Dreams

by NeverBeyondRedemption

A lonely girl wished for a friend, a lonely boy wished for a companion. Accidental magic is a powerful thing. Every night Hermione dreams of a boy who thinks he’s a wizard. A strange English girl keeps bypassing the wards and visiting Gellert in his family home. With so much in common, they were bound to become friends.

230. Avalon's Play

Good Evening. This chapter was slow to write, but in my defense it is an epic.

'Two days.' Ginny remarked, striding through the doorway and tossing the paper onto the table. 'Still nothing.'

'Strange.' Hermione murmured, reaching across the table for the prophet and flicking through the pages. True to Ginny's word, there was not a single mention of Gellert's escape. 'I thought Fudge would leap at the chance to accuse me of a crime I've actually committed.'

'Perhaps he doesn't want to let the public know that we've been reunited?' Gellert suggested critically, leaning against the back of her chair to read over her shoulder. 'He feared that a war with Riddle would lose him his position. Announcing that I am free and reunited with you turns you into just as great a threat as Voldemort – greater, perhaps, to him. If he hadn't accused you of a crime you clearly didn't commit, the ministry never would have had to fight on this front.'

'The news will get out eventually.' Ginny shrugged, plucking a hunk of rich, dark oak bread from the bowl in the middle of the table and tearing off a mouthful of chewy crust.

'Of course – Fudge controls the Prophet, but he can't stop international papers from talking. If you are ahead of the narrative, you control public opinion.'

'Public opinion…' Hermione scoffed. 'I need to convince my allies before I worry about convincing anyone else.'

'Convince your allies?' Gellert repeated slowly. Hermione winced. 'You didn't have their approval before making a major play – politically, tactically… ethically?'

'No?'

'It's okay – we trust that Hermione knows what she's doing. She's the High Priestess.' Ginny coming to Hermione's defence only made Gellert's disapproval deepen.

'And has Hermione become the kind of High Priestess that forces her subjects into line? That expects blind obedience?' He prowled around the circular table until he was opposite Hermione. Ginny shrank away and Hermione wished she could do the same. Gellert's mismatched eyes were evisceratingly sharp – Gellert had been intense when she knew him, but he'd honed that into a terrifying art with his unnatural features and cold control.

'No.' Hermione sighed, surrendering. 'But I did act hastily, motivated by despair. After a rest, I understand that my judgement was impaired by exhaustion.'

Gellert softened.

'Good. I suggest you begin your explanation with that, as opposed to excuses and justifications. It will go a long way to smoothing over any insult you might have caused.'

Hermione dragged her eyes up to meet his, finding them warm again. It was slightly surreal to hear Gellert of all people preaching contrition, but Hermione supposed half a century in one's own prison would teach it to anyone.

'You should talk to everyone soon.' Ginny spoke up from the sidelines. 'Anneken and Professor Berg still get German papers, so they might already know. I bet Voldemort's told Lord Nott and Dumbledore's probably let Lady Longbottom know as well.'

Ginny was right, but Hermione still found herself reluctant to leave the privacy and safety of The Barrows. Avalon meant a return to fighting and politics, to pretending that she wasn't tired, afraid and making everything up on the fly. It took immense effort to drag herself to her feet and even more to give the orders to summon her allies, and she wondered whether she would even be able to walk the whole way back to the portal. It wasn't just the ritual that had left her exhausted; Hermione knew that it was a far deeper issue than that, one that had been brewing since… perhaps even as early as first year. She was supposed to be a child, she was only sixteen… she should have been worrying about boys like Lavender Brown or at worst a school bully. How could they expect her to lead them?

Gellert had gone up first to let Star know that he would be remaining at The Barrow under the care of the guardians until Avalon was safe for him and Hermione left the mound half an hour later to see him still standing in the shadow of the mighty Roc with Ginny.

She felt a little lighter as she observed him. He was a little older than she remembered him being in the past; perhaps seventeen or eighteen, and maturity had served him well. He was impressively tall, with cheekbones that made Morgana's look soft. His hair was paler than a Malfoy's, but fell around his chin in healthy waves that obscured ears that Hermione knew to still be a little large. Perhaps hearing her feet in the snow, he turned away from Star and offered a smile that displayed teeth a far cry from the dentist's nightmare that he'd suffered in Nurmengard.

Then he stepped out from under the shadow of Star, leading a harnessed skeleton horse behind him.

'You looked tired.' He offered, bending down and linking his hands to help her up into the saddle. She suddenly found herself blinking away tears at the thoughtful gesture. Nobody had done anything for her just because they thought she might like it; not for years… since Gellert had taken her to the magical.

She ignored the offered lift and grabbed him into a hug, burying her face into his shoulder. His arms came up around her reflexively before they tightened, and he returned the embrace.

'Thank you, Gellert.' She said into his borrowed robe.

'You're welcome, Hermione.' He assured her, then he pulled away to meet her eyes. 'I should never have left you alone, but I'm here now, however you might need me.'

'Thank you.' She reiterated. When she swung up into the saddle a minute later, it felt like the sun had risen, melting some of the ice in her bones. She felt lighter and warmer, despite the Orkney wind that had begun to slip through her fur cloak and the laden clouds that threatened to obscure the sun and lay down another blanket of snow.

Her council was almost assembled in Avalon by the time she arrived, talking in low murmurs. She knew from the way their eyes immediately searched behind her when the guardians announced her presence that they must all have heard about Gellert's release. She'd felt it was more tactful to explain his presence without him in the room, so he'd been sent to find properly fitting robes whilst they met.

Black arrived soon after her, blinking in a way that suggested he'd only had a couple of hours sleep after being up most of the night to man the walls. He took the last remaining chair between Lady Longbottom and Harry, offering a quick greeting before falling silent and looking expectantly at her. Hermione fortified herself with a deep breath, then opened her mouth and took Gellert's advice, apologising for not consulting them and explaining why she'd chosen to release her betrothed.

Her council were not happy – not happy that she'd risked her life without warning them, not happy that she'd dabbled in strange magic, not happy that she'd released a major criminal or that she'd done so without even a note as warning.

Lady Longbottom was the most vocal, and hardest to convince. She wasn't a defender of the castle, spending every night desperately defending the wards and she hadn't seen just how badly Hermione was faltering. Sirius was less concerned about the prison break, but he had strong support in his concern over Gellert's intentions and whether he would follow a suitable moral code.

