From the moment Hermione's feet touched the marble floors of Malfoy Manor, she was vibrating with all-consuming excitement. Everything she had discussed with Lestrange at Wandermere was buzzing around in her brain, unwilling to be quieted. She needed to tell Draco!

How would he take it, though?

She knew he had promised he would listen... that he would try to reconcile what he knew of the world with what she believed, regardless of how different those things might be. On the subject of Squibs, he had nearly even succeeded - at least to the point where he felt comfortable interacting with her parents and accepting that they would be in her life.

But this...

He's going to hate it, her pessimistic side inwardly voiced. This will take everything he's known since he was a child and turn it all on its head…

But perhaps with some cajoling, and a great deal of explanation… if he has the fortitude to be patient while I tell him our plans… and maybe if he respects Cornelius's opinion, as well… Mentally, she shook herself. There was no use harping on what-ifs in a situation like this.

"He promised he would listen to you," she reminded herself firmly as she strode down the main corridor of their private wing. And besides, her stubborn streak pushed, it doesn't matter if he likes it or not. This is bigger than just the two of you. You've got to do this.

Still, something about the thought did not sit right with her. It might have been mere weeks since they had married, but somehow his happiness had become of paramount importance to her. She did not like to imagine him drinking alone, just to numb the fact of his own existence. Not if she could help it.

After peeking into several of the smaller rooms and finding them empty, Hermione found Draco in the library. He looked as if he had just returned home himself. With a small smile, he crossed the room to greet her.

"I was just looking for you."

Despite having just indulged in several inner pep talks, she suddenly found that she was not quite ready to broach the subject with him after all. Heart fluttering nervously, she pushed up onto the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek, and gave herself permission to momentarily stall. "Were you successful at Gringotts today?"

Briefly, he touched the pocket of his robes. Her eyes were drawn down by the subtle movement of his hand, and she wondered what that was about. "Very much so. I had a few matters of business to take care of - all resolved to my liking."

Including my dowry, she suspected. Still, she had to appreciate his subtlety. She had peeked at the document Muriel had handed over to Draco when they had dined at Fosgate Hall, curious how much the dowager had considered her to be worth. The sum had been staggering.

He asked, "Did you enjoy your luncheon?"

You're not going to get a better opening than that, she deduced. Still, her nerves were on edge, and it was somewhat haltingly that she admitted, "Actually, I didn't see Ginny today."

He paused in the act of brushing one of her curls behind her ear, to throw up his guard. "I see."

"I'm sorry for misleading you," she said quickly. "I know we agreed to listen to one another about things we might not see eye-to-eye on, but I needed to be sure of a few… particulars, before I broached this subject."

"You're winding me up," he whined,his mercurial eyes trained on her as if he were expecting a lie. "Tell me what you did with your day instead."

"Come, sit with me," she entreated. Taking his hand, she led him to the windowed alcove facing the gardens and sank down onto the cushioned ledge, pulling him down next to her before folding her hands in her lap.

Like water from a broken spigot, the details of her visit with Lestrange came out in a great rush. Draco was a very good audience, listening without interruption. Hermione did wish, however, that she was able to read his expression, which was blank and enigmatic at best.

When she finished speaking, there were a few moments of very loud silence. Then, he grasped her hand and observed, "This idea of yours… it sounds monumental."

Tentatively, she queried, "Do you consider that to be bad or good?"

He seemed thoughtful as his thumb began to stroke her skin. "It's a good thing, surely. Like you said, we can't hope to keep doing things the way we've doing them without there being repercussions."

"I thought you would hate it," she admitted.

"On the contrary." He smiled, then paused a moment, wherein he seemed to be thinking intently about something. Then, looking suddenly as excited as she inwardly felt, he requested, "Wait right here, I'll be right back."

Surprised, Hermione watched as his form retreated from the library with near-boyish excitement radiating from him. She sat back on the window-cushion, her head resting against the wall. Nearly absently at first, her gaze wandered over the manor's grounds, taking in the trellises climbing with grapes, the little pond with its meandering koi fish, and the beds overflowing with potioneering herbs.

