With two days to go until the culmination of the full moon—thirty-six hours, technically—Hermione was starting to wonder when the preparations would end. Handmaidens clad in silver sheaths had bustled at her side, almost ubiquitous, immersing her in herbal baths and scrubbing her until she felt raw. Young mages spoke spells of wisdom and courage in Latin, and despite herself, Hermione could feel the magic of their messages stirring with her own.

Far be it for her to question the methods of a thousand-year-old society, but it felt extreme.

From the window of her living quarters, looking out on the grounds from three stories up, she could see a vast array of tents dotting the sprawling fields of the Malfoy estate. According to Malfoy, they had all been present for his Ascension as well. And in fact, he claimed there would be even more in attendance for the bonding ceremony.

Which did nothing to quell her nerves.

But when she considered the fact that the Nocturnus Order had been adrift without a leader for decades, it made sense that they were keen on celebrating. And a celebration it was sure to be, given the way the elves had been working away. Hermione had frowned and bitten her tongue, deciding she would encourage them to take the holidays that they were so apt at ignoring.

And deep down, she thought it was a good thing she had taken a few weeks off at the bookstore. Between uprooting her life and moving into Malfoy Manor and now the process of preparing for the bonding ceremony, it was one less thing she had to worry about for the time being.

But after the ceremony, and once things settled into what she could only assume would be her new normal, she would return. In the back of her mind, the thought had occurred more than once that she might have to walk away from both jobs, but there was a part of her that wasn't quite ready to give up every aspect of her old life. She had resolved to withhold on any decisions for now.

Begrudgingly, she had accepted the fact that members of the Nocturnus Guard were likely to traipse along and lurk nearby, as they had been prone to doing ever since the threatening letter had arrived two days prior.

She understood Malfoy's concerns—to an extent—but she was fully capable of looking after herself. As evidenced by the fact that she had fought in, and survived, a war. While he claimed he thought Avance to be transparent in their goals, Hermione wasn't certain.

The speed and stealth with which they had infiltrated the French Ministry was alarming, to say the least, and some of the policies Minister Arcand had put forward grew still more troubling.

Startled, Hermione snapped out of her thoughts at a soft knock on the door into her quarters from Malfoy's adjoining sitting room. A pair of handmaidens were preparing her nails—she wasn't sure why they didn't just use magic—but she called for him to enter.

Malfoy's face peered through the doorway, and he lifted a pale brow. "You're decent?" She scoffed in response, and he edged through the door. The maidens hurriedly finished their work and left the room. He sidled towards the couch and looked closer. "Pretty."

Hermione sighed, shifting over to make room. "Are you having to go through all of this too?"

"Some of it," he admitted. "I've never smelled so good in my life."

Snickering, she found herself grateful she wasn't going through this alone.

"All the waxing, plucking, painting, what have you," he went on, waving a hand, "that's all you."

Firing him a scowl, Hermione relaxed into her seat. "By the way, I notice I was never forced into a polite gathering of proper ladies by way of a hen night."

His brows lifted, and he gave her a smirk. "I decided to cut you some slack. I told Hugo I didn't want you going out so close to the ceremony after that threatening letter."

Surprised, she gazed at him. "Well I appreciate that. I can't say I was looking forward to it."

"So," he drawled, eyes sparkling, "it just means you owe me one undisclosed favour."

Hermione frowned. "I knew it." When he cracked a grin, she shook her head, eager to change the subject. "Supposedly the tailors are coming this afternoon."

Malfoy interlocked his hands in his lap, looking uncomfortable. "Right. I've already got my robes, but you'll need your gown."

"In the Muggle world," Hermione began, tentative, in case he were to respond with disdain, "brides order their gowns months in advance. It's a whole big thing to select the perfect one."

He shifted, peering through the window. "Maybe if we'd had more time," he said softly, "I would have taken you to Italy. So you could have had that experience. We'll go, though, another time. There's the most amazing fashion district in the wizarding sector of Milan."

Staring at him, she felt a twist settle in her stomach and a furrow lift into her brow. Mouth dry, she breathed, "That sounds nice."

