Draco awoke to a faceful of curls and a pounding headache in an unfamiliar room, and it took the entirety of a hazy, throbbing minute to recall what had happened the night before and how he had come to wind up in Granger's bed.

Vaguely, he could recall kissing her, but he didn't think anything else had happened. At least, he didn't think he had been so loaded that he would have blacked out the end of the night. While he stared blankly at the back of her head, wracking his memory, she turned to face him. They were closer than he'd perhaps realised, and his hand grazed her side before he shifted away.

Blinking several times, she swept her hair out of her face and huffed, "Shite."

Grimacing, Draco grumbled, "Good morning to you." He could feel the silk of Granger's sheets, cool against his bare chest, and he blew out a breath, checking to be sure he had shorts on. With a surge of relief, he climbed out of the bed, collecting his shirt and trousers from the floor. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he retreated, warm with the feel of Granger's stare lingering on him.

Moments later, he returned to her room; she was facing the ceiling, eyes pressed tightly shut, and he tossed her a vial of hangover draught. Inspecting the vial, she gave a long sigh. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Clicking his tongue, he muttered, "Potions mastery still good for something, as it turns out."

Without hesitation, Granger ingested the contents of the vial and huffed quietly, "The potions mastery. Forgot about that."

He wished he hadn't reminded her and left her once more to her devices, returning back to his room. While the potency of his own vial took hold, Draco jumped into the shower and went about preparing for his day. He would have to call a meeting with the rest of the council to determine the best way forward based on what he and Bergen learned in Italy—and how they would be facing the situation in France without giving away all they had learned.

It would be of the utmost importance that Avance not realise they knew of the connection to Alba and their plans with regard to seizing the lunar affiliation. Which meant they would need to proceed with their original aims of thwarting Minister Arcand's anti-creature policy—at least as a front, should Avance be keeping as close an eye as he expected they were. Should Cosette be watching him, waiting for him to slip up. The thought caused his hand to curl at his side.

Nocturnus was widely regarded as archaic, even from within the Order—perhaps it was time to pursue some change of their own.

Granger knew plenty about policy from her time at the Ministry, and the thought of working with her didn't feel so far off anymore.

Nerves chased through her as Hermione found the entirety of the Nocturnus council staring at her. Malfoy's knee nudged hers beneath the table. "It doesn't hurt to gather a bit of public favour," she said, "and addressing the situation in France, for as much as it's been international news here in England, will do that. The British Ministry isn't doing anything to help—not that they can, particularly, with the bureaucracy of it all—and ideally we would like the Ministry here on our side, should we ever need anything. Hopefully, by taking some of the public pressure off of them, we'll gain their favour as well."

"Nocturnus has the influence," Malfoy cut in with a hint of a smile, "and the added benefit is that we'll be drawing Avance's attention to our public movements."

Elias Bergen nodded his head. "While in private, we're collecting knowledge on Cosette and Alba."

"I like Hermione's plan," Malfoy stated to the room at large; she felt a dusting of colour spread through her face. "We utilise whatever resources we can to locate and recover the kidnapped centaur population. Their war against the campaign of Avance has been widely publicised, and whatever we can do to act as a thorn in Arcand's side is a good thing. If we make his life enough of a living hell, he might think twice about proliferating Cosette's nonsense."

The frantic scratching of Oro's quill was the only sound in the room, and a thick tension hovered in the air.

Finally Bergen announced, "I will get my team on it straight away."

Dagomir leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Will we prepare a contingent to leave the country?"

Hesitating for a moment, Malfoy shook his head. "I don't think just yet. But soon." Running a hand through his hair, he dropped his head over the back of his seat. When he straightened once more, he looked Hermione in the eye. "This feels like one massive game of chess. We need patience and strategy; we need to plan several moves in advance. And when the moment is right…" He glanced away, swallowing. "Then we'll make our play."

With a gruff bark of laughter, Dagomir clapped his hands together. A smile drifted to Hugo's lips, and he gave an almost infinitesimal nod.