This is where he grew up, she thought of Draco. For someone whose life had been designed so that he could have gone through it without obstacles, he was being surprisingly accommodating of her. I'd have thought he'd hate the idea of adding other families into the pact…

Yet again, it occurred to Hermione that she had underestimated her new husband. When would she stop doing that? Would it take years? Possibly only months? Could she somehow make it so that she could stop now? She did not know.

Her eyes caught the red foliage and shaggy bark of a hawthorn tree in the distance. Draco's wand is hewn from hawthorn, she remembered. Nearly absentmindedly, she recalled that the flowers were not highly prized because they bore the smell of death, akin to decomposing meat. In fact, the stench was powerful enough that even bees were reluctant to pollinate the flowers; they had to be fertilized by carrion insects.

Her eyebrows knitted together at the thought that the wood of Draco's wand bore such a connection to death, before they pulled apart and she reconsidered. From what she remembered, Draco had not been a pleasant child or teenager. How much of that had been his prejudice? More importantly, when had it changed?

She already knew: it had changed after the war.

It's perfect for him, she decided after a moment's consideration. Just like the smell of hawthorn flowers, Draco needed death to bloom, to grow into his own. And what had I expected? That he would have been completely transformed after Voldemort fell? People don't always work that way…

But he had grown.

The door clicked open and then shut again. Turning her head, Hermione found Draco had returned and was striding across the room toward her. When he passed under the stained glass cupola, he was bathed in a variety of colored lights, and emerged again without even seeming to have noticed.

He sat back in the window seat across from her, and Hermione studied him now with a new lens. There was a book in his hands, so small it was nearly a pamphlet, which he handed over for her to take. "Here."

She looked down at the book; it was a copy of Runes & Symbolism - the same little volume Hermione had found in Percy's old bedroom back when she had been living at the Burrow.

Placing it in her hands, Draco flipped it open to a bookmarked page. It was her rune: kenaz.

A barrage of questions and feelings assailed her all at once. Looking back up at him, she noted that his pale cheeks had taken on a pink tinge. She did not even have to ask him why this particular page was bookmarked, and yet he somehow understood that she was asking. In answer, he pulled her rune-stone from his pocket, flipping it fondly through his fingers. "I did some research after we were paired."

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, Hermione's hand slipped into her own pocket and pulled out Draco's rune-stone. Fingers running over the carved Malfoy crest, she flipped the little piece of smoothed dolomite to reveal isa.

Him.

Of course it was him. Slow to change, yes, but powerful once it had begun… like a glacier cutting its way through the North Sea. It struck her for a second time that, yes, she had underestimated and miscalculated the man her husband was… but more importantly, the man her husband was trying to become.

Unaware of her epiphany, Draco's expression was an oddly open one, and clearly relieved to find that she carried his rune-stone. He sat up a little straighter before leaning forward to indicate the book he had retrieved, one of his long fingers finding a sentence to trace. Aloud, he read, "'Ancestrally, we must each carry our own torch, creating a path of light that flows through the darkness. These torches are never extinguished, and can be used as signposts in the navigation of the ancestral stream.'"

Kenaz. Yes, Hermione decided, the Old Magic did well when it paired me to this rune. Everything about it felt exactly right.

"You're meant to do this," he said quietly.

She looked up at him; Draco's gaze was searching her, as if trying to figure out what was going on in her head. Taking his hand, the one that still held her rune-stone, she closed his fingers around the little piece of quartz. "Will you help me?"

"Yes."

One mere syllable; one single heartbeat. Yet...

.

.

At their family dinner that evening, Draco broached the scheme to his mother. Narcissa had gone quiet the moment she understood the subject, and listened attentively while her son and daughter-in-law relayed their tentative plan to her. Hermione wished she could tell what was happening inside her mother-in-law's head.

"In short, mother, we need some advice on which families might wish to be involved."

Narcissa's next words were unexpected. They were also a warning. "Great spirits have often encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds. This… what you have planned… it will not be easy, especially amongst some others of those already in the pact…" Here, she paused, looking directly at her son. "Including your father, Draco."

