While the trip to Italy had been, in some ways, fruitful, if left them with more questions than answers. Their contact in the basement of the decrepit vineyard had only been so helpful before he had no more answers. But even so—they had gone to Italy to learn the truth about Avance, and they had learned half of it.

Draco still had no context for why an Alba contemporary had formed at all and why they had managed to orchestrate his Ascension—aside from the most obvious answer, which was that Cosette wanted to claim the lunar affiliation for herself. He wasn't certain on the specifics of it, but the impression he'd been given was that such a thing would be congruent with his own demise. And if the affiliation was lost, there would be no power left in the Nocturnus Order.

If Alba and Nocturnus had always been mortal enemies, it was reason enough. But the timing was strange, and Draco couldn't wrap his head around it.

He, Bergen, and their small contingent of guards had returned to England the next morning—but not before making one additional stop. If they would be returning to Italy—and it was likely—they would need a base of operations so they wouldn't be required to sneak around under disillusionment and darkness. Bergen had claimed one of the old Nocturnus castles and set up the appropriate wards they would require to maintain secrecy.

Despite the trip only lasting a couple days, it had been fresh off the disappointing week in France, and Draco's head was still reeling with everything they had learned. So when he reached the Manor, although he was exhausted, his first step was to locate Granger.

"Hey," he muttered, peering into her sitting quarters from their adjoining door.

Glancing up, Granger's eyes widened in surprise and a smile crossed her face. "You're back." In an instant, her expression fell cautiously blank. "Did you learn anything?"

He rubbed at his eyes, rolling out his neck; sleep hadn't come easily the night before. "Come for a walk on the grounds with me?"

Setting aside her book, she nodded. She wore a long-sleeved grey dress—Draco noted she had taken to dressing nicer since the bonding ceremony—and she rose to walk with him from the room without question.

Stifling a yawn with one hand, he slipped the other in his pocket, his steps lacking the surety they usually carried.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing him closely as they descended to the main floor of the wing.

"Fine," he muttered, "tired. Didn't sleep much."

"You don't look ready to throw yourself off the roof."

Rolling his eyes, he nudged her gently in the side. Once they were outside and a good distance from any potential prying ears Draco cast a few privacy spells. Typically the only people in the Manor were the elves, the council, and the guard, but he didn't want the wrong people knowing too much too soon.

Without preamble, he began. "The leader of Avance is a woman named Cosette. She's acting under the interests of the ancient group Alba because her family has deep roots in the society." Hesitating, he glanced at Granger, but she was listening intently. "We don't know her exact purpose or the logic behind her timing. But she's using Arcand as a mouthpiece because he's highly visible in a position of power on the continent, and because he owes her a debt for some sort of assistance provided when he was making a bid for the Ministry."

"So Arcand is or isn't involved with Avance?"

Draco frowned, considering the question for a moment. "I think we have to assume his own interests are the interests of Avance and Cosette. He won't want to bite the hand that's feeding him—not when that hand is so powerful."

Nodding, she folded her arms across her chest. "Noted. But we also need to consider that Arcand could be swayed if he's only—I don't know, being blackmailed or manipulated."

"Good point."

Granger stopped on the pathway through the gardens, chewing on her bottom lip with her shoulders tense. "I don't like it. We don't have a path forward, and it sounds like we have no way of accessing this Cosette person. If it's even a real name."

"All the contact said was that we don't find Cosette, she finds us."

To his surprise, Granger released a small giggle. "She sounds ominous."

Lifting a brow, Draco drawled, "She sounds like the person who wants to kill me and destroy our order."

"But honestly," she went on, waving a hand. "I think she's underestimating you. And us—and it sounds like Bergen knows a lot of people."

"It was funny," Draco admitted, chuckling, "seeing him dart around in the darkness in casual street clothes. Without the proper robes and everything." When she tittered again, he added, "And we have a base in Italy now that will be undetected from the outside. So we can come and go as needed."

Granger nodded, falling into step as they carried on once more. "That might prove handy."

Ducking his chin into a nod he turned to face her. "How did everything go while I was gone? Did you do anything exciting?"

For a moment, Granger considered the question, then offered him a grimace. "Harry and Daphne invited us over for dinner." When Draco made a face, she added, "And I met Cynthia Bergen."

Shaking his head, Draco ran a hand through his hair. Dropping down onto a bench in the gardens he said, "I met Cynthia during the open call. She was… effervescent." Shrugging, he added, "I thought Bergen might have been hoping I'd select her for the Lunae Amor, but he never pushed it."

