A light breeze swept through the air as Hermione ventured into the grounds of the Malfoy estate. It had been a warm Sunday morning while she stocked shelves at the bookstore, but now a gloomy layer of cloud cover was rolling in, bringing with it the promise of rain.
The Manor felt stifling.
That morning, the Daily Prophet had spoke of a herd of centaurs in France who had stormed an old fortress, attempting to recover some of their friends who had been taken by Avance supporters. The centaurs had experienced significant injury and losses to their numbers before retreating to their forest.
It made her think of Firenze, Bane, and the other centaurs that had lived in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. They weren't simply mindless creatures, small in their motivations and understandings. They had been a complex society with their own beliefs and traditions. She couldn't understand why they were being so badly mistreated—and for nothing.
The group in France hadn't caused any harm, and their only crime was that they had chosen to live in a forest near a group of wizards and witches who had determined the centaurs' worth to be less than their own.
The front page of the Prophet had featured a photo of a young male centaur, his scruffy face youthful but drawn with anguish. In his eyes shone a deep fear and hatred—a desire to reclaim those who had been taken from him. He wore a longbow across his back and smudged paint on his cheeks.
Tears of despair and exhaustion sprung to her eyes as she ventured into the forest in a remote corner of the grounds, collapsing into the dirt at the base of an ancient oak tree. Through the canopy high above, the last vestiges of brightness were swallowed by a thick layer of grey clouds. The bark was hard against her back through her shirt, but she welcomed the dirt and the pain as she pressed her eyes shut.
For the steps she had already taken—and for all the power the Nocturnus Order possessed—how were they going to fix this? The beliefs espoused by Avance had already seeped beyond the French Ministry into the greater conscious of the French people responsible for affronts such as this—because the centaurs were only one of the marginalised groups being victimised by the French Minister's new overarching policies.
It would be only a matter of time before Muggle-borns and half-bloods were lumped in. And they knew that dance all too well.
Hermione knew it wasn't for naught—that the council was working on the matter, and she knew Malfoy trusted Bergen and his team of strategists—but it didn't feel like enough. And certainly not fast enough.
They would need to meet with Claude Arcand, the French Minister for Magic. They would need to push Nocturnus' presence into France, where Avance was currently enjoying free reign. If Nocturnus was from the continent originally, it was time to return. They needed to learn who was pulling the strings—and cut them off at the source. The list was exhaustive, but mostly, she wanted to meet with the creatures and other groups, to ensure them that someone was looking out for them. The hard blue stare of the centaur lingered in the back of her mind's eye.
It was all in motion, she knew… but a deep, lingering despair had settled into her soul and was only worsening.
Drawing her knees into her chest, Hermione looked up as the first droplet of rain slipped through the lush forest canopy above. Sucking in a long, rattling breath, she dropped her face into her bent knees, eyes blurred with her own tears.
Another presence stirred her from her thoughts, and Hermione opened her eyes to see Malfoy seated beside her in the dirt, a hooded jumper pulled up over his head. His voice was soft. "You're going to make yourself sick."
Staring forward, she breathed, "It doesn't matter. How did you find me?"
"Podski alerted me you were out here," he said. "Best not to wander too deep into the forest."
With a cold laugh, Hermione asked, "I'm not allowed to walk freely on the grounds now?"
He ignored the statement. "I thought you were still at work."
She blew out a long breath. "The owner got irritated at me and sent me home early. The guards scare off all his business."
"I can't apologize for wanting you safe." As a thick silence fell between them, Malfoy plucked the stem of a wildflower under the next tree. She jumped, startled, as he tucked it behind her ear. Blinking at her, he offered a hint of a smirk. "You know the work we have to do here is more important than your job there."
Hermione released a long sigh. "I know. I just…"
"You aren't ready to give up every part of your old life," he surmised. "I understand—and believe me, this all has been more of an adjustment for me than I'm used to even now."
"If it helps," she began, "I think you're holding it together better than I am. And you've made this a lot easier on me than you needed to."
His blond fringe peeked out from beneath his hood as he leaned his head back against the trunk of the oak; it made him look younger. "It's just… we're in this together—for the rest of our lives. There's no reason to make things harder."
She asked, "What are we doing about Avance?"
"We're going to France," he clipped. "This coming week. Bergen is finalising the details of some of our meetings with the French Ministry and with some of his other contacts who can provide us more insight into Avance's campaign and how they came virtually out of nowhere."
Nerves tingled along her spine at the thought of it, even as she whispered, "Good."
His shoulder pressed against hers as the rain increased in its insistence, coming through the branches above to land on her face. There was an odd, companionable sort of silence between them, and Hermione didn't find his presence unwelcome.
But still, a bitter unrest lingered in her soul. Against her best judgment, the words of Lucius Malfoy had been lingering in the back of her mind ever since they had been to visit him in that cold prison room. His words about the Nocturnus Order and their many ancient enemies.
Theirs being a short union—history repeating itself.