With a tight-lipped smile, he went on. "One of the old Nocturnus castles is in a remote part of Tuscany, south of Florence. I'd like to go there." His lips twisted to the side as he stared out onto the grounds. "See how the old Lunaes used to live—you know?"

Warmth stung behind her eyes as she nodded. "We should do that. One day—when we're able."

"Yeah," Malfoy muttered. "We'll see some places." With a low chuckle, he added, "Maybe one day we'll go on a proper honeymoon."

Hermione felt colour infuse her face at the flippant remark, and she managed a brief nod. Glancing at him, she felt her face soften. He was a far cry from the petulant boy she had known growing up, and it was evident he wanted to make things work. For all her hesitations and doubts, she did too. One of her biggest fears, through her teenage years and into adulthood, was the idea of ending up trapped in a loveless relationship.

Maybe there was a chance she could grow to care for Malfoy—and if nothing else, they could learn to respect one another and develop a kinship. In time, it was possible.

Merlin knew they would need to learn to work together in order to face the situation at hand.

With a stuttering nod, she whispered, "We could do that."

A sharp rap on the door jolted her upright in her seat, eyes wide. Malfoy rolled his eyes and walked to the door; as Hermione followed, she saw him speaking with a tall, thin man who wore a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee.

"Tailor's here," he quipped, turning back to her with a hint of a smirk curling his lips. "Have fun."

Malfoy ducked through the door, and the man walked inside, eyeing her with a close inspection that made her feel wildly on display. "Hello," she said with a nod, "my name is Hermione Granger."

"The Lunae Amor," the man announced with a flourish as he dropped into a deep bow. "I am Paolo. Come—we have work to do."

Three small ladies flowed into the room after Paolo, clad in matching pale green robes, and began unloading all sorts of equipment that made Hermione lift a brow. With a snap of Paolo's fingers, her sitting room was transformed into a dressing room. And within moments, she was lost in a swirl of activity and great swaths of fabric.

Two hours later, Paolo stepped back, one hand over his mouth as he stared closely, making a full circle around Hermione, who felt at once anxious and exhausted.

The three assistants stood together, speaking quietly in Italian as they gestured and pointed.

Finally Paolo sighed. "It is perfect. You are the night sky brought to life."

Hermione forced a swallow when she was finally allowed to turn towards the full length mirror. The sweetheart bodice sparkled with silver detailing and embellishments like the stars in an endless sky before fading off into the floor length gown, loose and ethereal in a deep midnight blue.

Lifting a hand to the detailing, she felt her eyes sting. "Paolo, thank you. It's wonderful."

"A dress," he mused, smiling, "fit for a queen."

Draco edged into Granger's room, hands shoved into his pockets. Despite hearing noise through the adjoining door minutes before, she wasn't in her sitting quarters. Closing the door behind him, he leaned back against the frame.

He cleared his throat. "Granger."

After a shuffling sound from within her sleeping quarters, her head poked through the doorframe, wide-eyed. Then she stepped through, shrugging on a cardigan. "What do you need?"

Shrugging, he stared at a spot on the carpet. "I thought maybe we should talk about some things. Ahead of the ceremony."

Eyeing him with a cautious glance, Granger took a seat on her couch and stared at him expectantly.

He huffed a sigh but remained where he stood by the door. "You know," he hedged, feeling dull spots of colour flush his complexion. "It's a little more complicated, given the bonds and the ancient magical order and all that… but it's still a wedding."

Her lips twitched. "Are you getting cold feet, Malfoy?"

"No," he grumbled, scowling at her.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back in her seat. "Then you're going to have to just spit it out, because I'm not following what this conversation is meant to be about."

Merlin, he was acting like a fucking schoolboy. Clenching his jaw, he bit out, "They're going to expect us to kiss."

Granger continued to stare at him blankly, until her brows lifted on her forehead and she released a mirthful snort. "That's what's got your knickers in a twist?" Draco opened his mouth to fire a retort, but she laughed outright. "I assumed as much. Is that a problem for you?"

