Hey, it's been a while. To cut a long story short, I was really unhappy with the last chapter. I didn't like the first… twenty?.. attempts at this chapter. It was a chore to write, and I never got past the first six hundred words. Then I realised, wth, it's my story. I'm not obligated to anything. So I've changed the direction of this chapter and re-written a big part of the last one. It's worth a re-read so that you're up to speed.

Gellert's mother was recovering.

It was slow going, or course; Gellert would have expected several weeks of recovery even in a magical hospital and muggles were far more limited. The pain potion which they'd been giving her, for example, turned out to be far more addictive than even Dreamless Sleep and boasted a range of nasty side effects. When she'd first returned to consciousness, she'd barely been coherent. He'd feared the infection and fever had damaged her mind but the muggles carelessly assured him it was normal following high doses of their foul smelling medication.

What had followed almost made him wish his mother had been allowed to pass away in Hexemeer. His awe inspiring mother, who had remained tall and proud despite all their misfortune, was brought low by some pathetic muggle substance. She cried, she lied and she begged for more Laudanum and Gellert found it impossible to tell whether she was truly in pain and the muggles cruel, or whether it was the insidious voice of addiction.

Then, as one week bled into two and the dosages of potion were cut down more drastically, she seemed to degenerate even further. She barely slept, alternating between deep lethargy and shivery, frantic restlessness. She couldn't keep down the plain gruel they fed her and she disturbed her bandaged stump so severely during a fit of shuddering convulsions that the wound had to be re-stitched.

He'd disliked the situation from the beginning, but by the time the third week drew to a close, Gellert hated it. He hated the doctors who spoke about his mother's treatment as though it were some great, experimental game, with no understanding of the colossal consequences her death would incur. He hated the muggles that shared his mother's ward for their condolences and sympathy. He hated how they tried to befriend her, as though they were her equals. He hated the nurses who tutted condescendingly about rich boys with no responsibility, who bustled past without acknowledging him. He wished he could hate Hermione, who appeared for barely four hours each day; a whirlwind of orders and demands.

He hated that Hermione was keeping secrets from him again - big ones. He wasn't an idiot, even if she seemed to think he was; he could see that something was wrong. She hid it well, of course; his mother and Anneken had taught her well. Her limp hair was arranged into the most complex braided styles he'd ever seen her wear, she'd started wearing corsets beneath severe grey silk, filling out her dresses with rigid whale bone and her elf was cleverly applying glamours to fill out her cheeks and brighten her eyes. But Gellert could see her magic; how the awe inspiring conflagration of strength had been reduced to a guttering candle and her tempestuous family magic was little more than a lethargic stir. He knew that whatever was wrong with her had started with her absence, supposedly in the fey realm. Berg knew - it was why he trailed her like a loyal dog, offering detailed reports and summaries and jumping to meet her every demand.

He hated that she wouldn't tell him the details of her affliction, he hated that she wasn't sharing the burden of her responsibilities. He hated that he couldn't protect her, even when she was bring her suffering upon herself by not trusting him.

He spent much of his time prowling the halls of the muggle healing halls alone, like a dark cloud, scouring the minds of the healers and nurses for ill intent. The only bright spot was that Hermione was far too busy to pay attention to what he was doing, which only would have sparked yet another bitter argument between them. They argued about everything now; how deeply to stick to their muggle facade, where to stay whilst his mother recovered, how long she should remain in the care of the muggle healers, whether Hermione should be bringing the family ledgers to work in the public ward.

It was for that reason that he didn't bother telling her when he left to meet with his school allies; it would only incite another argument that would leave her in tears and him ready to Avada the closest muggle for daring to think that it was his fault that Hermione was getting hurt. Of course, it wasn't like Hermione would even notice his absence, and if she did it would serve her right to worry for him a little, when she had been ignoring him for so long.

Muggle Berlin was even worse in the snow than it had been when they'd first arrived - the mud and dung which had coated every surface was exacerbated to become a thick slurry that splashed from cart wheels and horse hooves in frigid, stinking sheets that somehow clung to the impervious charms on his cloak and boots. Gellert chose to apparate instead.