Most likely the mad words of a man unhinged, but there was so much about the Order that was hidden and buried in the annals of history. Even she hadn't found everything in the old journals, and Malfoy had told her the darker years hadn't been chronicled at all.
What sort of skeletons were hidden in Nocturnus' closet—and would she regret digging deeper?
Malfoy interrupted her musing when he asked, "Are you okay?"
Dropping her chin back onto her knees, she breathed, "Yes." Maybe eventually she would believe her own words—his expression clearly indicated he didn't. But he rose to his feet all the same.
"I'll leave you to your thoughts." He brushed off the seat of his trousers, swiping water from his face. "We have a meeting with the Council in the morning. Don't get soaked out here—and don't go too far into the forest without your wand. Preferably at all."
With that, he Disapparated. Within the Malfoy wards, only a Malfoy could travel via Apparition, and she stared at the empty space he had occupied moments before. Her fingers lifted to the wildflower tucked into her wet curls, soaked and limp with the rain. Not ready to return to the Manor just yet, she stood and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.
When she arrived in the sitting room of the gloomy townhouse, Hermione almost instantly regretted the impulsive decision. She ought to have sent word first, in case Harry was busy. But he merely stared at her from across the room, clearly in the middle of a chess match with Ron. Daphne sat on the sofa, flipping through a copy of Witch Weekly.
"Hi," Hermione breathed, tension lifting her shoulders.
"Hermione," Harry said, flashing a grin. "We weren't expecting you—and soaked, nonetheless."
She winced. "Right, sorry—I'll go."
"Nonsense!" Daphne leapt to her feet, collecting a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around Hermione's shoulders. "You know you're always welcome here."
Ron hadn't said anything—or even moved, other than to gape at her—and she offered a smile in his direction. "Hi Ron." He forced an awkward grin.
Harry completed a move, watched as his rook destroyed one of Ron's bishops, and rose to his feet. "What brings you here today, Malfoy?"
With an uneasy smile, Hermione looked around the room at the three of them; Ron had visibly paled at Harry's mention of her new surname, and his stare lingered on the ring around her fourth finger. Clutching the blanket closer to her, she mused, "Suppose I just wanted to see some friends."
Slinging an arm around her, Harry announced, "You've found us. You look like you could use a Butterbeer."
Several hours later, after the Butterbeer had switched to Firewhisky, Hermione felt some of her worries slough away. She had stepped into a position so unlike her old life that it wasn't surprising it all felt heavy on her soul. Not to mention she had married Draco Malfoy.
It was nice to escape and to simply spend time with her old friends. Not that she didn't want to be around Malfoy—and to a certain extent, she didn't mind his presence anymore—but there was something both enticing and enjoyable about forgetting everything for a short while.
The barroom at the Three Broomsticks was mostly empty but for the four of them, and no one was gawking or whispering—no guards were stalking her every move.
Avance could continue to plague her in the morning, but for a few hours, she wanted to simply be Hermione again. Not Hermione Malfoy, and not the Lunae Amor.
She was being responsible, but even so, her mind spun a little under the heady influence of the whisky as she plucked at the cold chips remaining on her plate. Snorting at something Harry was saying, she almost didn't notice the guards in her periphery until silence fell across the table. She hadn't even noticed their stealthy arrival.
Ron muttered, "Are you sure you're allowed to even be out of the Manor, Hermione?"
"Of course I am," she huffed, scowling at the matching stoic expressions on her two guards' faces. They were the same ones who had accompanied her to work that day and had caused problems with her boss, Ben and Vlad. She gave them a wave of acknowledgment even as she rolled her eyes; they both nodded in return and took up their posts along the wall.
But with the stark reminder of her new life and the situation at hand, the fun had fizzled out of the evening and Hermione's energy melted away. It had been a long day, and she was beginning to feel fatigued. She ought to have known Nocturnus would have eyes everywhere—or maybe they had some way of tracking her.
She stubbornly took her time in finishing her drink, and despite that the guards virtually ignored her and her friends, she couldn't help but feel their stares on her. Not wanting to elaborate on the situation with the threatening letter, especially since it was a private Nocturnus matter, Hermione tried to brush it off as nothing with her friends.
But once her drink was gone, she bid farewell to her friends and allowed the guards to Apparate her back to the Manor. While she prepared for sleep and collapsed into her bed, she tried to remind herself that she had asked for all of this. And more importantly, it wasn't about her.
Hermione slept well into the morning the next day, and when she arose, a bitter feeling of unease lingered in her stomach; she didn't think it had anything to do with the Firewhisky from the night before.
Malfoy was already seated at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, eating his usual rye toast with orange marmalade, along with some scrambled eggs. Eyeing her when she sat down, he merely sipped his tea.
Hermione selected some items for her own plate and poured herself a glass of juice; tension hung thick in the air, and she didn't care to meet his gaze. His fingernails tapped against the small table, clicking against the wood.