Draco sucked on his teeth, wishing he hadn't bothered. "No. I wanted to be sure you wouldn't be uncomfortable over it. But obviously I've been needlessly concerned—"

"You," she gasped, swiping at one eye, "are trying to protect my honour?"

"Fuck," Draco muttered, "forget it."

"No, honestly," Granger went on, failing miserably in an attempt to school her expression into neutrality. "Is this a problem for you? If it is—if you've not kissed a woman—"

"Of course I've bloody kissed women," Draco scoffed, his nose wrinkling. "I'm not twelve." Throwing his hands up, he turned to leave the room. "Never mind. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Malfoy." Her voice was deadpan, and when he turned back, against his better judgement, she wore a frown. "I'm sorry. I appreciate that you were trying to look out for me, and I shouldn't have laughed. I just…" Trailing off, she rubbed at the back of her neck. "I thought you were having a lark. Remember, I originally thought we'd be consummating the marriage tomorrow night as well. So I suppose the idea of a kiss doesn't phase me."

Sighing, he released the tension in his shoulders, walking over to sit at the other end of the couch. "I guess I just feel like we're going about everything in the wrong order. And I didn't want to spring something else on you."

Granger's expression was apologetic as she dropped her chin. "I respect that. Thank you for your consideration." He could feel the heat of her stare on the side of his face as he gazed at the far wall. "You're nervous."

Draco frowned and said, "Of course I'm nervous. I was nervous for the Ascension, and that didn't involve tying myself to someone else for the rest of my life. What if this all goes south and all I've managed to achieve is to drag you down with me?"

Her head fell to the side; her voice was quiet. "Then we go down together. I knew what I was getting into—mostly, anyways. All these herbal baths have been a little excessive." Draco huffed a laugh despite himself. "But no matter what, we're in this together now. And tomorrow… it'll just be a bit more official."

"Right," he drawled, offering her a smirk. "It just means I'm stuck with you."

"You could do worse," she quipped, before flashing him a smile. "Honestly, Draco—it'll be fine."

He breathed, "You say that like you believe it."

Pressing her lips together into a thin line, she stared at him for a long moment; in the tightness around her eyes, and the hesitation on her face, he could see her indecision. Finally she said, "I'm just hoping for the best. Because otherwise I wouldn't know how to deal with any of this."

Sighing, he leaned back against the couch, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. She kept her quarters almost stifling. Catching the error an instant later, he noticed her gaze flicker to the exposed skin of his left forearm.

A breath hitched in his throat as she stared at the faded, scarred flesh where the remains of his Dark Mark lingered—only for a moment, but long enough. Frowning, he tugged his sleeves back down. In the short time since they'd been on speaking terms, neither of them had brought up the war in any great depth.

"It's fine, you know," she whispered as Draco secured his cuff once more. "It doesn't affect anything anymore. It doesn't mean anything in the context of this."

"But in the context of this—" he gestured between them, his voice hoarse "—it means so much."

"It's all over with."

The words hung between them, stagnant and pained, and he glanced at her, chewing on his tongue.

Softly, she went on. "Tomorrow night we're getting married." Releasing a soft giggle, she shook her head. "Can you believe that?"

A chuckle escaped his lips. "Not in a million lifetimes would I have imagined this."

As her mouth twisted to the side, she said, "Me neither."

Silence fell over them, companionable this time, and Draco felt himself relax into the soft cushions of her couch, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion from a hectic few days. And Granger was right—in a little over twenty-four hours, they would be married.

Then she snorted. "If you're really worried about the kissing thing," she began, and when he opened his mouth to retort, she finished, "we could practise."

Moistening his lips, he lifted one brow. "Practise? You're kidding, right?"

Granger gave him a flippant shrug. "Just a suggestion."

Propping one arm up on the back of the couch, he stared at her, his lips twitching. "Careful—I might start to think you actually want that."

"Well," she breathed, looking away, "you're it for me, or so says the magically binding contract. When you aren't being a massive prat, I suppose I can see it."

"See it," he repeated, confused, then retorted, "and I'm quite sure I haven't been a massive prat to you in years."