He appeared in one of the side alleys of the Unterhalb and found himself furtively checking to see whether he'd been noticed. Theoretically, it was now illegal for him to use magic outside of school - he'd have to obliviate anyone who saw him.

Fortunately, nobody else was in the alley. He left it hurriedly, pulling up the hood of his cloak so as not to attract attention as he slipped into the crowd on the larger street. Not that he need have worried; it was pandemonium as wixen desperately tried to complete their shopping before everything closed for Yule. Gellert was just another body barging towards his goal, forgotten as soon as he'd been evaded.

He angled towards the quieter side streets, following memorised directions towards the Steinbach family's home. They were an old family, so it was a surprise to discover that they lived in one of the many residential quarters in the smaller caves, connected to the main cavern by tunnels, rather than in one of the older townhouses. He was aware, intellectually, that there were worse sectors of the Unterhalb, but he still couldn't quite comprehend how anyone could live in such close proximity to so many others. The houses had only four floors and the front windows were so close to the street that any passer by could see through them, if not for the gossamer curtains that draped behind the glass. There was a small common at the centre of the square, which was one of four such squares crammed into the side cave, with a single set of plain wooden quidditch hoops and a communal ritual circle.

There was a strange mixture of traditional and progressionist, somehow coexisting together. Several houses were decorated with strings of brightly coloured ribbons and draping colourful lanterns in the progressionist style. Others bore freshly painted rites of protection above their lintels and wreaths of cedar and holly. A progressionist witch unloaded bags of what appeared to be food and potion ingredients from a magic carpet whilst her child played on a toy broom with a traditional child in ritual clothing. The traditional mother was preoccupied with saddling her beast, whilst her husband hurried back towards the communal stables, perhaps to fetch another.

The Steinbach home was at least one of the more prominent in the street, with double the frontage of the rest of the houses and it's own private stables. An elf greeted him as he knocked on the door, bowing him through into a decorated hall. Several portraits bowed respectfully as he passed beneath their gilded frames, passing off his cloak to another elf before he was greeted by the Lady of the House. Madam Steinbach was a pretty British witch, descended from one of the obsessive families there and sent reluctantly abroad to marry a much older wizard. Dressed in a gown that could have come from Hermione's own wardrobe and with hair that had been studiously pinned into complicated braided Celtic knot, she was the perfect image of traditional fashion. Too perfect… she curtsied and demurely welcomed him to her home on the behalf of her husband. Gellert didn't know a single traditional witch who would ever be so meek.

He followed her to the drawing room where most of the group was already waiting for him. He strode to the great wing backed chair that had clearly been left for him, as the leader of the group, greeting everyone with a few words and several nods of acknowledgement. He sat, facing them as they responded with deadly seriousness, in that silly way that only children could. He blinked… once… twice… Arnold and Lars held crystal snifters of something that certainly didn't smell particularly alcoholic and this swilled them amateurishly. Alex was holding a cigar, smoke drifting idly from the tip. Leon sat next to him, eyes and nose streaming and face flushed with the effort not to cough. Elsa was leaning hopefully towards Tommy, barely sparing Gellert a glance and Matylda was barely withholding her snickers.

He scowled. He was the leader of children - that was all he had. He couldn't remember one of Hermione's gatherings ever feeling so pathetically immature.

'You all look ridiculous.' He eventually informed them. Perhaps, if he hadn't spent the past weeks raging at the unfairness of his life, he might have been better able to mind his patience. 'Alex, put that out, you can't smoke. Arnold, Lars, stop playing and drink your apple juice. Elsa, Tommy's not astute enough to take that hint, you'd be better off just asking for a courting contract. Jori, take off that ridiculous jacket, you look like a clown.'

Stunned silence met his words. Several of the children flushed and hastily obeyed his instructions, sharing shifty glances. Matylda's snickers graduated to barely with-held snorts, although she sobered quickly when Gellert glared at her.