It was eventually decided that Gellert would swear an oath of loyalty to Hermione before the entire city, and that he would not be free to come and go as he pleased until he had proven himself to be fully rehabilitated. He would be confined to the castle, unless accompanied by a member of their council, until a jury of peers selected at random from each faction in the city judged him worthy of freedom. It was, perhaps, the best that she could have hoped for.

A younger Gellert would have kicked up a fuss, full of prideful indignation at suffering under restrictions imposed by those weaker than him – and they were weaker than him. He held all the magical power of a century old Grindelwald, with the energy and agility of a young man. The Gellert that prowled into the room when he was summoned was not that rash boy. He agreed to the restrictions with grace, then took a seat between Ginny and a very nervous Theo as the discussion moved on to a situation update.

It was exactly as miserable as she remembered. The ministry seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of the potion that they were launching at the walls and they were continuing their nightly assaults, which were all exhausting but manageable. Mordred's greatest concern was that there were signs the ministry were beginning assembly of a second trebuchet.

'Will the wards hold?' Hermione asked, remembering what he'd told her when the attacks first began.

'The wards are like buckets set out in the rain. The ley line is the rain, the water is the power of the ward.' He explained with a grimace, hands describing in arc in front of him, then he pointed to a spot about half way along the arc he had drawn. 'If the wards take an impact here, it is like removing a bit of water from this bucket. A large impact will empty the bucket entirely. The bucket is still there, and given enough time it will fill again, but it cannot stop any more impacts until it has replenished.'

'So if they hit the same place too many times, the attacks will start to come through.' Lord Black concluded grimly. The dark knight nodded.

'We'll have people prepared to withdraw into the lower levels of the castle.' Hermione decided.

'That puts a lot of stone between them and the potion… assuming the ministry actually manage to get them to hit in the same place. I mean, trebuchets aren't exactly known for their accuracy?' Harry looked to Mordred for confirmation. The dark knight acknowledged the point.

'But, if one hit lands, they'll know they're onto something and they'll build more. I bet the only reason they're not in more of a rush now is because they're not convinced it's doing anything at all.' Ginny pointed out.

'If we focus too much attention on them, they'll know it makes us nervous and build more anyway.' Neville agreed

'You're giving the ministry too much credit.'

'The ministry, maybe, but surely they'll be bolstered by the ICW now that they think Grindelwald's here too? It's an international issue now.'

Ominous silence met Theo's words. The rustle of Gellert's borrowed robe was loud as he leaned forwards and placed both elbows on the table.

'And what of our enemies beyond the borders of the island?' He asked, eyes finding Lord Nott. 'You are Hermione's spy among Voldemort's ranks, are you not?'

'I am.' Lord Nott remained relaxed despite Gellert's intensity, although he glanced briefly at Hermione. She gestured for him to continue. 'The Dark Lord's spies within the ministry and ICW reported your escape to him almost immediately, but word of your rejuvenation has yet to reach him. As such, he is dismissive of you as a significant threat. His focus remains on the prophecy, which he intends to take as soon as the public and ministry are suitably distracted by your escape.'

'And Dumbledore?' Hermione asked, turning to Lady Longbottom.

'Absent.' She sniffed. 'The escape interrupted the last meeting. I suspect we will hear nothing from him until the next meeting, on Tuesday.'

Gellert leaned back in his chair, propping his elbow on the armrest and twirling his stolen wand between his fingers.

'Perhaps we might consider a change in strategy. A plan to distract the masses, secure ourselves as 'heroes' and put an erumpent horn in the potion of Voldemort's side. Is there a reasonable way that we might have discovered Riddle's base of operations without learning of its location from Lord Nott?' He eventually asked.

'Not directly.' Sirius eventually answered, glancing searchingly around the room to see if anyone refuted him. 'But it wouldn't be unreasonable to say we stumbled across it – I mean, Lestrange manor isn't difficult to guess.'

'It would be on a shortlist.' Lady Longbottom agreed tightly.

'But not a short enough list to start wardbreaking it, or laying a siege.' Anneken pointed out. 'He knows we're short on numbers, so he'd know we were committing too much on a gamble.'

'Unless we went there for another reason.' Neville said slowly, frowning at the table. 'And just happened to discover that it was his base of operations at the same time.'

He looked up at Grindelwald, jaw set.

'The Lestranges tortured my parents into insanity. As is my right under the old laws, I can petition someone else to exact justice on my behalf.'

'Neville!' His grandmother exclaimed. 'Your parents…'

'My parents would understand.' Neville cut her off. 'They fought dark wizards, and if they knew that this could bring down three of the darkest, they would support it. If I ask Lord Grindelwald, or Sir Mordred to duel Bellatrix Lestrange, then we would have a reason to focus on Lestrange Manor.'

'And do what?' Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. Gellert grinned – she knew that expression. It meant he had plan that was equally reckless and brilliant, and sure to be worthy of a Grindelwald in it's dramaticism.

'The ICW look like fools; they've been outwitted by a teenage girl who has broken out their most feared high security prisoner. They need to arrest me, and they know it will take a large force to do so. Meanwhile, the ministry cannot continue to keep Voldemort's return a secret if enough people see him with their own eyes.'

'You intend to use yourself as bait?' Lord Nott sounded more than a little surprised. Hermione found it amazing that Gellert could have changed so much, and yet be so similar to how she knew him to be in the past. He'd always been one to gamble with his life and freedom, taking an aggressive line and pushing until his opponents had no choice but to fold. It had been dangerous in their youth, and she could only hope that he'd learned to moderate himself since then.

But as Gellert began to sketch out the outline of his plan, she had to concede that it really was quite brilliant. She'd been on the defensive since Voldemort had returned, and Gellert was right that it was past time to step onto the offensive and take control of the conflict. Of course, without his strength and skill, they wouldn't have had the ability to launch the kind of offensive that he was suggesting.

'I think we should do it.' She announced, when there was a pause in the discussion. She pushed herself to her feet, meeting every one of the eyes that snapped to her. 'We've been reacting to the attacks of others for too long – we can't withstand this siege forever and our enemies only grow stronger whilst we grow weaker. Gellert's return is a victory, and now we should press our advantage.'