"I know," he admitted.

Hermione had not factored Lucius into things at all. It was easy to forget about her father-in-law, given his absence and how infrequently he was mentioned. Yet, he was due to be released from Azkaban in less than two months' time. How would life change for her then? She shook the thought away. This was not about Lucius, or even about her. This was far bigger.

"All the same, I will help you," Narcissa continued, sipping at her wine glass as if she had not just agreed to something so momentous. "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

Hermione had not considered such an angle before.

"I have to admit I'm surprised you…" she paused, glancing at Draco before amending, "both of you - agreed so easily."

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow as she swirled her wine around in its goblet. "But this affects us all most intimately. Have you not thought about the state of things when your own children - someday - must cast in?"

Hermione had not. A glance at Draco proved that he unequivocally had. She could feel her cheeks flushing at the quick flash of an idea that she would eventually be expected to birth his - their - children. For the first time, the idea was not accompanied by revulsion. When had that changed?

"Some families have been more recently excluded from the pact due to their becoming half-blood, regardless if that had happened generations ago," Narcissa went on. "These would be some of the best to start with, particularly the Crabbes, the Zabinis, and the Urquharts."

"And I'm planning to begin with Harry Potter," Hermione added quickly, "and with the Lovegoods."

The rest of dinner was spent discussing the scheme, starting with Hermione's covert visit to Cornelius Lestrange. By the end of it, she was left thinking that while outwardly cold, Narcissa Malfoy was not nearly as bad as she had once believed.

She voiced this thought aloud to her husband after she and Draco bid the woman goodnight and began the trek back to their private suite.

"Don't be taken in by her docile nature," he warned. "During the war, she once murdered someone by gifting them a poisoned hatpin."

Scandalized, Hermione stared at him, waiting for him to add that he had just been kidding, but he never did.

"The more I think about it, the more I like the idea," he said as they stepped over the threshold into their wing. "Mother is right - our children… someday… they deserve better than a pool of inbreeding."

More to change the subject away from their theoretical family than anything else, Hermione posited, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if others had a chance to cast in and get someone they love?"

Draco snorted.

"What? You don't believe in love?"

He shrugged. "Love's just a word… until someone comes along and gives it meaning."

Falling silent at that, she subconsciously leaned in toward him and did not speak again until they reached their bedroom door. "I think it would be great if Ginny and Harry had the chance to cast in and get paired to one another."

"Theo Nott was hoping to be paired with her, you know."

Hermione gaped. "Really?"

With a shrug, Draco explained, "He's got a thing for her. Do not tell him I told you."

The following handful of hours were spent in tranquil routine. Hermione changed into her night things and sat by the window in their receiving room with a book. Draco did the same, and Hermione noticed he had forgone his usual nightcap, the bourbon decanter remaining untouched.

When it was time for bed, they turned down the sheets and climbed in together. She lay on her side and Draco moved in close behind her. It was silent for several minutes.

"Tomorrow we should go to the henge," he murmured, drawing circles on her shoulder blade with his finger as they spooned.

"Oh?"

From behind her, she could feel the hum of his voice as he spoke. "We have a duty to make a blood offering once per lunar cycle for our first married year. After being in Australia for two-and-a-half weeks, we really should get it out of the way…"

Remembering Mrs. Weasley had mentioned that particular nuance of the Old Magic's agreement, she agreed, "Okay."

Sleep claimed her not long after, the images of purple, blue, and green bonfires dancing - and a distant henge on a hill - swirling through her mind.

.

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Author's Note: Can you believe there are only two chapters to go?

I'd like to express my heaping gratitude to my beta, I was BOTWP. As usual, she was right about many things concerning this chapter, and it's all the better for her meticulousness. Additionally, some posthumous alpha cred is due to Filisgare for some of the Draco bits here. Then, love to LightofEvolution, who dreamed up the hawthorn/death/Draco allegory; that is her headcanon, not mine. I hope I did it justice. Lastly, thank you to you, the reader, for your unending support and words of love on this fic. I am so blessed.