'You're acting like children, all of you.' He continued bluntly, figuring the damage had already been done and he may as well get his point across. 'We are the future of the old ways. We are the shoulders upon which our way of life rests. Some of you will graduate this year, some of you next year, and you'll be graduating straight into a war. We don't have time for you to play pretend. Grow up.'

There was dead silence for a long couple of seconds, then one of them raised a hand. Gellert looked over at him, a single raised eyebrow suggesting that the input better be relevant.

'What happened?' Tommy asked uncertainly. 'They're saying your sister has been killed - that her wards are weakening. They're saying your mother is being treated in a muggle hospital, and that she's going to die.'

Gellert scowled so fiercely that Tommy cowered back against his chair.

'Hermione was stolen into the fey realm for a month and has been suffering from an affliction of the magic ever since, similar to magical exhaustion.' He informed the group shortly, then he turned to Jori and Veli. 'I want to prioritise your father's research - whatever's wrong with Hermione, the Sidhe will know how to fix it.'

'The Sidhe?' Arnold asked, eyes wide. 'You're trying to summon the Sidhe?'

'We are.' Jori confirmed, eyes gleaming with dark, ambitious delight.

'That's dark magic. Illegal, under the old ways.' Matylda sounded uncertain, doubtful.

'Only under the laws written in the Middle Ages. The Ancient Egyptians bound the Seelie and became one of the greatest civilisations in history. The Gorlois family - Hermione Gorlois' ancestors, bound the Unseelie King and his power placed them on the throne within a generation. The world bowed before them.' Veli revealed, voice low and intense.

'If there was ever a time to bind another one of the Sidhe, it is now.' Jori insisted.

'And you agree with this?' Matylda turned to Gellert, sceptical. She looked nothing like Hermione, but somehow the slightly derisive tone was almost identical.

'I think that this could be our opportunity to decisively suppress the revolution, with no more loss of traditional life.'

'You don't think they banned anything to do with the Sidhe for a reason?' She demanded, looking disbelievingly around the room and finding nobody willing to speak up in her support, although most looked like they might sympathise with her. Gellert was conflicted too, but it was becoming more and more realistic that this would be the best option.

'The summoning of Sidhe was banned for the same reasons as the ban on underage magic now. The old magic was suppressed by those who didn't understand it and resented those it gave power to. The revolution is not new - that was the start of the decline of the old ways.' Veli spoke persuasively, his tone almost seductive. Already, a couple of heads were nodding.

'No.' Matylda shook her head firmly, unconvinced. She stood sharply, looking around the room. 'I won't have anything to do with it. The Sidhe are evil - summoning them is illegal because they're a power we can't control. They're just as likely to kill us as help us.'

'I've heard stories, that the ancient Arabs used to use rituals to trap Sidhe and would only release them if they granted three wishes. Imagine what we could do if we each had three wished.' Oskar sounded dreamy. Matylda scowled at him and opened her mouth. Oskar continued before she could speak. 'I'm not suggesting we do anything stupid, but its worth looking into.'

'We could destroy the revolution completely, bring back the Baba Yaga.' Tommy whispered reverently. 'Three wishes, and once we knew if worked, we could all do it.'

'Think of it - riches, witches, long life…' Arnold breathed, his eyes lighting up with feverish desire.

'I bet they could bring back the dead. Properly.' Leonard dreamed.

'I won't let you put everyone at risk like that. I'd rather the revolution won.' Matylda hissed, snapping everyone back from their dreams. She glared at everyone present.

'We're not going to do anything stupid.' Oskar defended dismissively, 'We're just going to look into it - there must be a way, if it's been done before.'

'And how are you going to stop us, anyway?' Gabriel Steinbach scoffed, drawing himself up and reaching for his wand.

'I'm going to tell his sister - she'll stop you.' The witch sniffed, fixing Gellert with a glare that paled in comparison to the ones the witches in his life could muster. Gellert's expression twisted furiously, but Gabriel spoke up before he could.

'No you're not. You're not going to say anything. You're my betrothed, and I forbid you from speaking a word, or I'll cancel the contract.'