'What exactly do the old laws consider justice for Neville?' Ginny asked, sounding somewhat morbid. Hermione looked expectantly to Lord Nott.

'It is a complex matter, which would once have been left up to the discretion of the King, Queen or the Wizard's Council.' Every eye then turned to Mordred, who grimaced.

'It is difficult.' The dark knight looked uncomfortable. 'In my day, we would have ruled in whichever way suited out needs and chosen sections of the law that supported our decisions. There would be some consideration for the children that Neville's mother might have borne – Lestrange would lose one of their daughters in turn, to death or marriage. There would probably be some form of compensation, which could vary between twenty and sixty times the year's earnings of the victims, perhaps a term of sworn service.'

'No death penalty?' Harry sounded surprised.

'Only for murder, and Neville's parents are still, technically, alive.' Hermione looked apologetically at Neville and Lady Longbottom as she confirmed. The elderly witch was difficult to read, but she seemed relieved by the revelation and surprisingly, after their last conversation, so did Neville.

With no further objections, talk turned to the intricacies and details of the plan. Feeling particularly buoyant, as though the promise of action had freed her from heavy shackles, Hermione contributed more enthusiastically to the conversation than she had in months. A small part of her was concerned that she was becoming too accustomed to fighting, but that fear was quickly lost as Sirius suggested several brilliant ideas.

Just before lunch, they sent Cavella to deliver a letter to the Lestrange family, written and sealed by Neville, demanding that Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange swear themselves into Neville's service for seventeen years in payment for the parents he'd lost. They all knew that Voldemort would never let three of his most loyal do such a thing, but then the Lestranges' agreement was not what they needed.

At the suggestion of Lord Nott, who felt that even those who were purportedly traditional might not know the old laws as well as they should, the letter went on to inform the Lestranges that they could either acquiesce to Neville's demand or face his champion in a formal duel, whereafter he would demand the same, along with the frankly obscene sum of four and a half million galleons.

The next matter to be seen to was swearing Gellert into her service. Hermione was inclined to get the affair over with quickly so that they could move on to preparing for what would be a major operation.

'This will be the first time someone's sworn loyalty to you.' Anneken emphasised.

'Apophis swore to me.' She pointed out.

'Fine. The first time someone with a wand has sworn to you.'

A compromise was eventually reached – Gellert would swear himself to her before their usual communal dinner, which would be a bit more extravagant than their normal meals. Flighty was less than happy with the arrangement, accidentally-on-purpose smacking Gellert's shins twice with her cane as she measured him up for fresh robes. Whether that was just her general dislike of Gellert, or whether she was particularly upset by the last minute plans, Hermione didn't know.

At least some preparation took place – Sirius and Anneken made the rounds of the wizards living in the castle, gathering volunteers to help with supporting the attack. The werewolves were eager to sign up – those capable of magic, and those who'd spent their spare time learning to wield bows and arrows. The guardians seemed to consider polishing their armour to be essential for both ceremony and battle, so Hermione wasn't sure they would have spent the day any differently anyway.

Gellert slept, Hermione thought. She'd intervened to make sure Flighty didn't try to assign him rooms in the dungeons, or somewhere equally as distant and miserable, and he'd ended up in the same rooms he'd been assigned when they first accidentally visited the castle and he'd been almost killed by the wards in the process. At least Flighty was being subtle with her threats.

Her battlerobes were… worn. They'd been black when she was gifted them by Lady Grindelwald – tears brimmed as she ran her fingers over the enchanted gauntlets, now so thin that she could feel each twist of the wire around the hilt of her sword through them. The leather breastplate had once been embossed but the patterns had long since faded and now the moulded leather was marked only by the criss-cross of shining scars. The thought of replacing such a significant gift from her late guardian was physically painful, but the coming battle would be too large and chaotic to risk going out without the protections that had long since worn away.

The guardians were delighted to learn that she would finally be donning a set of Gorlois battlerobes. They chattered their jaws excitedly as they left the tower and headed off to find whatever set she presumed they'd long since pre-prepared with blue swirls.

It took them much, much longer to return than she had expected – she'd finish drafting her official statement for Rita when the door swung open. Four shieldmaidens marched in, carrying a large chest between them, which they deposited in the middle of the room. Hermione jumped to her feet, taken aback as the chest was thrown open and the four shieldmaidens knelt sharply.

Peering inside, her first impression was that they'd brought her a suit of chainmail, silver gleaming. She reached in, the garment rusting as she picked it up, unfurling with a sound like wings. It was made of scales; hundreds, if not thousands, as large as her thumb over the chest, spine and shoulders and shrinking to barely larger than her little fingernail near her waist. There were gauntlets too, made of the same silver-grey scales, small as pinheads and flexible as leather. Katana's scales, she realised, painstakingly attached to a fine fish-leather. Amazed, she pulled out the robe itself. It too was made of fish-leather, stretched so thin that it was almost transparent at the hem and thicker, more protective at the torso, arms and thighs where her sword and saddle would rub. The skirt was similar to her old robes; knee length at the front and falling steeply to floor length before the back, split to allow her to ride easily astride. Stamped in silver, runes trailed in ribbons along every hem and seam, seeming to dance with every movement of the garment.

'Who made this?' She asked reverently, digging out the rest of the ensemble – a fur trimmed underdress for travelling, a summer and winter Gorlois cloak with embroidered runes in silver around every hem, two soft tunics and breeches. One of the shieldmaidens stepped forwards, presenting an old and yellowed parchment.

Dearest Hermione,

I will be long dead by the time this letter reaches you. It is my hope that I managed to tell you this in person, but I fear that it may not be so. The world grows darker and you have shared our future. I know that I cannot have died peacefully in the world you described.

And so I will begin;

I always wished for a daughter, but I was unable to bear another child after Gellert, as is often the way of these things. It is perhaps unfair to blame Gellert for the damage he wrought, but I struggled not to do so. Your arrival filled that void; you were everything I had dreamed of and more. As Gellert grows more and more like his father, I can only be grateful that you escaped the curse of that blood.

But for all the goodness you brought me, I have failed to protect you as your warden and for that I apologise deeply. Truthfully, I feel as though my house has been more a burden to you than a help; you have been dragged into a conflict that you should never have seen, and you have been forced to sacrifice far more than a child should ever be asked to give.