Her gaze washed over his face. "What the other girls always used to say back at Hogwarts. About your good looks."

His lips pulled into a slow smirk. "Thanks, Granger."

Without warning, she rose and walked towards the door. "But we'll wait." Flashing him a smile, she drew open the door. "It will make the intimacy of our first kiss that much better if it's in front of thousands of strangers."

Barking a laugh, Draco felt a real smile stretch his face as he rose to his feet. "You're weird, Granger."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. "It'll make life interesting. Now shoo—something about seeing the bride the night before the wedding and all that."

Walking towards the door, he hesitated, staring down at her. Then he ducked in, brushing his lips across the smooth skin of her cheek. Drawing back with a smirk, he mused, "That it will. I'll see you tomorrow beneath the moon, my Lunae Amor."

Her eyes were dark. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

A thin haze of cloud cover drew shadows on the full moon as it hung high in the sky, nearing its culmination. Nerves tossed in the pit of Hermione's stomach like a ship on cruel tides, and she forced a deep breath.

There was a chill on the air, just enough to ease the warmth racing through her as adrenaline. After the final preparations to accept the Lunae bonds, she had donned her gown, admiring the way the dress clung to her as natural as air, sleek and smooth against her skin. Atop her curls, tied into an delicate twist, sat a silver coronet in an intricate and feminine wreath of flowers and stars, joined around her head by twisting vines.

It was one of the most beautiful pieces of craftsmanship she'd ever seen and light as a feather.

Tears stung her eyes as she gazed out on the grounds, but she blinked them away. The handmaidens had invested a lot of effort into making sure she looked her best, and the last thing she needed was to cry it all away.

Even though she felt hope for the future, it was bittersweet—marrying without her family present. Marrying her childhood enemy.

The Malfoy gardens were decorated for the occasion with stunning arrays of floating candles and fairy lights; flowers clustered along the path she was to walk in arrangements Narcissa herself had gathered.

And the sky above was an endless blanket of stars in the pitch of night.

The clouds shifted and the moon shone, bright and cold, high above; her eyes fluttered shut as it called to something deep within her soul.

Behind her, a young mage whispered a brief blessing in Latin, and when he concluded and hurried away, she squared her shoulders and stepped into the gardens.

A soft, ethereal piece of music played from everywhere all at once. Hermione was aware of the eyes of thousands, but she couldn't force herself to look. Not when every last nerve was tethered to the path she had to walk—when it was all she could do not to run away and never look back.

With each careful step on the cobbled pathway, she drew nearer, until she could see Malfoy, clad in his full Nocturnus regalia, a platinum crown—the match to her own—perched atop his pale hair, sparkling with the cool light of the moon.

His face was stoic—but his eyes never left her.

And when she took her place at his side—where she would spend the rest of her days—his lips twitched and his eyes flickered to meet hers with a hushed, "You look beautiful."

Colour infused her cheeks as she dipped her chin in a gracious nod. "You look…" As she trailed off, assessing him, she swallowed. "Brilliant." Her eyes stung once more. "Regal."

A slow smirk drew across his mouth as his head fell to the side in acknowledgment.

And he did—she had seen glimpses of it, hidden in his mannerisms and his speech. But now, seeing him beneath the moon, quite literally in his element, he was lit from within. His chin held high, shoulders back—every inch of him spoke of royalty.

The intricate crown of twisted silver only added to the image. Something akin to pride settled in her chest to stand at his side—to bear witness to the man he had become.

Malfoy's hand caught hers as it hung between them in the moment when she finally looked upon the crowd. For as far as she could see, people stared at them, fixated, from every direction. For many of them, it would be the first bonding ceremony they had ever witnessed, even those who had grown up steeped in Nocturnus tradition.

At the front was the council, dressed for the occasion, and as she caught Hugo's eye, he offered her a quick wink and a nod. Dagomir, the gruff-looking Head of the Guard, swiped at his eyes. Elias Bergen, expression stoic, stared upon his Lunae Ortus.

Beside Bergen was Narcissa, lit with a demure smile as she gazed upon her son with pride. When her eyes shifted to Hermione, they were veiled.