'What?' Matylda went very, very white.

'You heard me. You need me; I know how deep your family's debts are. You're not going to say a word, or I'll call off our betrothal. In fact, you're going to help us acquire the ingredients we'll need. Right, Heir Grindelwald?'

'Right.' Gellert purred. There was something delightful about watching one of his followers enforce loyalty on his behalf, without even having to lift a finger. He leaned back in his chair, watching as Matylda trembled with a combination with fear and fury, torn. Then she finally sat back down.

'Fine. I won't say a word.' She spat venomously.

'Good - Now, Jori, Veli, has there been any progress?'

'Yes.' Jori confirmed, looking gleeful. 'We've identified the most recent successful binding. You're right, Oskar. They did grant three wishes to the three brothers who bound them. An unbeatable wand, a stone that could return the dead to life and a cloak that granted the wearer immortality.'

'An unbeatable wand?' Someone scoffed. 'Why would someone want a wand?'

'Because they were British.' Veli informed them smugly.

'The Peverell family?' Gellert demanded, suddenly drawing the connection. Matching grins confirmed his suspicion. 'I will-'

He cut off sharply as a knock came at the door, everyone swivelling in their seats as Oskar's mother came in. She curtsied deeply, apologised for interrupting, then held out a letter.

'This came by owl for you, Heir Grindelwald.'

There was a moment of hesitation, then Gellert jumped to his feet and crossed the room, taking the letter. It was addressed to him in Berg's hand, although the seal pressed into the white wax was Hermione's. He almost ignored it, far more concerned with the information the had just been revealed about the connection between the Peverell family, the hallows and the fey, but he eventually decided to open it. Hermione no longer cared enough for him to write unless it was deeply urgent.

The parchment drifted to the floor a moment later, taking his ability to stand with it. He stumbled, catching himself on a nearby cabinet. The voices around him, demanding answers, asked to know what was wrong, blended into a dull roaring in his ears. Then, cutting through the sound, piercing through the numb, unfeeling, turbulent smog, was the voice of one of the twins.

'Lady Grindelwald is dead.' One of them had picked up the letter. Each word landed with the impact of a wardbreaker, seeming to bypass flesh and hammer deep inside his chest, ringing up through his ears with defining clarity.

'I…I…' He sook his head, but was unable to regather his thoughts. It was as though the ability to occlude had dissolved with his composure.

'We're sorry for your loss.' Elsa informed him softly. There was a general murmur of similar condolences from around the room.

'I… I have to go.' He managed, 'I have to…'

Later, he would realise just how lucky he was not to splinch himself when he apparated straight from the front step of the Steinbach house to the hospital. He appeared in the hallway outside his mother's ward, startling several muggles with the loud crack that accompanied his appearance. He didn't particularly care what they thought, or the Statute of Secrecy, as he barged into the ward.

His mother's bed was empty, the space around it devoid of any sign that she'd ever been there. The sheets were fresh and clean, perfectly folded over the mattress. The medical records and noted had disappeared from the clipboard at the foot of the bed and a blank form hung in their place.

'You're Lady Grindelwald's son?' A nurse that had been at the other end of the ward approached him cautiously, reaching out a hand as though he was a wild beast.

'Yes.' He managed to gasp. Shock, panic, disbelief were a strangling hold around his throat.

'I can show you to where she's been moved. Your brother and sister are already there.'

He followed her numbly. His mother had been improving, last time he saw her. The wound had healed; it had just been the addiction to that awful muggle calming draught. They had been scheduled to leave in a matter of days. How could she have taken such a rapid turn for the worse?

There had been a feeble, desperate part of him that had hoped that the news was some kind of ploy to get him to return to their side in a rush. It was a foolish hope, and one that was quickly disproven when he was shown through the chapel and down into one of the cold rooms beneath it's floor. It was small, barely large enough for the shrouded body on a stone slab and the two children that stood beside it. A window cut into the top of the wall allowed a shaft of light to illuminate his mother's pale, motionless face.