But it is my fear that whatever brought you here did so for a reason – those who can wield this magic rarely do so to fulfil the petty whims of mortals. I fear that this was your training ground, and you were sent here to prepare you for far harsher trials and conflicts to come. I daren't imagine the details, but I know that you will overcome them as you have here to become another great name in the histories of magic.

I cannot hope to atone for the dangers that you were subjected to as a child, but I can help to protect you in the future. These robes are of my own design. I sought the guidance of both Sir Mordred, Lord Gorlois and the runic and warding masters of our time when I wove the protection enchantments and they will be sealed with a vial of my own blood, drawn under the light of the blue moon, when your family finish making it. I doubt I will survive to see it completed, but then it is not meant to protect you against the dangers of my time.

Be strong, Hermione. Remember that you are the last Grindelwald, and that all the power of our house stands behind you.

I am so, so proud of everything you are becoming.

Love eternally,

Katerina Grindelwald.

A heavy tear splashed against the scaled pauldrons, running down the smooth surface and soaking into the robe beneath.

'This is from Lady Grindelwald.' She breathed, following the track of her tear with one finger, touching reverently. Brushing against the robes with her magic, she could feel the faintest threat of almost forgotten magic. Lady Grindelwald's power, extracted before it's source had been so savagely quenched.

'Help me?' She requested of the four shieldmaidens. They obeyed eagerly, heaving the chest up the staircase into her private rooms. They laid out the ensemble as Hermione pulled off her old black tunic and breeches, handing her the blue and white replacements as she was ready for each. The robes came next, magically shrinking to become almost skintight as soon as she'd pulled them on. The scaled armour went on over her head, then she stood with her arms outstretched whilst two of the shieldmaidens made sure the laces on each side were evenly tightened. As soon as they tied the last knot, it too moulded to fit her perfectly. The gauntlets laced up the inside; a task that could be completed alone with one hand, but was far easier if someone else did it. As two shieldmaidens began tightening the long laces, another pulled on gloves and began doing something to her hair, ignoring her protests and slapping away her hands every time she tried to feel what they were doing. The last guardian checked the edge of her sword and strapped it around her waist, then joined in with her hair, tugging her head this way and that like she was an oversized doll.

They guided her to the mirror when they were finished, and Hermione instantly resolved that the shieldmaidens would be teaching the house elves how to do her hair. They'd created two tight braids at her temples, which curled around her ears and kept every wisp away from her face even when she shook her head. The hair on top was split into three large plaits, which joined at the back in a high ponytail before falling loose with the rest of her hair. It made her look tall and fierce and combined with the slightly metallic shimmer of her new battlerobes to make her look like some unearthly war goddess.

She wished Lady Grindelwald could have seen it.

She thanked the quartet of shieldmaidens sincerely, accepting the new Gorlois cloak and swinging it around her shoulders. A final glance at the mirror as she left showed the retreating back of a High Priestess of Gorlois – for the first time she actually felt like she wasn't standing in someone else's oversize shoes.

Sirius Black was the first to notice her when she arrived in the antechamber to the hall. He swore, jumping to his feet. The other's eyes followed his and Hermione was gratified to see every set widen dramatically.

She paused beneath the chandelier, letting them admire Lady Grindelwald's design, whilst she admired them in turn. Hermione had never heard of the term 'formal battlerobes' before, but compared to the haphazard donning that had prevailed over the last weeks of the siege, the difference was stark. She didn't think she'd ever seen Harry wearing the full set that the others had gifted him for his birthday; she'd seen the armoured leather jerkin, usually worn over a t-shirt and jeans. She'd never seen the full crimson ensemble, with her own grim emblazoned across the back of his cloak and matching breeches and polished boots. Even Sirius, who hated all things formal, had combed his hair and wore a set of duelling robes.

From Mordred's black chainmail and plated shoulders to Lady Longbottom's green and gold runic brocade battle robes, Lord Nott's monochromatic grey and black embroidery to Sirius' flashy gold and Gryffindor red, they couldn't have looked more different, but every one of them had donned a voluminous Gorlois style cloak with the grim picked out in their chosen colours. That was her symbol being worn on the cloaks of some of the most powerful people in the country… how had she ended up in a position where she even had such a distinctive symbol to call her own?

'Who did your hair?' Ginny asked incredulously, shattering the moment. Hermione blushed and explained, after which Mordred let slip that he too could create the fearsome look. Harry was brave enough to tease him about it, after which the dark knight stormed away with his hand firmly on the hilt of his knife – to begin the ceremony, allegedly.

They did eventually begin the ceremony, after one of the elves appeared to inform them that everyone was gathered and ready. Her people hadn't learned nothing from living in close proximity to a city of undead warriors – those that had volunteered to fight carried large wooden shields, which could block many spells just as effectively as a shield charm… more effectively, for those who couldn't cast one with their off hand. Even the house elves looked ready to fight, marked up with warpaint and carrying bandoliers of potions. Everyone wore Hermione's symbol in some form – a Gorlois cloak, a woad blue ribbon, a painted grim. Someone had even taken on the massive task of giving the basilisk warpaint, and she now looked like the great world-ending viking serpent; Jörmungandr.

They cheered when she appeared on the dais, someone starting up some kind of stamping chant. She hoped they would still be so cheerful after the battle, but she feared that the tune would change; this would be the first conflict of the war. The first time where anyone was actually at any risk. The plan attempted to mitigate that risk, putting those with combat experience in the most dangerous places and keeping the civilian volunteers as safe as possible, but that didn't mean there was no risk.

She started by thanking them all for attending, then reminded them of the origin story that had been made available to the public; that she'd been born in the 1800s and had somehow magically teleported to the future, rather than the other way around. She wove a story of the Gellert she'd first met, before paranoia and loss had twisted him to aggression and dark magic. Then, the moment of truth, she announced that Gellert had broken free and arrived that morning.

With a sharp gesture the massive doors at the end of the throne room swung open and a squad of ten guardians marched sharply through. It took almost a full minute for Gellert to traverse the entire length of the aisle between the Goblins and the others. Whispers broke out, rising in volume before falling rapidly as if afraid that the dark wizard might be able to pick one voice from the masses.

Gellert had been dressed in plain, simple clothing. A loose shirt that yawned at the neckline, displaying a ladder-like, emancipated chest and gave him an overall appearance of frailty. He wasn't chained, but the way the guardians were closely locked around him made it clear that he was a prisoner rather than an honoured guest.

He was forced to his knees roughly at the foot of the dais with just a touch too much force, the painful sounding impact of his bones against the stone catching in the spell that amplified Hermione's voice when she spoke and echoing almost as resoundingly as the heavy thud of the door slamming shut again.

'Gellert Grindelwald, you were imprisoned for committing grievous crimes under laws both old and new. Why have you escaped your rightful confinement and come before us?' Hermione hadn't rehearsed the line as much as Berg would have liked, but they were ones she could deliver with the appropriately dark tone with ease. Her betrothed really had betrayed everything they stood for, and Hermione was still furious with him for it.

'I seek to earn my freedom through service.' Gellert bent his head deferentially, using the formal words.

'And what services do you offer to atone for your crimes?' The old law that allowed a criminal to offer sworn service instead of more traditional sentences was one that even those not well versed in the old laws would know about – like the duel, it survived as a plot point in many fairytales. Although, it had to be admitted, as many of those sworn criminals rose up and killed their generous liege as saved the day and redeemed themselves. Hermione tried very hard not to doubt Gellert as he continued the ceremony.

'I offer my wand to help bring justice to those who have escaped it. I offer my magic to the rebuilding of this city. I offer my knowledge and experience to your council. I offer my heart to you, to be the support I once was.'

'Then, in good faith, I accept your offer. The terms of your service are thus; you shall do as I bid and raise your wand only to my enemies. You may not hold titles or property, you may not use your seal nor access your accounts. You must remain within the grounds of this castle unless knowingly accompanied by a member of my council acting under their own free will. You will remain thus until judged worthy of freedom by a jury of your peers, selected at random from every race within this hall. Do you accept?'

It took a couple of moments for the full meaning of her words to sink in across the hall, for the goblins, werewolves and house elves to realise that she was including them among those who would be on the jury, that she was naming them as equals in an official capacity. It started slowly at first, with whispers breaking out across the hall but word quickly spread and the volume built to a cacophony. Hermione's eyes cut quickly to the wizards – the ones most likely to object, but was pleasantly surprised to see that many looked surprised by the celebrations, as though they would have considered it a given that the other races would be included. In fact, only Rita Skeeter looked unhappy, but that was presumably because one of the celebrating werewolves had accidentally knocked off her glasses.

Hermione let the people celebrate for a minute or two, then raised her hands for silence. She was unsuccessful for several minutes more, but eventually quiet fell again and every eye once more faced Gellert, whose presence had been almost entirely forgotten in all the excitement.

'I do.' Gellert promised. She brought the sword down, letting it hover over his right shoulder. Gellert leaned sideways, pressing his skin against the blade until it drew blood. 'I swear to abide by your terms, and to serve to the best of my ability.'

Hermione lifted her sword away, arching up and over his head to hover over his left shoulder. He swayed towards it again, until a matching line was carved along the left side of his neck. 'May my blood hold me to my oaths, and may these marks serve as a reminder of what should happen should I break them.'

She lifted the sword skyward again, the bloodied edges pink against the silver steel, then lowered it one last time to rest on the crown of his head, staining his icy pale hair with twin streaks of colour.

'So mote it be.' She finished. The blood on the blade flared, like car headlights passing a narrow window. Polite applause broke out across the hall and Rita Skeeter's camera flashed blindingly. It flashed again when she sheathed her sword and offered a hand to Gellert, pulling him to his feet and returning the smile he gave her. It flashed again when he surged forwards to embrace her, as though this truly was their first meeting.

'You look spectacular.' He breathed into her ear. 'A true warrior queen.'

'I'm not a queen.' She grumbled. It was very difficult to not start thinking of herself as some kind of ruler when everyone kept saying things like that. She was determined to remain humble; arrogance had brought an end to both Grindelwald and Gorlois dynasties.

'Not yet.' Gellert sounded solemn, obligingly moving away to take up a position to the side of the rest of her council, not quite on the dais but close enough that he wasn't among the other wizards in the audience. Hermione turned back to the crowd and moved onto the next order of business – ensuring that everyone knew the plan for their play that evening. An immediate change came over the hall. Gellert's reception had been mixed, and Hermione suspected most people had either expected it to happen eventually, or had yet to make up their mind on how they felt. The mention of the upcoming battle brought a sudden stir of interest, which grew into keen anticipation as she revealed the plan and divided everyone into groups and gave them assignments before bidding them make their final preparations and head to dinner.

Hermione herself was well used to the anticipation that came before a battle; the way it made her veins thrum and her stomach twist. Many of her peers were facing the feeling for the first time, so dinner was quieter than usual, with only the occasional burst of bravado or nervous laughter.

'Nervous?' She asked Harry quietly. The Boy-Who-Lived was picking at his clouds of buttery, golden mashed potato. Hermione took a mouthful of her own. It tasted dry and ashy in her mouth.

'Yeah.' He admitted. 'It's worse than the tournament, you know?'

'Because you'll be responsible for others?'

'They're aurors – they're trained to duel.'

'And so are you.' Hermione pointed out reassuringly. 'But this isn't a duel, remember? It's a battle, and I promise you the aurors have even less experience than you.'

'I guess.' Harry even cracked a small smile, 'and it's not even a normal magical battle.'

'No.' Hermione sent him an answering smile, forcing herself to finish off her potatoes. It wouldn't do for anyone to think she was anything less than utterly confident, and she would need the energy later.

Hermione didn't even have to call for attention when she stood at nine. As though they'd been waiting for her movement, an instant silence fell and every eye turned to her instantly. She hadn't prepared a speech, but it felt appropriate to say something.

'Tonight marks a turning point in history. Tonight, for the first time in millennia, goblins, wizards and elves draw arms together. Tonight, we take control of this fight. Tonight, we take a step towards a better world. So draw your wand, draw your sword, pick up your spear and etch your name into the annuls. Semper Ad Meloria!' She cried out the chant that Mordred had chosen, drawing her sword and thrusting it up into the air. All around the hall, her cry was echoed, becoming a wordless roar of sound as benches were scraped back across stone and people rose to follow her out of the hall.