As Granger took the seat next to him, he felt a tug at his eyelids in the warmth of the air. "Interesting. I wonder whether he didn't—"

Her words were cut off as Draco rested his head on her shoulder, allowing his eyelids to flutter shut. A soft sound of mirth reached his ears, and her fingers gently threaded through his hair for a moment.

Sleep pulled, insistent, and the last thing he heard was Granger's flippant, "You really are becoming nocturnal."

Malfoy had a tendency to be a quiet—if not silent—neighbour. Which suited Hermione perfectly fine, because while a part of her liked knowing he was nearby, she also appreciated silence when she was trying to work.

Ever since they had returned from France, and more so since Malfoy had gone to Italy to learn more about Avance, Hermione had spent the majority of her waking hours scouring the old Nocturnus journals as far back as she could find them. Malfoy had inferred the history between Nocturnus and Alba was poorly documented, but she was determined to find anything that could possibly help. Some days, with the ominous cloud of impending war hovering over her life once again, it felt like all she could do to keep her head on straight.

So it was surprising, on Friday evening, when voices wafted through the open door between their sitting quarters. Glancing up from her studies, Hermione squinted, trying to determine whose vaguely familiar voice she had heard.

Moments later, Malfoy's head came through the doorway. Flashing her a grin, he asked, "Come over for a drink?"

She set the journal aside with a frown. "You're drinking? Who's with you?"

"Blaise and Theo." Taking a step into the room, he added, "And yes—I'm taking one night away from stressing about the premature end of my life. Are you going to join me or not?"

A surprised laugh chased from her mouth as she shook her head. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" Rising to her feet, she paused. "Does this mean I'm allowed to invite friends into the Manor?"

Though his eyes tightened, his lips twitched. "Technically, they need to be approved by the guard."

"Of course." Folding her arms, she took a step closer into his space. When he didn't move away, she smiled, and by the expression on his face, she wondered whether they had already been drinking. "But once they're approved—"

"Yes, Granger," he sighed, "you can have Potter and Weasley over. But keep in mind, Nocturnus business is off limits, even tonight with my friends. And when we have more important things to attend to, there isn't time for play."

Rolling her eyes, she breathed, "I'll be sure it suits your schedule, oh great and powerful, all-knowing Lunae Ortus."

"Overkill," he drawled, tugging her hand into his, grey eyes sparkling. "Clearly, I'm not all-knowing."

Hermione gazed at him for a long moment, twining her fingers between his, and dropped her head to the side. "It's nice to see you smile for once. You've been excessively broody."

Scoffing, he murmured, "Excuse me, I've been trying to figure out how to stay alive." He jabbed two of his fingers into her ribs, and she jumped, catching hold of his wrist. When she didn't immediately release his hand, his lips curled into a smirk. "Merlin, Granger, save it for later; we have company."

In an instant, she released him, stepping away and withdrawing her other hand, feeling a deep flush seep into her cheeks. Malfoy barked a laugh and tugged on one of her curls, muttering, "I was only joking."

"I know," she breathed, trying to quell the anxious chase of her heart as she pushed past him and through the door into his room.

Zabini and Nott paused their conversation, staring at her, before Hermione smiled and took a seat on Malfoy's sofa. When he poured her a drink and took the seat beside her, barely leaving any space between them, she couldn't quite manage to steady her racing pulse. She wasn't even certain whether it had anything to do with the bonds; recalling the way his kiss the night before he went to Italy had left her both intrigued and wanting more, she realised she was blushing again.

"So Granger," Zabini began, taking a sip of his whisky. "Or I suppose it's Malfoy now."

"Either's fine," she said, oddly breathy. "Malfoy still calls me Granger."

Nott barked a laugh. "So basically nothing's changed."

Feeling Malfoy's gaze sear into her, she cast him a quick glance. He turned away and pronounced, "Some things have changed. Others…"

"Some things will probably never change," Hermione teased.

"Like Granger being a swot," Malfoy stated, gesturing with his glass.

Her eyes tightened as she scowled at him. "Or Malfoy being a prat."

Grey eyes flashed when they met hers, and his smirk widened. Taking a sip of his whisky, he didn't look away; his knee brushed against hers.

"Well then," Nott announced loudly, "is it uncomfortable in here or is it just me?"

Zabini cleared his throat. "It's uncomfortable."