Every eye in the room was on Malfoy; a tight breath sat in Hermione's throat when he leaned forward in his seat. "We'll reconvene in a few days. For now, our priorities are the centaurs and Cosette." He said the name with a disdainful curl of his upper lip. "I need to know everything about what she's up to."

While Oro called the meeting to its conclusion, Hermione collected her notes and stowed them into her bag. Upon rising, she found Malfoy watching her. His lips twitched as the room emptied, and he said quietly, "Come with me? I want to try something."

Surprised, she nodded. No longer was it disconcerting how willing she was to go along with his suggestions, and the depth of her own burgeoning trust for him had simply integrated as part of her life. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he nodded to Oro and Glenneth as they left the room, and he proceeded to lead her down the corridor and into the throne room.

Startled, Hermione realized she hadn't been inside the throne room since they had still been working out the negotiations of the contract, and while that hadn't been all that long ago, it felt like ages with how rapidly everything in her life had changed.

Malfoy stepped up onto the dais before turning back to face her, taking her hand and assisting her up beside him. He swept the pad of his thumb across the crescent at her wrist, and Hermione could feel her magic flare to life beneath the contact. Idly, she asked, "Why is it we don't use the throne room?"

Considering for a moment, he released her wrist and took his seat in one of the matching thrones. "We don't really hold court very often. Keep in mind, generations of Lunaes ruled from this manor before my great-grandfather. Things have changed a lot. But I suppose if we wanted to, or if we ever had cause to, we could."

Sinking into the plush fabric of the other throne, Hermione smiled. "Last time I sat here I felt like a phony."

"Well," he drawled, "you certainly aren't now, Miss Lunae Amor." Turning to face her, he reached for her wrist once more. "I wanted to explore the magic of the bonds—if you don't mind."

A shiver crept down her spine at the thought of it—at the way the magic felt when it danced within her veins and awakened her soul. "I don't mind."

Malfoy was careful with her hand as he turned it within his so that her wrist was face-up. Watching her face to gauge her reaction, he pressed the tips of his fingers into the shimmering crescent. Hermione released a tight breath but held his stare. She could feel the magic come alive like a soft inhale, and when he pressed a bit harder, the bonds stirred quicker, rising with the pace of her heart.

After a moment, his expression shifted, and he grazed the mark with his thumb in a gentle caress; she could hear his sharp inhale, and it matched the way her magic roared to life, chasing through her with a celebratory sort of intensity. He whispered, "Do you feel that?"

Her voice came out with an unintended tremble. "Yes."

Grey eyes flashed, and his throat bobbed with a swallow, his thumb playing circles on her wrist. "It's the symbiosis. My magic strengthening yours, and your magic reaching out to mine. From my understanding of it…" He looked away, blowing out a shaky exhale. "This is why it mattered so much who I selected for my Lunae Amor. Any one of those women possessed the magic to fulfill the role… but not all of them could have fulfilled the symbiosis to its potential."

A cool sense of loss chased through her when he released her hand, leaning back in his seat. With a quick breath, she asked, "Why? You and I never got along before, so why would your magic interact so well with mine?"

"No one could tell me for certain," he explained, "since no former Lunaes are still alive. But there was something intrinsic about it. From the day you showed up for the call, it was like my magic was pulling towards you. Even when I considered others… inside, I knew it had to be you. Despite our differences—maybe it was because of our differences. Maybe our magic is symbiotic because one fills the void of the other."

"It's an interesting thought," Hermione said, idly reaching for his marked wrist. Expression guarded, he allowed her to drag her fingers across the crescent with varying pressure. His other hand gripped the arm of the throne with white knuckles as he sat, shoulders tensed.

Through clenched teeth, he said, "It's very intense. Like my magic is over-stimulated."

Nodding, Hermione carried on, sweeping her thumb across the mark gently as he had done. She felt the contact as a jolt through her own magic. Nerves chasing through her, she lifted his wrist and caught his gaze. Vulnerability seeped through the hard grey in his eyes, but he watched as she brought his wrist to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the mark.