The beasts had been painted and saddled for battle whilst they were eating. Katana's vulnerable belly and chest had been strung with light mail and his leathery wings were so thick with tiny painted runes that they seemed black in the moonlight. He huffed when he saw her, dancing on the end of his lead. Then Morv'arch snorted real fire from behind him, drawing her attention to the two dark mounts. Mordred's steed wore a full coat of chainmail and a spiked helmet that was only a shade lighter than his coat. Beside him, Kelpie squealed and tore from the guardian's hold as he caught sight of Gellert. The dark wizard had only a moment to freeze in shock at the top of the stairs before his stallion his cleared the entire flight in a series of long bounds and almost collided with him as hooves scrabbled and sparked across stone.

Kelpie regained his feet, prancing around his returned master like a colt a fraction of his age, without the bony trophies and battle scars of a century. Gellert wrapped his arms around his beast, burying his face into the long mane. The people still pouring out of the castle shot him strange looks before giving him a wide berth.

Once mounted on Katana, she could see easily across the courtyard as everyone found their steed for the night; Harry, Ginny and Theo checked the enchantments on their brooms a final time under Sirius' guidance. Neville used a mounting block to climb astride his granian; he'd shot up over the term and would need a sturdier mount before long. Lady Longbottom opened the portal to Longbottom Manor, disappearing through the swirling silver to distract the order from the massive host that would soon march across her grounds.

'Ready?' Gellert asked, riding up beside her. As if echoing his sentiment, Kelpie whuffed. Hermione offered him a wild grin, nerves beginning to give way to adrenaline.

'Ready.' She confirmed. Mordred, whose approach had somehow been utterly silent despite the size of his beast, raised a horn to his lips and blew. The note that escaped the beautiful instrument was discordant and spooky, raising the hair on her arms. A set of gates swung open and the ghosts appeared; they were formed into ranks, but Hermione couldn't pick them apart as more than a stream of silver that seemed to suck all the remaining warmth out of the night air as they passed.

'Did you see to Lord Nott?' She asked, glancing over at Anneken. The older witch nodded quickly.

'Asleep in his manor.' She answered, 'I have his memories stored in my room, and I left the code on top of his wand. Hopefully he won't be too confused when he wakes up.'

'We can only hope. He has his ring, at least.' She looked away, towards the ghosts. 'That's quite the spectacle – they won't be quite so conspicuous whilst you travel, will they?'

'No.' Mordred confirmed, amusement thick in his voice. 'They're showing off.'

'The Nations are prepared.' The sharp voice of High King Ragnuk drew their attention downwards. She barely supressed a squeak of alarm as she realised he was leading an acromantula, armoured as heavily as Morv'arch and with a saddle nestled between its long, hairy legs. His guard waited near the gate to their warren, already mounted on smaller but no less eerie spiders. She wondered when enough acromantulas to mount a cavalry had made their way into the castle… or had they been living in the depths below already?

'May your hammers hit true and your blades stay sharp.' She bid, as Mordred and Gellert picked up their reins to join the High King's party. Fortunately, neither dark wizard appeared even moderately phased by the arachnid mounts.

'May your enemies choke on their own blood.' Ragnuk agreed and Hermione couldn't help but rather nobody did any choking that day, on blood or otherwise. It was a feeble hope, but they were going to war against fellow witches and wizards. She would rather take prisoners than leave casualties. She kept her silence however, leaning over Katana's folded wings to give both dark wizards a quick parting embrace.

Mordred blew his horn and the first rank of ghosts reared their horses then kicked off, galloping up into the sky, fading to invisibility just beyond the rooftop of the hall. Like a ribbon of silver, rank after rank followed in eerie silence. A hundred knights mounted upon a hundred mighty warhorses, two hundred men at arms gliding upwards with Gorlois cloaks flaring behind them like wings.

Not to be outdone, High King Ragnuk screeched a gobbledegook warcry and the door to the warren swung wide, revealing his warriors. Their silver armour shone almost as brightly as the ghosts, catching the orange light of the braziers along every fearsome plane. Armoured boots clanked a heavy tempo as each battalion emerged, headed by their king and his guards astride decorated acromantulas. At a sharp command, each battalion clapped their hand onto the shoulder of the soldier in front and plunged after their leader into the open portal.

The wizards followed, barrels strung between their brooms – the ministry had kindly provided more than enough samples of their wardbreaking potion for Slughorn to be able to replicate it. Hermione intended to use it to full effect. Anneken, Berg, Gellert and Mordred rode through last, the portal winking closed behind them.

Hermione paused for a moment, offering a quick prayer to anything or anyone that might be listening for as many of them to return home safely as possible, then swing Katana to face those remaining. Cywllog rode up to her shoulder, mounted on a skeletal warhorse and with her horn at the ready. Sir Gareth took position at her other side astride an undead mount almost as tall as Katana, carrying a Gorlois banner.

'Take positions!' Hermione called, the shieldmaiden echoing her call a moment later with the mournful bellow of the horn. 'Harry, Neville, Ginny, Theo, on me.'

The youngest members of her future coven quickly moved over, arraying themselves loosely behind the guardians and following her lead as she trotted out of the courtyard and into the city. Langritch and the werewolves picked up their shields and trotted after them on living horses, house elves clinging to their backs and saddlebags clinking with potion vials.

The war band's hooves clattered against the stone streets, witches and wizards swooping above on brooms before forming a formation that Hermione was fairly sure she'd seen used in quidditch, or that they had copied from the aurors.

The great courtyard before the outer gates bristled with guardians, mounted, armed and armoured. Gorlois banners snapped, cloaks and barding stirred, bone creaked. Apophis arrived last, strung with meters and meters of cargo net, from which hung the rest of the house elves.

Hermione checked her watch. The aurors would be attacking at any moment, but no word came from Mordred, Gellert and the ghosts. She glanced up at the sky as a cloud scudded across the thin sliver of the moon. She checked her watch again – the aurors did not attack at regular times each night, but it was beginning to get late. Any minute. Still no word from the ghosts. The attack relied on perfect timing.

'Ginny, Harry, Theo. Take your group to the sally. Get ready.' She ordered quietly. The trio nodded and Harry signalled to the other witches and wizards on brooms, whizzing away as nothing more than dark blurs against stone.

Katana stirred, picking up on her restlessness. Neville was fidgeting beside her. Hermione double checked the leg straps of her saddle, making sure that they would hold her securely during Katana's stunts.