A breath chased from Hermione's lungs at the sheer magnitude of the crowd as Malfoy's hand closed tighter around her own.

The high mage stepped before them, his expression warm; his beard was plaited and tied with silver ribbon, and Hermione bit her bottom lip on a smile. Malfoy nudged into her side, his mouth twitching.

As Glenneth spoke, Hermione's eyes stung with the emotion welling deep within her, and it was Malfoy's fingers entwined with her own that kept her grounded and focused, his support that kept her balanced.

She nodded, smiled, and laughed through the speech, and when Malfoy flashed her a grin, her heart leapt in her chest.

Something about the dark of the night surrounding them and the enraptured crowd gazing upon them from all sides caused her magic to thrum within her. It danced through her veins with an anxious cadence, and she wondered whether Malfoy was feeling it as well. She could feel the magic jump from his fingertips where his hand held hers.

A tingling settled about her wrist, where the magic narrowed and pulsed as Glenneth swept into Latin, his face alight with joy. At the point where the magic settled, the imprint of a crescent moon arose on her wrist. Malfoy's thumb swept over the spot, and he whispered, "Amor."

With a start, she realized the wrist of his left arm now bore the same crescent shaped marking, and her lips curled with a smile. A swirl of silver chased from the crescent on her wrist towards her opposite hand, snaking and entwining into her ring finger before it reformed as an intricate silver ring of vines entwined with sparkling crescents and stars.

Magic swirled and danced, elation upon the air and in the crowd, and heat settled behind her eyes as moisture pressed forth. Suppressing a grin at the wild and celebratory atmosphere, she swiped at one eye where a tear broke forth and squeezed Malfoy's hand tighter in her own.

The magic, spurred forth by the mage's enchantments, built to a crescendo with the moon high in the sky—and the mage stopped.

A hushed silence fell over the crowd, holding and growing for what felt like an eternity. Silence alone. Hermione could feel nothing but the connection with Malfoy and the vast darkness of the night sky above. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feel of it as the moon and the stars seeped into her being and her soul.

Her eyes snapped open, and in a moment of pure instinct, she recognised the bond that now coursed through her veins, intertwined with her magic and with Malfoy's. Grey eyes met hers and she watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed. She sucked in a sharp breath.

It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever imagined, even as she knew it in every thread of her being. He was hers, and she, his. Symbiotic, partners, and bound. The immeasurable force of it chased the breath from her lungs as she turned to face him.

The high mage stepped back, gesturing with one hand as a grin stretched across his face.

Malfoy's eyes were dark as they met hers, and his lips curled with a smirk. As her heart raced from the wild rhythm of the unfamiliar magic settling in its place, it leapt and shifted in a different sort of way. He muttered, "As good a time as any, right?"

A bright laugh chased from her lips, and she twisted a hand into his collar, adrenaline racing through her as she dragged him close; when his lips met hers, the magic shifted. Time slowed, the racing of her pulse softened, and as he took her face into his hands, she melted into his touch.

His lips were soft and tingled with magic where they pressed against hers; for a brief, teasing moment, his tongue grazed hers and her other hand swept into his hair until her fingers grazed the cool metal of his coronet. Drawing back, she met the warmth in his stare, breathless.

After a singular, drawn out moment, the crowd burst to life and celebration, but their cries and cheers were muted in the ringing of her ears as she gazed upon her Lunae Ortus.

Dragging a thumb across her cheekbones, he dropped his hands. The pulsing of the magic settled and quieted into a smooth calmness in Hermione's soul, and a wry smile pulled to her face. Voice soft, she whispered, "I suppose now we celebrate."

Malfoy gave her a private smile that caused a stutter in her chest as he echoed, "We celebrate."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was one of my favourites to write. I am so appreciative of all your lovely comments, and you've all made me smile so much! Thanks for reading xoxo

PS Elle Morgan-Black made some GORGEOUS art that reminded me of this chapter, so it's on my tumblr (indreamsink) if you want to see it!

Alpha and beta squad cred to my loves Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight!