After two more days of discouraging meetings and no more than vague ambiguity regarding the veil of Avance, Hermione was mentally exhausted. It was evident Malfoy felt the same. Their entire time in France had largely been one roadblock after the next, and everything felt beyond their control.

She wasn't certain what Malfoy's thoughts were on the matter, as he had become more reserved and withdrawn as the days passed, but she suspected he thought the threatened power of the Nocturnus Order might have been enough for Avance to hesitate, if nothing else.

But they still had no information on the group and had yet to see any trace of their actual prominence on the ground in France. It was both disheartening and infuriating, that the people at the centre of so much havoc were virtually invisible.

Hermione was flipping through one of the old Nocturnus journals she had borrowed from Malfoy after a shower, following another long day of fruitless meetings. That afternoon, they had met with one of the activist groups that were protesting the anti-creature policies, hopeful that at last they would have found people on the same page. And while the activists were keen on the Nocturnus Order's interest in shutting down Avance and Claude Arcand, they had no proactive means to do so.

And the only information they could offer about Avance's influence over the situation was that the group had arisen a handful of months prior, and that Arcand had been openly receptive to their suggestions from the start. The activists were eager to see Arcand supplanted from his seat atop the Ministry, although their main course of action was simply to persuade others to their side of things.

While intentions were better than nothing, what they required was information and a plan of action.

When Malfoy had caught her eye with a grimace, they had thanked the group for their time and returned to the hotel. Following a shower, Hermione was feeling marginally refreshed, despite the heavy unease in her soul.

Malfoy took up a seat at the foot of her bed, folding his legs beneath himself as he planted his hands on his knees. Breaking the tense silence, he announced, "I think we will need to return home. Almost a week in France, and we have very little to show for it."

"Maybe you're right." Hermione set her book aside. "Once home, we can attempt to regroup and go from there. Find a different way in with Avance."

Sweeping a hand through his hair, he nodded. A loud rap on the door startled them both, and meeting her eyes for a brief moment, Malfoy rose to answer. The two men who had been standing guard over their room were outside, dire expressions on their faces while they conferred with Malfoy in tones too quiet for Hermione to hear. Rising from the bed, she walked over.

"Bergen's back." The words were enough to explain the look on Malfoy's face, and Hermione nodded.

"Let's go."

In a whirlwind of time spanning no more than two hours, Draco found himself back in Wiltshire at Malfoy Manor, a hard lump in the pit of his stomach.

During a brief conversation with Elias Bergen, the man had been hesitant to share what he had learned about Avance—in fact, he had downright refused—but it was the look on Hugo's face that struck Draco with the seriousness of the matter. He had never seen the young man look worried, his usual mood ranging between pretentious and jovial, and something about it had pulled at the edges of Draco's conscience badly enough that he had announced the contingent would pack and prepare to leave France.

They had exhausted the resources they had been intending to utilise anyways, and there were no more meetings booked for the time being.

If Bergen was concerned about prying ears even despite the heaviest wards and spells possible, he had learned something dire.

Which only exacerbated the racing of Draco's heart.

He had called for a meeting of the council one hour after their return to England, and he found Granger lingering in a corridor of the Nocturnus Wing with Hugo Bergen, both of them ashen-faced. Pausing mid-stride, he eyed the pair of them. "What is it? What did you learn?"

"Just wait." Hugo's brows sat high on his forehead, his mouth twisted to the side; with a grimace he added, "It isn't good."

"No shite," Draco huffed under his breath. He had already assumed as much. Stepping to Granger's side, he rested a hand on her lower back and walked with her in silence towards the council room, aware of Hugo astride at his other side. "Whatever it is—we'll figure out a way to turn it to our advantage."

Irritation prickled his skin when Hugo only released a low whistle.

Glenneth and Oro were already seated, and within minutes, Elias and Dagomir joined the group; around the table were a group of stony faces.

Without any commencement fanfare, Draco turned to Elias Bergen. "Please inform us of what you have discovered."

Interlocking his hands atop the table, Bergen stared over the top of his thin frames. "What we discovered, Lunae, is that Avance has not come out of the woodwork after all. Their influence with the French Ministry is not from nothing and not a coincidence."

Frustrated with the whole series of events, Draco released a sigh. "What do you mean? Who are they, then?"

Merlin, he could feel the nervous energy emanating from Granger at his side; he cast her a quick reassuring glance which came out more like a grimace. Her fingers briefly grazed his arm.

"Lunae, Avance is not acting as a contemporary of the Grindelwald ideals from many decades past," Bergen explained. "But a contemporary of a society much older—much more arcane—and a group of immense power which has always existed for one purpose alone."

Something seized and clenched at Draco's heart, and warning bells pealed in the back of his mind. The sharp intake of Granger's breath triggered the tumultuous fervour of his heart as he stared around the table.

"You can't possibly mean—"

Bergen's voice dropped. "Lunae, does the name Alba mean anything to you?"

"Alba," Draco echoed, an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he forced a swallow. The word sounded hollow from his own lips. "The ancient Italian society that was created to dismantle the Nocturnus Order."

A hush fell over the group, and he wasn't certain he was breathing or that his heart was still beating.

It was Granger who broke the silence. "So this Alba—" she sucked in a tight breath "—what could they possibly want by influencing French policy? What's the connection with Claude Arcand?"

Leave it to her to be rational in the face of dreadful news—and the thought of Alba taking up the hunt once more was dreadful.

"We are not certain, but I believe Arcand may have roots or connections with Alba," Bergen stated, his voice quiet but tremulous. "He's not only being influenced by Avance—he's within Avance, somehow."

"Why now?" Draco asked, shaking his head. "None of this even makes any sense—what could Alba possibly want? They fell out of history centuries ago."

"So says history," Bergen replied. "But there are many who believe Alba only retreated to lick their wounds and wait. When your great-grandfather Septimus Malfoy allowed Nocturnus to drift into obscurity, it was uncertain as to why. Nocturnus was the most powerful magical order in history and had existed at its peak for centuries beforehand. But many believe he was under pressure by remnants of Alba and chose to let the old feud die. According to many, Alba was never satisfied—they were envious of the power of the Nocturnus Order, and through the annals of history, the grudge was never allowed to fade away. Alba has kept on, in secret, building its power once more underground."

"But there has been no feud," Draco pressed, feeling a headache building at the edges of his temples. "My grandfather never Ascended—and if Alba's aim was to dismantle the Nocturnus Order, why wasn't that the end of it?"

Silence fell across the table once more, and when Draco shared a quick glance with Granger, her expression was grim; her hand slipped into his beneath the table and Draco drew in a long breath, seeking strength from the graze of her magic against his own.

Breaking the quiet, he continued. "The Nocturnus Order faded into obscurity decades ago. What cause would any Alba contemporary even have?"

Glenneth huffed quietly and shook his head; the deep lines of his face were more pronounced with the frown he wore, when he was usually so cheerful. "The lunar affiliation you now possess," he began, gesturing with one wizened hand, "is unique, powerful magic. It stems from a long line of mages who ruled over the Nocturnus Order and honed their powers to the point where it could be passed on through the Ascension and strengthened by the Lunae bonds. Alba have suffered by the affiliation; many times through the centuries, their power was crippled by the strength of the affiliation and by a Lunae Ortus willing to use it."

Draco's head spun—so many things had fallen through the cracks of Nocturnus history, and he couldn't wrap his head around it all.

But the mage continued. "The affiliation can be gained in only two ways. Through Ascension—or by force."

"Force," Draco echoed, jaw clenching.

Dagomir released a low growl, his hand curling into a fist on the table.

The mage squared his shoulders and looked Draco straight in the eye. "By force, yes. When Septimus Malfoy stepped down from the throne, he neutralised the affiliation. I was not the high mage at the time, so I cannot say for certain his motivations—but he would have ensured the lunar affiliation stayed protected. You, Lunae, have awakened it once more. He who overpowers the Lunae Ortus may find within them the means to take the affiliation—it is not easy, but possible."

Granger's hand tightened within his, but Draco's grasp felt loose and weak as the strength chased from his body at the revelation. "So what you're saying," he began, his voice scarcely a breath, "is that the leader of Avance means to kill me."

"And thereby claim the affiliation for himself—or herself." Glenneth's expression darkened, and Dagomir slammed his fist into the table; everyone flinched.

"None of this makes sense," Granger said, her breathing tight. "Draco didn't Ascend until after Avance was already a problem. He wouldn't have ever awoken the affiliation if it weren't for Avance causing trouble in France."

As he listened to her words, his mouth grew dry. "They had no chance."

Her stare snapped to his. "What?"

"My grandfather never Ascended—if what you're saying, Glenneth, is true, Septimus must have discouraged him—and he chose the path of Lord Voldemort as a surer route to power. As a result, my father never Ascended either." The words felt distant, as if from outside of himself, and he blew out a long breath. "Avance must have been watching me, aware that the affiliation was within my grasp."

Bergen frowned, peering at Draco over his frames. "They suspected you would likely take a stand, based on your experiences in the war."

"This was all orchestrated," Draco whispered, the words ringing through his head with a startling clarity. "Avance must have thought they could force my hand and push me to Ascend."

"At which point," Bergen surmised, his voice grim, "they could take the affiliation. And without the Lunae Ortus, without the affiliation—Nocturnus is primed to fall for good."

The reality felt cold in his chest, and Draco was nauseated by the truth of it all. Staring at his council, a furrow in his brow, he breathed, "A trap. This was all a trap—and we walked right into it."

Hermione leaned on the threshold of the door that divided her quarters from Malfoy's and hesitated. After the council meeting several hours prior, he had retreated and she hadn't seen or heard from him since—but the crescent mark at her wrist was throbbing, and the tightness in her chest had pushed her to seek him out.

Merlin knew, she wouldn't have taken the news well if it were her—although technically, it may extend to her as well, since the pair of them were so inextricably bonded. Idly, she wondered if this was the point where she should regret marrying Draco Malfoy without years of proper consideration—but all she could think about was the look on his face when Elias and Glenneth had pieced it all together.

Releasing a sigh, she tapped on the door. "Malfoy? Can I come in?" When there was no answer, she knocked again—and then with a surreptitious glance around, she tried the knob. The door was unlocked.

If he had meant to keep her out, surely he would have warded the door. Taking that as evidence she was allowed to enter his quarters, she slipped through the door, venturing into the sitting area. It was empty—not that she was expecting him to be sitting there ignoring her.

Dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, she ventured towards his bedroom—every step was uncharted territory, and even though they were married, her heart quaked in her chest. When he had been troubled in France, he'd gravitated towards the balcony—as she'd seen him do in England as well, and she stepped through the double doors onto the terrace; curiously, he was still absent.

But something within her pushed her forward, the feel of her magic reaching for his, and distantly she heard his voice. "Granger."

A spiralling staircase stood at the far end of the terrace, and a smile tugged at her lips as she made her way up the tight passageway, but her eyes widened when she reached the top. Malfoy was seated on the roof of the Manor, his expression tight as he stared into the vastness of the night sky, dotted with stars and a thin sliver of the moon.

Lost for words when he glanced her way, she made a face and muttered, "You're on the roof."

"Yes, Granger," he drawled, "I am on the roof."

Chewing her lip, she asked, "What if you fall?"

"Then I'll die."

Hermione couldn't tell whether he was being facetious, but she reached a hand out into the darkness ahead; her hand passed through the air, unhindered by protective wards. It was several stories to the ground, and she did her best not to look down.

"It's unsafe, really—"

"Granger." His lips twitched. "Either take a seat or fuck off, yeah?"

As she dropped down beside him, pulling her knees into her chest to keep a safe distance from the steeper slope of the roof, she noticed he was fiddling with the silver coronet he wore at the bonding ceremony. His eyes were fixed down on the intricately forged metal, and he huffed a sigh. "Can you believe, for the first time in my life, I thought I was doing the right thing?"

"If it helps," she whispered, "I thought you were doing the right thing, too. I wouldn't have gone along with it otherwise."

"When as it turns out," he went on, his voice expressionless, "it was all some elaborate scheme to draw me out. I wonder how you factored in with their plans."

"They sent that letter attempting to warn me off," Hermione pointed out, frowning. "But now, even that feels like it may have been insincere."

He tossed the coronet up into the air, spinning above him, and when Hermione flinched, he snatched it out of the air. "Most likely because our combined powers make me a stronger Lunae Ortus than if I'd selected some idle, simple girl for my Lunae Amor."

Releasing an even breath as she stared into the night sky, she said, "Here are some reasons why this isn't as bad as it initially sounds."

"Of course you—"

"Let me speak," she hissed. Malfoy fell silent, suitably chastised, and eyed her with a hint of humour in his face. "So let's suppose this is all true, even if some of it feels like a stretch, and let's say Avance is a contemporary of this Alba group and are actually only doing all of this to kill you and take your lunar powers."

Huffing a breath, he rolled his eyes with exaggeration but remained silent.

Hermione breathed, "They don't know." When he mutely lifted a brow, she elaborated. "They think we've been traipsing around France because of all this creature policy—and we have to assume they've had eyes on us this whole time and could have taken you out if they wanted to engage—but they don't know that Bergen's discovered all of this. We can find a way to work this all to our advantage. You have the affiliation, not them." Frowning, she traced a pattern on the roof below her and added, "I know we didn't want to consider the thought of war unless it was a last resort situation."

"But," he interrupted, voice soft, "they've initiated all of this with the full intent of war."

"It just isn't through the collapse of French society that will do it," Hermione mused. Shaking her head, she added, "Although they sure don't seem to care who they step on to make their point, do they?"

Thinking of the kidnapped centaurs, the vampires pushed from their homes, and the activists prepared to rise up against the French Ministry, Hermione felt cold in her very being.

Malfoy's voice was quiet. "Alba have always been willing to do whatever it takes to get to Nocturnus. It only compounds the pressure on the situation here—what can we do to help the creature populations when Avance is waiting for their chance to kill me?"

"I don't even remember coming across Alba in the journals," she admitted, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

"The mentions were vague and infrequent," he explained, peering once more at his silver crown. "The history between Alba and Nocturnus is rife and tumultuous—and bloody."

With a slow nod, she murmured, "The ancient enemies you were referring to, after your stag party."

He gave a low snort. "Ironic now, isn't it?" Running a hand through his hair, he dropped his head forward. "I don't even know how to begin to deal with any of this."

"If they wanted us dead," Hermione hedged, "they had plenty of chances to do it while we were in France this past week."

The bridge of his nose pulled into a wrinkle when he looked back up. "It won't be that easy. They'll want to have fun with it, I'm sure—either that, or they want to wait until the affiliation reaches its full strength. I'm only just learning how to control it. And if it's truly as powerful as everyone says—as to drive others to murder in order to claim it—its strength must have to be built up."

"So, time," Hermione said, quietly. "We have time on our side—at least for now."

"Time enough to bring down Avance and Alba and any other bloody group who thinks they can take what we have," he said, a cold fury emanating beneath the words. The palm of his hand shimmered as his expression darkened, and Hermione watched as faint sparkles rose from the tips of his fingers. Casting her a grimace, he swept the Lunae crown atop his pale locks, sparkling with the cold light of the moon. Staring at the ancient magic accumulating in his palm, he breathed, "If Avance wants the lunar affiliation—they're going to get it."

Author's Note: Thaaaanks for reading. Your lovely words have been so wonderful and uplifting, and I'm so thrilled to hear you're enjoying the story. I hope you're all hanging in there.

Alpha and beta [distance] hugs to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.