A piercing hornblast from the South Curtain – the aurors had begun their attack. Hermione couldn't wait any longer.

'Fire bastillae!' She cried, wheeling Katana towards the gates. Cwyllog's horn relayed her order as several hundred guardians shifted to sudden attention. Spears and armour clanked, Neville hastily drew his wand. Above them, every bastilla on the wall released with an almost simultaneous crack. A couple of seconds later their bolts impacted with dull thuds and a loud, distinctive hissing.

'Open the gate!' That order did not need to be relayed by horn. The guardians in the gatehouse already knew what to do and they heaved against the capstan, the portcullis grinding up just far enough for their heads to clear it's savage spikes.

'Move out!' She led the way as she spoke, Katana jumping into a canter as though he'd read her mind. They surged out from the castle, straight into a bank of heavy, sweet-smelling smoke. With a cacophonous clatter, the guardians poured out after her.

'Charge!' She bellowed, the horn sounding four ascending notes. The guardians fanned out immediately, war horses picking up their pace to great, lumbering bounds that made the very earth shake beneath them. Blindly shot flashed of spell fire sliced through the smoke cover, glancing off armour and shields. One guardian fell with a crash of metal, his horse giving an unearthly squeal. Katana screeched in response, wings snapping out. He beat once, twice, and hurled them up through the smoke and into the sky, just as the front line of the guardians burst into the open, hooves trailing smoky potion. A volley of bastilla bolts arched overhead, splattering bright potion against the auror camp's own wards. The ward cracked like an egg, leaving afterimages like lightning across the velvet night.

Neville shouted a warcry – he'd taken the standard from Sir Gareth and it streamed out behind his granian as it surged forwards, barely past the turbulence of Katana's mighty wingspan. Shouts of alarm echoed from the auror encampment, figures swarming like ants in a disturbed nest. Spells shot out haphazardly, taking out several more knights, but the assault was unstoppable.

Katana screeched again, drawing attention upwards. Red bolts of spell-fire immediately converged on her distinctive mount. Katana tucked his wings, flicked his tail and dropped. The world spun around her, sky-earth-sky, then snapped back to upright as Katana took two mighty wingbeats, sending them surging forwards faster than Neville's granian could hope to manage. Hermione drew her sword, holding it above her head, and pressing her right knee into Katana's wing joint.

He tucked a single wing and flipped, rocketing past the wall of the encampment upside down. Hermione released her magic through the bone core of her blade and it carved a trail of fire through the wooden palisade, the blade cutting through the timbers like pastry. Katana flipped upright and wheeled, several spells glancing off his armoured belly, then raced along the length of the palisade, Hermione's sword tracing fire along the base.

He rose up, just in time for the first of the guardians to reach them. Spears sailed up and over the wooden barrier, several aurors crying out in shock and one tumbling from the wall with a sickening thud. The charging horses seemed to leap as one, crashing into the timber wall, which, weakened by Hermione's fire, folded beneath their weight.

Aurors shouted in fear and surprise, some managing to jump clear.

The second wave of guardians reached the camp, thundering over the broken timbers and the scattered bones and armour of their predecessors.

A spell whipped over her shoulder and Hermione snapped back to herself, taking Katana back up into the sky even as Neville hurtled downwards on his granian, shooting a steady stream of blue sparks towards a small fortification on the far side of the camp. A third wave of guardians broached the fallen wall, surging between the tents. Aurors fought back desperately, reducing the guardians to piles of bone, cloth and metal. To the south, near the castle, spells lit up the night like fireworks as Harry, Theo, Ginny and the other witches and wizards engaged the attacking force of aurors.

Apophis emerged from the smoke, the house elves screeching a warcry and the werewolves thundering beside her. They veered straight towards the closest trebuchet, the house elves deflecting spells with their pans and dustbin lids like Vikings aboard a longship. The werewolves howled, despite it not being a full moon, and leapt into the fray from their horses' backs, leaving house elves at the reins, who immediately spun and began tipping pottles of skelegrow over the piled guardians by the palisade. Many clambered back to their feet.

The basilisk reached the centre of the camp, rearing up and up like a cobra about to strike, then coming crashing down on the closest siege weapon. It splintered under her weight like so many matchsticks, raising a cheer from those on the ground.

Cavella howled from somewhere in the castle, the signal from the ghosts.

Hermione grinned fiercely, wheeling Katana and sending him shooting back to the castle. The second trebuchet shattered behind her.

The guardians on the walls clanked their spears and armour victoriously as Katana tucked his wings and shot through the open gates, then clawed his way back up to the portal. Cavella barked in greeting as Hermione tugged her straps loose and jumped from the saddle, stumbling twice before catching herself on the portal and managing to open it.

Katana carried her through the portal, meeting Lady Longbottom on the other side. The elderly witch pointed Hermione in the right direction, wished her luck, then stepped back to let them take off.

Katana had to climb sharply for the first mile so that the muggles beneath would think he was nothing more than a pale bat. Adrenaline kept Hermione warm, even as Katana accelerated to the full speed of an adult Longma, his wings snapping against the air to either side of them and the wind roaring in Hermione's ears as she tucked her face into his mane.

She saw the wards of Lestrange Manor give way minutes before she arrived; a glistening dome appearing on a towering cliff overlocking the sea. It shattered, broken magic falling like glass across the dark Disney castle beneath. The ghosts swarmed it instantly, coating the open grounds like insidious snow, their screeches easily carrying the last mile to her.

Magic that felt like Mordred's dropped the temperature just as a draconic form of blue fire wrapped itself around one of the towers. The anti-disapparition jinx tingled against her skin as she passed through it, then Hermione finally caught sight of Mordred, locked into a duel with three dark figures. Goblins warded off others, diamond shaped shields interlocked into an impenetrable wall. Gellert was mounted at the end of the lawn, directing his conjured dragon in combat against a serpent of stars. Voldemort himself was a pale fleck on one of the tower tops.

Katana angled towards the dark wizard, half furling his wings and shooting towards him. He let out a screech moments before impact, lowering his armoured head and slamming the dark wizard off his parapet. The dark shape fell, dissolving into smoke before he hit the ground and streaking up towards her, wand raised in retaliation. Gellert's dragon swallowed the tower behind her, the snake dissolving into nothing beneath its paws.