Flushing deeper still, Hermione looked away, shifting over so she was pressed into the corner of the sofa. Taking a swig of her own drink, she forced her attention away from Malfoy's proximity and turned to his friends. "What have you both been doing since leaving Hogwarts?"

"I work with Puddlemere United," Zabini said with a nod. "In promotions."

Leaning forward in his seat, Nott said, "I'm a healer. With a specialty in potioneering. Nothing on Draco's mastery, of course, but it's well enough."

Making a face, Hermione set her drink down on the end table. "What mastery?"

Malfoy froze, lifting a brow. "Hadn't mentioned that part."

Gaping at him, she asked, "You have a mastery?"

"Potions," he said, frowning. "It isn't really a big deal. For a while I was considering opening my own apothecary, and then all of this happened and turned out a bit more important."

"Why didn't I know you achieved a mastery?" she asked, staring hard at him. Something twinged in her chest that he'd never thought to mention such an accomplishment. It made her wonder what else she didn't know about the man who had become her husband.

"It hasn't seemed all that important in the face of things," he said with a shrug, slinging an arm across the back of the sofa, barely missing her shoulders. "This is my life now. What, did you think I just sat around all day before the Ascension? You wouldn't have known because I completed it through correspondence with a potions master in Spain." Taking a sip of his drink, he added, "None of the masters in Britain were interested in working with me."

"Which was bollocks, of course," Nott said lightly. "Given how talented of a potioneer you've always been."

"Yeah," Malfoy bit out with a chuckle. "So talented—especially the time I blew up a batch of Living Death all over you."

Zabini burst into a boisterous laugh. "I remember that—the look on your face!"

Malfoy scowled and rose to pour himself another drink. "How was I to know what sort of adverse side effects it was going to have while incomplete?"

Waving his hands as if to announce his presence, Nott said, "I woke up four days later and all was well."

"I was not well," Malfoy interjected, "not after the barrage of stinging jinxes you sent my way."

Nott shook his head and flashed Hermione a grin. "I missed four days of coursework and he didn't even bother copying any of the notes." In an aside, he added, "You understand, right?"

"Oh," she snickered, "absolutely. I would have been furious."

Flicking her in the side of the head with his pointer finger, Malfoy muttered, "Traitor."

Swatting his hand away, Hermione found herself grinning. When he met her gaze again, his eyes suffused with a newly familiar warmth, she couldn't quite control the fluttering of nerves in her stomach.

Several hours later, Hermione yawned widely, sleep and whisky tugging at her eyelids. Nott and Zabini had just departed through the Floo, and Hermione rose to her feet, tripping over the leg of the sofa. Snorting, Malfoy stifled a yawn with one hand as he pressed his eyes tightly shut.

"I'll walk you home," he said, voice slurred, "like a proper husband."

"Home." She giggled. "Through the door."

"Exactly." Stopping to rest against the door frame, he eyed her with his chin low. "You know, Granger—Hermione—I don't want you to be unhappy."

Frowning, she said, "I'm not unhappy."

"With me." Lifting a pale brow, he stared down at her. "I don't want to be a shite husband. Even if it isn't really… a proper marriage."

Blinking up at him, she said, "I don't think you're a shite husband."

"Okay but," he said, holding up a hand. "We've not been married a month, and I've put your life at risk—"

"My life has been at risk plenty," she objected, "and technically, my life was already threatened before the bonding—"

"That's what I mean," he groaned, pressing his face into the wooden frame. "You don't deserve to get murdered on my account."

"This is cheerful," Hermione muttered under her breath. "Maybe you ought to get some sleep, Malfoy."

He released a long sigh, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah. You're right." When he planted a hand on her arm, heavier than necessary, Hermione wondered whether the gesture was an effort at casual contact or because he needed the assistance standing upright. She led him through the door into her sitting quarters and turned to face him with a smile.

"Thank you for walking me home," she teased, humour pulling at her lips. "I appreciate it." Her smile faltered, and she added, "I can't believe you didn't tell me you earned a potions mastery. I haven't even seen you brew anything since I've been here."

Looking uncomfortable, he said, "I wish they hadn't brought it up. It hasn't exactly been the most important thing to share."

"But it's brilliant," she whispered. "I actually debated looking further into potions at one point, but I went the path of the Ministry instead."

"I have a lab," he said with an offhand gesture. "I'll show it to you sometime. And I'm sorry you had to leave your job at the Ministry over me. See—shite husband."

Shaking her head, she teased, "Stop that. You're not a shite husband at all—look, you've delivered me safely to my room."