"Shite," he choked out, tensing in his seat. His chest heaved with his harsh intake of breath, and something stirred in the core of her being. A smile tugged at her lips, and she darted her tongue out to graze his skin. Grimacing, he managed, "You need to stop doing that."

In an instant, she recoiled, releasing his hand. His face was hard as he stared at her, the skin around his eyes tight. "Sorry," she whispered, uncertain whether she had crossed a line when everything between them was so hesitant.

But he shook his head, lips twitching. "You aren't sorry." His eyes were heavily lidded and dark when they met hers. "If I ever want to torture you, I'll do that."

A soft huff of laughter escaped as she caught his meaning, even as she felt her skin grow warm.

Mockingly, he grumbled something about a cold shower. Then, looking uncomfortable, he rose and made for the door without her. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she couldn't help a bright laugh.

"Lunae."

Draco turned on the spot to see Elias Bergen walking towards him with a stern expression; it was usually a bad sign. He offered a nod. "What is it?"

Rifling through a stack of papers, Bergen proffered a couple sheets of parchment; scanning the contents, Draco's brows lifted in surprise. Bergen explained, "My team looked more closely into the centaur situation in France and has determined a few probable locations where they might be held. There is a good chance the captured members of the herd you met with have been divided."

"This is great work," Draco mused, rubbing the back of his neck. "And quick." It had only been several days since he had set Bergen's team to the task; something niggled at the back of his mind over the rapidity of it. "We'll prepare an extraction team. But… something about this feels too easy."

Peering over his thin frames, Bergen nodded. "I thought so at first, as well. But the team was thorough, and the answers weren't in plain sight. My guess is simply that the captors were not anticipating our involvement, given the wider state of matters. And I can't imagine centaurs are Arcand's most important priority, with half of France rising up against him."

"Good point." Chuckling, Draco looked closer, brandishing the report. "This is excellent."

"Lunae, if I may be so bold," Bergen said, lingering in the corridor. When Draco gestured to proceed, he added, "I know you are uncertain with regards to pushing the situation with Arcand, but I think we need to be forceful. We need to assert Nocturnus presence and make it well known exactly where we stand. No one knows the depth of Arcand's involvement with Avance, and if he isn't loyal to Cosette, we can stand to push hard."

Hesitating, Draco lifted a brow. "And if he is loyal to Cosette? For all we know, Arcand could have roots with Alba as well."

"The impression I've been given on every front is that Arcand has been blackmailed or otherwise persuaded by monetary means," Bergen said, adjusting his glasses. "This is our chance to knock loose the cog at the top of the machine. We cannot afford to go easy."

"Thank you for your thoughts." Musing, Draco rolled up the report. "I will give it some consideration. In the meanwhile—speak with Dagomir, and we will prepare to return to France. Myself and Hermione included."

Something stirred in his memory and took up residence in his chest: the way Fletcher, the temporary leader of the herd had held Draco's stare with fear in his eyes. How he had recognised so much of himself and his own doubts. He couldn't turn his back on the herd now—and he knew Granger would never let him.

"Lunae—"

Softly, he said, "That is my decision. I won't leave the centaurs to fend for themselves any longer."

Flatly, Bergen pronounced, "Every time you make your presence in France known, you put your life at risk, Lunae. Every time you leave the wards of this manor—"

"Then we ought to prepare the guard," he bit out. "I will not hide out and attempt to lead this order from the safety of my home. How can I expect anyone to do things when I am unwilling to do them myself?"

Fleetingly, he thought of the half-drunken conversation he'd had several nights prior with Granger. How her life was at stake because of her involvement with him—how she had still vehemently denied that she regretted any of it. How could he expect her to put herself at risk if he wouldn't do the same, especially when it came to magical creatures. Because she would go with or without him.

"Very well," Bergen said, dipping his head in a nod. "I will meet with Dagomir today."

"Good," Draco said, his tone softening. "Let me know what is determined." Sliding the scroll into his pocket, he strode down the corridor.

After a long evening of research in the manor library, Hermione made her way back through their residential wing to her personal quarters.

Soft music wafted from one of the rooms further down, where she had yet to explore, and she halted in her steps. The rich tinkling of a piano, playing a despairing, melancholy piece. Hesitating, Hermione ventured past her rooms towards the sound. She felt the heavy tone settle into her soul and stopped on the threshold.

A handsome grand piano stood in the centre of the room, silver moonlight filtering through high windows to illuminate the ivory keys.

And the pale blond hair of its musician, a crooked silver crown perched on top.

He painted a startling picture, shoulders hunched over the piano with the weight of thousands. Hermione was suddenly aware of her breathing, and she lingered, about to turn and walk away. But the notes called to something within her as his fingers trailed, effortless, evoking a depth of emotion within her.

The music was endlessly beautiful and immeasurably sad.

Before she could stop herself, she took a few steps into the expansive room, empty save for the magnificent instrument. Malfoy carried on, either unaware or ignoring her presence, and she stood behind him, unwilling to interrupt.

The melody haunted her, bringing tears to her eyes, and she felt the emotion he didn't dare speak as it poured through the music he played.

At last his fingers stopped and hovered over the keys, the final note jarring, and Hermione felt her soul long for him to continue.

He asked, his voice quiet in the silence of the room, "Do you play?"

"A little when I was young. But not like this," she whispered, shaking her head despite that he couldn't see her. Taking another step forward, she added, "It's beautiful."

Without speaking, he shifted on the bench, his long fingers idly trailing across the keys. Following the unspoken cue, she took a seat beside him, careful to keep to the edge so she wouldn't hinder his ability to play.

"When I was young," he said, quietly over the soft, meandering melody, "Mother used to sit and drink her tea while I played."

Hermione couldn't quite tell in the dim lighting of only the moon above, but she thought his eyes looked bloodshot. But the skin beneath his eyes, while shadowed by a lack of sleep, was dry of tracks.

A half-hearted smirk dragged across his lips. "Always said it was the highlight of her day."

Nodding, Hermione offered, "I'm sure it was. You play beautifully."

His shoulder brushed against hers, but she wasn't certain it was intentional as he reached for a higher octave, splaying his fingers across the keys. He carried on, a devastating minor arrangement, and said crisply, "I play what I cannot express."

The words sunk deep into her, and her eyelids fluttered shut when the music picked up, his fingers plucking with an instinctive and practiced precision she could never imagine. Moisture prickled at the backs of her eyes at the vulnerability he was sharing with her through his music, and she felt the despair, the anguish pouring forth.

When he cut off with a shaky exhale, staring down at the keys, she breathed, "You're doing better than you think you are."

"How," he choked, hoarse, "am I meant to figure any of this out."

A tear broke from her eye, and swiping at it, she said,"Together. We'll figure it out together."

Malfoy ground out through a clenched jaw, "I could live through one hundred lifetimes and not deserve to have you at my side."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "because this is the only one you've got—and I'm right here."

His eyes shone when they finally met hers, and she was startled by all that she found there. Blinking back tears, she reached her hands up to straighten the crown atop his head. Trailing her hands down the sides of his face, she looked him in the eye. "You are the Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order. And don't you dare," she hissed, voice dropping to a broken whisper, "let them knock off your crown."

Beneath the anguish, the vulnerability in his stare, pushed forth the steely determination she had come to know. Deep within her chest, her heart soared.

Author's Note: Thank you all, as always, for your lovely reviews and comments! I'm so glad you're still sticking with me and this story. I sort of can't believe we're 15 chapters in, but there's still so far to go. I hope you're enjoying it—and more importantly, I hope you're all still keeping safe and healthy. All my best vibes for you guys.

Alpha glomps to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta jazz hands for ravenslight.