He took another sip of his tea, expression schooled into stoicism.
With a huffed breath, Hermione rolled her eyes. "What?"
Malfoy set his teacup on its saucer, pressing his lips together. There was a tightness around his eyes belying his air of neutrality.
"In the future," he said, folding his hands, "I would ask that you conduct yourself with decorum befitting your position. That means, if nothing more, alerting me when you will be leaving for the duration of an evening."
Her temper flared as she scowled at his presumption. Because Merlin knew he wouldn't have allowed her one night with her friends without his intrusive guards at her side. "I'm allowed to—"
"Yes," he interrupted, the word terse. "You are allowed to do as you please. I knew when I decided to take you as my wife that you would require a certain amount of independence, and I have done my best to allow you that. And I do not say any of this, Hermione, to be an arse, despite the many colourful things assuredly running through your mind right now."
The bitter words on the tip of her tongue died and withered away at the consternation in his brow.
Accepting her silence, he went on. "I am saying this because our enemies are watching every move we make—together and alone. They are looking, and waiting, for any sign of a chink in our armour. You're my partner, and we're in this together; we need to be unified."
Malfoy hesitated, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "And you can bet your pretty little arse they've unearthed the history between us—they'll be salivating at the very thought that you're unhappy with me. Does this make any sense?"
Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry at his motives and his eloquence. "Yes." She nodded, pursing her lips. "That makes sense."
His gaze remained fixed on her, hard and unwavering. After a drawn out moment, he looked away, taking a final sip of his tea. "And I was worried about you. I'm glad you're alright."
He folded his serviette and rose from his seat, before turning and pacing from the room, his steps measured and brisk. Hermione gaped after him, wondering at what point her childhood enemy had become a man—a leader.
As he stared at the faces of each of the members of the Nocturnus council—Granger included, seated at his right—Draco felt a quake in the core of his magic. For two months this had been the aim: go into France, assert Nocturnus presence, and neuter Avance's reign of disruption and terror.
The plan Elias Bergen had laid out was not subtle; it was loud and intrusive and would leave no doubt as to the stance and the desires of the Nocturnus Order. Of his own reasons for Ascending in the first place and taking his Lunae Amor.
A cool sort of determination lingered on Granger's features despite the tension radiating from her body. He almost thought he could feel her nerves racing with his own.
They would be leaving for France within a matter of days, bringing a large contingent with them—including Bergen and Dagomir—along with a heavy force of guards. Hugo had remained oddly attentive during the meeting; Draco hadn't decided yet whether he would join them on the trip.
Their first efforts would be with Claude Arcand and the French Ministry. They had been so easily swayed to the ideals of Avance, but with the way the uprisings were growing, both among magical creature populations and the wizards and witches in their defense, Arcand was looking at the very real possibility of war knocking.
Bergen's network of information ran wide and deep, and Draco didn't even know everything about the situation other than to say Bergen was the ideal man for his job. Their next venture would be Avance reconnaissance: almost everything about the group was cloaked in secrecy, and that didn't sit well with the council. It was paramount they learn more about the enemy—and in this case, that would require learning as much as possible. The leader of the group was a complete unknown and had yet to reveal their ultimate aims.
It would be one of their largest goals while on this preliminary visit into France—but Draco didn't know enough about who he could and couldn't trust on the continent, so he was left to rely on Bergen's network.
Furthermore, they needed to learn how wide Avance's networks ran. Because almost assuredly, they were acting with influence beyond the French borders.
The next task would be reaching out to the groups marginalised by Arcand's drastic policy shifts.
In many ways, Granger's former role in the Department of Magical Creatures left her both knowledgeable and readily able to communicate with the magical creatures leading the uprisings. Bergen had booked meetings across all areas of France with a wide array of creatures. Draco was privately glad for Granger's expertise.
They would be in France for at least a week.
Throughout the council meeting, Granger had kept diligent notes at his side, despite the fact that Oro always presented impeccable records of every meeting. But when Draco peeked over, she was marking extraneous details that might come in handy in dealing with certain factions of creatures.
When she caught him looking, he only offered a smirk.
"So," Draco ventured, once the itinerary had been presented; his mind spun with the idea of all they would be doing. "If this all doesn't work—if Avance won't back down—what comes next?"
A grim silence fell over the long table. Beside him, Granger shifted in her seat. Bergen removed his thin frames, folding them before setting them down.
"If none of our efforts come to fruition," he said, his voice quiet but tremulous, "then we turn to more proactive measures."
A chill crept down Draco's spine.
Author's Note: Hey everyone. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Wherever you are in the world, I hope you're safe and well, and I wish you all the best.
I've been struggling to get many words down with everything going on, but I'm hoping to make some progress on Nocturnus, and hopefully increase the posting schedule once I'm a little further on. I still have 27 chapters written ahead, so no worries about regular updates! Take care everyone. xoxo
Alpha and beta love to my wonderful team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight. They're all posting regular WIP updates, so go give them some love!