. There was a section on the sidhe in the demonology department, but there was also one on the restricted floor.
He hopped back off the train just before it started moving and strode confidently through the doorway, as though he wasn't researching the only form of magic banned by the old ways.
He passed Hermione; already skimming through titles in the "immortality and undeath" section. She had three books selected already, one of which was clamped shut by a savage contraption of iron with no less than three padlocks.
The section on the sidhe was predictably small. The British, removed from the old ways and their associated warnings, might have been researching it in secret, but the Germans certainly weren't. Three scrolls, two books and an crudely stitched sheaf of parchment were packed in between a large section on sidereal astronomy and an equally large section on sight. Gellert withdrew the whole lot, dust clouding off the shelf as he did so.
There was a table nearby, prepared with a lectern for large books and several heavy weights to hold open scrolls.
The first of the two books was a rambling account of a wizard from nearly three centuries ago who claimed to have accidentally transported himself to the Sidhe plane in a floo accident. At first, Gellert didn't understand why the book had been relegated to the restricted floor but as he flicked through the pages it became clear that the author had deteriorated into some kind of terrible madness in his desperate attempts to return to the realm of the immortals. By the last chapter, the wizard was planning increasingly twisted rituals. Unfortunately, the wizard had less than a thimble of talent and his rituals were little more than blind fumbles guided by little more than superstition.
The second book was a twisted grimoire, full of cruel spells that used iron, true names and bells. It held all manner of dark enchantments to control the foul unseelie creatures that roamed the earth; conjuring boggarts and lethifolds, prayers to the Dullahan to hunt down the souls of one's enemies. He flicked though, copying several down.
Then he hit the jackpot in the unbound parchment. It was yet more notes, but this time they contained the account of a magizoologist that had stumbled across a strange creature trapped within a cruel muggle trap. In exchange for freeing him, the creature had offered the magizoologist a blessing; the magizoologist had asked for the ability to speak to creatures, and it had been granted, albeit the wizard could only speak in animal tongues from then on. Desperate to have the blessing removed, the magizoolost had spent the rest of his life trying to summon the creature; Finvarra, the Sidhe king. The scrolls were his ritual diagrams and Gellert quickly realised that they were far more complete than the unstable ritual created by Jonathan Heath; clearly, the Mustonen brothers' father had never been granted access to the restricted floor of the German National Library.
Books on the top floor were protected by anti-theft wards, designed to keep the dangerous knowledge within contained. But Gellert had a natural talent for cursebreaking; he barely had to blink before the glowing magical net which held the wards in place shimmered to life, binding the book and scrolls as tightly as a cage and tethering it to it's shelf. It was easy, compared to the sleeping curse Hermione had placed upon the house elf all those months ago, to sever the ward from the book, letting it unravel into useless strands of magic which dissipated quickly. With a surreptitious glance to make sure nobody was watching, Gellert shoved both book and scrolls into one of the bags of Hermione's purchases.
Thusly concealed, he returned the less useful volumes to the shelf, shuffling the surrounding sections around to make it less obvious that something was missing. Then he took a circuitous route back to the trains, ensuring that he approached Hermione from the direction of the train.
She was spread out on a much larger table, surrounded by books on resurrection; rituals, potions and rudimentary bodies. It was all rather gruesome, and several of the books shimmered with protective wards. Meddling with the kind of magic Hermione was looking at might not have been illegal for as long as anything to do with the Sidhe but it was far, far darker.
'This doesn't look like binding a soul.' Gellert commented suspiciously, leaning over one of the books. It was written in Latin; the one language Gellert spoke better than Hermione.
'It's not.' Hermione agreed breezily, failing to provide any further clarification. Gellert skimmed through the chapter she'd left open in the Latin book, taking in only enough details to know that it concerned returning a soul to a damaged body.
'You're planning to restore Mordred.' Gellert realised, dread kindling in his chest. Hermione was a new blood; Gellert's mother had drilled the sanctity of life and death into him since birth and he could recite the cautionary tales of the corruption of dark magics in his sleep - a warning given life by the diaries chronicling his father's descent into madness. She couldn't know the danger of the precipice upon which she was standing.
'I wasn't, actually.' Hermione still hadn't looked up, a deep furrow between her eyebrows as her finger ran down the text of the book open infront of her. He leaned over to see that she was trying to decipher Ancient Greek, with the assistance of a large dictionary.
'Mother's milk, unicorn blood, grave wax…' Gellert deciphered for her, nose wrinkling. It was a good sign that Hermione looked even more repulsed by the ingredient list than he was. 'This is dangerous knowledge, Hermione. Corrupting.'
'I know.' Hermione agreed, finally looking up. 'I'm not looking for a way to do this… I want to make sure I know how to undo it.'
'Undo it?' Gellert echoed, concerned. 'Someone has done this? Why haven't I heard about it?' He dropped into the chair opposite her and reached across the table, pulling both her hands away from the book and clasping them in his. The gesture made her look up and he caught her eyes, desperately trying to convey his sincerity and earnestness. 'Tell me. Let me take some of your burden. Let me focus on the dark wizard - I can do that, I've been training for that since I was born.'
Hermione grimaced, pulling her hands out of his as she leaned back in her chair.
'It hasn't happened yet.' She admitted and Gellert's attention sharpened. 'But I think it will. There's been rumours, at home, of a wizard performing powerful dark magic.'
He assumed that by home she meant whatever place she still apparated to every night. Britain, presumably. Her muggle home.
He'd have to look into it when he visited Aunt Bagshot.