'Gellert.' Hermione breathed, voice thick with tears, looking up as he entered. Gellert remained frozen in the doorway, taking in his mother's blue lips and the eerie stillness of the white sheet that covered her. It was no ploy for his attention, no deception to escape muggle scrutiny… his mother really was dead.

'What happened?' He demanded, his voice still strangled.

'Tetanus.' Hermione cried, shaking her head in something that might have been disbelief. 'It's… she probably caught it when they had to re-stitch her leg after the withdrawal seizures…' Hermione choked up and abruptly stopped speaking. Berg rubbed her shaking shoulders as she brought her hands up, concealing her face behind a curtain of escaping hair.

'They didn't catch the early symptoms - apparently they're similar to the withdrawal from the Laudanum. She broke her ankle when she seized this morning, so they gave her curare when she seized again this afternoon, to stop her breaking anything else. It was too much.'

'Curare?' He asked, numbly.

'It's a poison?' Hermione wailed, lifting her tear streaked face. Anger came - a good way to flush away the numb shock that had been holding him prisoner.

'Poison?' He asked, livid.

'It's a relaxant, but too much can kill you.' Berg clarified, far more reasonably.

'And they gave her too much.' He seethed. 'They infected her with some disease, failed to notice the symptoms, then poisoned her.'

'Well… it wasn't-' Berg began

'I should have known.' Hermione spoke over him. 'I should have thought about it. The cure's been invented by now, I should have made sure to get some, just in case.'

'The cure?' He echoed. The rage was solidifying into an icy fury, underlining his every thought and action, brimming up as though he were a cauldron about to overflow. 'There's a cure?'

'Yes. It was invented here, in Germany. Tetanus, Gellert. She died from Tetanus, after all we've been through!'

'It was peaceful, Hermione.' Berg assured quietly. 'Curare would have been a painless way to go.'

'She shouldn't have gone!' Hermione wailed, tearing at her hair. If his limbs hadn't been shaking with barely constrained fury, he would have joined Berg in comforting her.

'These things happen, Hermione. You can't know the future.'

'I can.' Hermione spat, suddenly even more visibly angry than Gellert. It was shocking enough to distract him from his own desire to burn the entire muggle institution to the ground.

'Nobody can, Hermione. Not even a seer knows all the details, or can divert events that are meant to happen. Do you blame the doctors?'

'No.' She responded immediately. Gellert did. If Hermione had known about this muggle sickness, surely the doctors should have known about it too? They should have been on the lookout for it. If there was a cure, why hadn't they given it to her?

'Then you certainly can't blame yourself.' Berg continued, returning to rubbing Hermione's rigid back. She breathed for several long seconds, clearly working hard to calm herself down. Her fists clenched and released three… four times. Then she took a final breath and opened her eyes again.

'You're right, I'm being childish. What has happened will happen and therefore must happen. I should just have been more prepared.' She reached for his mother's still fingers, carefully removing the family ring from her hand. Then she held it out to Gellert. 'This is yours. You need to take control of the family. We need to notify the others, prepare a press release, plan the funeral… I… Gringotts need to know, and we need to take the… take her away before they notice the stasis charms. Berg, can you deal with the muggles please?'

Gellert took the ring numbly. It was cold. It had just come off his mother's finger and it was cold.

It was too small for his finger, but it enlarged as he slipped it over his ring finger. Something seemed to stir within him, reaching up from the dark depths of his magic. The ring responded, calling the thing up. It sparked as it came, fizzling along his limbs and crackling like static through his clothes and hair. He shied away instinctively as whatever ancient thing had been summoned by the ring seemed to scrutinise him.

'Your family magic has been awakened.' Hermione murmured. She'd stood and moved around him whilst he was distracted and now stood near the door, ready to leave. 'If you would like, I can teach you how to use it.'

Family magic. It was as unavoidable as the heavy weight of the ring on his finger.

His mother was dead.

He was the head of the family.

He was the leader of magical Germany. It rested on his shoulders now. His shoulders alone.