Then Voldemort was upon her. She ducked, lashing out with her sword as they crossed in midair, slicing off a ribbon of his robe and deflecting a curse strong enough to leave her fingers tingling. The wizard turned, coming in for another pass. Hermione dropped Katana, barrel rolling like a spitfire and coming up behind the dark wizard. He evaded her sword chop and the ensuing slice of magic, deflected her wandless stunner with contemptuous ease, then was forced to land as Katana swept out a taloned wing. Gellert was upon him in moments, Kelpie's hooves flashing as viciously as his wand.

Mordred's magic shook the ground and Hermione twisted Katana in the air. She cast several stunning spells and transfigured one death eater into a pig as she shot over the heads, landing firmly behind one of the three death eaters battling Mordred.

'Three against one?' She demanded, as he turned to face her. He was shorter; perhaps the younger brother, going by Lord Nott's descriptions of the Lestranges. 'You're violating the rules of a formal duel.'

The younger Lestrange's mask hid his expression, but Hermione could easily picture him sneering. She drove Katana forwards, swiping away his spell with her sword. Her beast leapt, hooves and talons deflected by a silvery shield charm. Hermione lit her sword aflame and stabbed downwards, breaking the ward. Lestrange stumbled backwards and Katana came down on empty air.

On the ground, at close quarters, Katana was more hinderance than help. Hermione was forced to deflect seven spells that would have hit the wide target that he presented, her off hand tingling so fiercely that she could no longer feel her fingers well enough to cast. She jumped off his back, sending him back aloft with a shouted command. He lashed out a final time with his tail and wings as he left, giving Hermione just enough time to create some distance between herself and Lestrange.

She spun her sword, wind whipping around the tip before she released it towards Lestrange like a miniature tornado. Her off hand shot off a stunning spell, then she arced her sword through the air, carving another trail of fire. Lestrange dodged and dipped, then returned a quick amethyst curse and Hermione barely managed to alter her momentum enough to dodge. She tripped over a raised cobble, taking a painful spell to the knee and another to the chest that deflected off her battlerobes. She got off a stunning spell, then a heating charm aimed directly at his metal mask, that slipped easily through his shield. He hissed, tearing off the metal and the pause allowed her to cast the counter curse on her knee.

Then the shrub behind her came alive, roots and branches reaching for her limbs like grasping hands. She hacked at them, the basilisk venom in the goblin silver sword withering the woody stems instantly, spreading like a plague until the entire hedge was dead.

She turned back to Lestrange, smirking. He'd gone very, very pale and his eyes were glued to the sword as she twirled it at her side with practiced ease.

He was so distracted that he missed her casting the same animating spell on the tree behind him as he had on the shrub, branched whipping down like a whomping willow.

The elder Lestrange brother came to his brother's aid, casting a volley of purple curses that Hermione had to duck and dodge. They hit the goblins behind her instead, burning through armour like paper and drawing terrible screeches of agony. Furious, Hermione retaliated with a vermillion curse in the direction of Bellatrix, both brothers bellowing out a warning. The witch spun, the spell hitting her trailing arm and reveal itself as a bone breaker. It distracted her enough for Mordred to slam his staff into the ground, the cobbles heaving like an ocean wave.

Hermione danced over the wave, jumping off the top and cleaving her sword down towards Lord Lestrange. His mask cracked and deformed, but the enchanted metal held the blow. She followed up with her gauntleted fist, pounding it into the soft embroidered leather over his chest, then driving a knee up between his legs.

The younger grabbed her hair and sword wrist, twisting until she was forced to drop the weapon, hauling her away from the elder. She threw her head backwards, hitting first the hand in hre hair, then smashing that into something else. The cry of pain and spray of hot blood across her neck suggested it had been his nose. She lunged for her dropped sword, barely getting it up to deflect a green curse from elder Lestrange. She doubted it was as harmless as her own green curses.

She deflected another with her off hand, a silver kite shield braced in front of her as she charged towards Lord Lestrange. One spell, two spells, three… her sword cleaved his wand in two, just as another green one left its tip.

The force of the ensuing explosion hit her like a freight train, or perhaps a jumbo jet, throwing her up into the air. For several moments she was airborne, eyes fixed on the wide eyes of the wizard whose wand she'd just destroyed as he was hurled in the opposite direction.

Then Katana snatched her out of the air, wings wrapping securely around her moments before they both ploughed into the ground. His knee hit her head, a hoof caught her shoulder and spots danced across her closed eyes for several seconds after they'd come to a stop. Whatever part of the battlefield they'd crashed into seemed just as stunned, as there were several seconds of silence, followed by an agonised cry.

Katana's wing peeled open and Hermione crawled quickly free, her beast thrashing wildly as he freed his wing from beneath himself and clambered to his feet, pain searing their bond. A spell shot in her direction, barely distinguishable from the coloured spots still dancing among the black splotches in front of her eyes. Her sword was stuck into the dirt several meters away and she crawled towards it, rolling underneath an exploding curse which reduced the furrow they'd already carved into a crater. She used the sword to pull herself to her feet, then dragged it out of the dirt.

The curse caster was a black cloaked death eater, and he was flanked by two others. She readied her sword, calling magic back up to her hand. Behind her, Katana regained his feet. One wing was crumpled and his magnificent rack of antlers looked like splintered tree after hurricane. Her attention was snapped away as she was forced to dodge a curse, then a crackling purple one that smoked when it hit the ground.

She stumbled, landed on a pointy stone, which she lobbed at one of the smaller two death eaters. Much to everyone's surprise, it connected and the death eater collapsed. Then Mordred surged into view, swinging his sword and bellowing a warcry. It bit deeply into the arm of the second smaller death eater, spraying blood across Mordred's dark armour and pulling an equally loud cry of agony from the death eater. The taller one jumped backwards, putting distance between himself and the dark wizard.

He would have been fast even if Hermione wasn't injured. His wand flicked and twisted – both Gorlois children were channelling magic through hands and swords and Hermione was injured, Mordred was tired. He managed to hold them both off. Over his shoulder, Hermione saw the purple robed ICW aurors streaming onto the field. As she deflected another nasty purple curse, she saw Gellert forcing Voldemort backwards, towards them.

Then everything was purple fire and darkness.