"If I knew, before the Ascension, what we've learned, I wouldn't have Ascended," he said, the words clipped as he meandered idly into her sitting room, picking up one of the journals from the stack on her coffee table.

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," she eased, moving into her bedroom to slip out of her jumper, leaving her in a tank top.

"What?" he hissed, following to the threshold. "What in the name of Merlin does that mean?"

Snickering, Hermione shook her head. "Muggle phrase, I guess. It means you did what you thought was best. And if you hadn't, Minister Arcand would have kept on making life miserable for all those beings in France. So think of how many lives you've affected in a positive way by Ascending."

"We haven't solved the problem in France," he deadpanned. "If anything, we made it worse by poking around."

"Look at it this way." Rubbing at her bleary eyes, she settled cross-legged on top of her bedding. "Avance thinks we're investigating the creature situation in France. We need them to keep believing we're interested in the goings on in the lives of centaurs and vampires—and nothing else."

Leaning against the doorway, he folded his arms with a smirk. "While behind the scenes, we're figuring out a way to knock down Alba for good."

"Avance, Alba," Hermione said, waving a hand. "Sounds to me like they're almost one and the same."

"For our purposes," he said, sweeping a hand through his hair, "they are. So… creature policy. Merlin, I'm too drunk to think this through right now."

Dropping her head into her hands, she breathed, "Same. We'll figure it all out… tomorrow."

"All of it," he drawled. "All at once.'

Hermione smiled at him. "Right. All of it. Who knows—between the two of us, we're pretty smart. Stranger things have happened."

"You're the smart one," he mused, taking up a seat at the end of her bed. Hesitating, she eyed him with caution, but he kept his distance, even as he shot her a wink. "I'm the opportunistic one."

"So that's why you've helped yourself into my bed," she teased, trying to quell the hasty rhythm of her heart.

At his sudden wide, boisterous yawn, Hermione couldn't help a bright laugh from escaping as she threw her head back. Covering his mouth, he shook his head. "Excuse me, I'm just so tired." Eyes sparkling, he added, "Exhausting work, being such a proper gentleman as to walk a lady home."

Unable to stem her laughter, Hermione choked out, "I suppose I'm meant to ask you to stay over, then." Flashing him a grin, she added, "I like to see you have fun. You're so bloody serious all the time."

His expression sobered, and he said, "My life has been quite serious."

With a sad smile, she whispered, "That would be exhausting."

His fingers grazed the back of her hand where it rested on her knee. "It's nice, having someone to share the load—even if that's selfish of me to say."

"It isn't.

"It sort of is."

Hermione frowned. "I signed up for this, remember? I knew what it would entail."

Malfoy rested his hand on hers, and his head fell to the side. "I meant it, when I said you were the best choice." Then he shifted, making to stand. "And I was kidding, of course. I wouldn't invite myself into your bed just because—"

"You can stay," she interrupted, voice breathy and soft. "If you want to—and if you keep to your side."

Freezing, he stared at her, a heavy tension in the set of his shoulders. "I wouldn't infringe—I'm being a gentleman, remember?" Cracking a grin, he added in a low voice, "Maybe one day that won't be the case, but for now."

"One day," she whispered, tugging him closer by the hand that held hers, "I won't want you to be."

Dragging her fingers up the curve of his jaw, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His mouth was warm, and his breath tasted like whisky when she drew back; his eyes flashed a dark grey as he stared at her.

Not entirely willing to draw away, she coiled her fingers into the fine strands of hair at the back of his neck, and he ducked in again, kissing her with more insistence. When his tongue slipped through her parted lips and teased her own, Hermione couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped her throat.

Malfoy pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers, and his eyes fluttered open to find hers while one hand slid back along her jaw. Swallowing, he breathed, "You're drunk."

His tone was vague enough that she wasn't certain whether it was a statement or a question, and she replied, "You're drunk."

Barking a laugh, he released her, relegating himself once more to the foot of the bed. "That's what I thought."

Her heart raced, stomach pulled into a twist, and a persistent sort of longing lingered in her core, but Hermione forced herself to stand. "I need the loo, and I have to get ready for sleep. You are welcome to do as you please." As she crossed the room, a little unsteady on her feet, Hermione could feel his stare sear into her and warmth swept through her, but she didn't dare look back.

When she returned, Malfoy was tucked beneath her covers, sound asleep.

Author's Note: I so appreciate every one of you for reading this little story and for your lovely feedback, and I hope you're all continuing to stay well and safe! I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo

Alpha and beta love to my wonderful team Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.