All of the antiquated history books in the library of Malfoy Manor couldn't have prepared Draco for the series of events that followed the announcement of his Ascension to Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order. Latin for Moon Rise, it had long been the title of the ruler of the Nocturnus Order—yet he hadn't learned why. There were trivialities about the Order that Draco hadn't found in all of his research.
Since he was a boy, Draco had been aware of the ancient bloodright that had flowed through Malfoy veins for centuries, but by the time he was old enough to consider such things, war had been upon him.
And from everything he had ever heard, Nocturnus was archaic. It had fallen out of favour, unable and unwilling to keep up with the advances of a rapidly changing society.
As he gazed out upon the endless carriages, active Portkey and Apparition spots, and parades of bannermen as they approached Malfoy Manor for the Ascension, Draco was struck with a stark realisation. Nocturnus was far more powerful than he had ever known.
Large white tents dotted the grounds, set up to accommodate their guests until the Ascension was complete, and most would return home, with a few key exceptions.
The Ascension was to occur at the height of the full moon—which had given Draco less than a week to prepare. He'd been spending the bulk of his time learning as much as possible.
The most significant information boiled down to a few main facts. Since a Malfoy was the last Lunae Ortus, the dynasty passed through the generations despite neither his grandfather or his father stepping into the seat. And Nocturnus had evidently gathered enough dust over the decades that none of the other old families had stepped forth to undertake the complicated process in claiming the head position themselves.
Which meant Draco's claim would be uncontested for the Ascension. It didn't mean the claim could never be challenged—if the Order found his leadership wanting.
Draco would need to marry and complete a bonding ceremony. It had initially been a sticking point in the back of his mind, but a stipulation he was willing to follow through with if it meant that his rule of the Nocturnus Order would fulfill its maximum potential. The Lunae Ortus was only as strong as the symbiotic union with his Lunae Amor.
In all of his subsequent research on the topic, Draco had never heard of such a pure bond between two individuals. The strength and magical power of his bride would be tantamount to the success of his rule. She would learn to complete him, and he her.
The downside was that the bonding ceremony would take place exactly one lunar cycle after the Ascension—which gave Draco little more than a month to select a suitress to wed.
The idea of forced consummation with someone he hardly knew didn't sit well at all—but upon scouring the ancient texts, Draco learned consummation of the marriage was not required for the Lunae bonds to initiate. It had eased some of the stress, but not much.
Far be it from Draco to question the ideals that had been in practice in the Order for millennia.
But even so, the speed with which this was all happening left him feeling oddly disarmed. Draco had committed to this new role, and there was no backing out at this point anyway—but he was still learning as he went in a desperate attempt to keep up. But there were Nocturnus members who still remembered the rule of his late great-grandfather Septimus Malfoy rolling through the gates in droves.
The last thing Draco wanted to do was to fail in his new capacity.
He'd been introduced to one of the chief Nocturnus advisers the day before—a Swede by the name of Elias Bergen, a Nocturnus scholar and political strategist. His son Hugo was around Draco's age, and the young man had seemed distinctly displeased to be at Malfoy Manor.
He almost reminded Draco of himself, with the pomp and entitlement Draco might have possessed had he not lived through the humbling experience of fighting in a war as a teenager.
Several days prior, Draco had been startled to discover a throne room that had fallen into magical concealment with the collapse of the last Order and had reopened itself in the far wing of the Manor.
Draco turned from the upper hall window and made his way into the elaborate chamber. Two large thrones sat upon a dais along the far wall, midnight blue marble with silver accents, and featuring elaborate lunar depictions on the sides. Dark marble covered the floors with silver swirls reminiscent of the night sky.
The two thrones were identical—equal. The Lunae Ortus and his Lunae Amor. Partners, in every sense of the word.
Feeling a lurch in his stomach, Draco grimaced at the thought. He wasn't ready to commit his life to another, but the time was upon him all the same.
And he had a feeling the decision wouldn't be his.
After three days spent with her face buried in a book, Hermione was fraught with desperation. She found herself unable to reconcile Malfoy—the boy who had bullied her through their years at Hogwarts over something beyond her control—with a man who was about to take the highest seat of one of the most ancient and powerful magical orders in existence.
Furthermore, she found herself figuratively wrenching at her hair in determining his motives. Following the end of the war, the two Malfoys remaining in polite society had gone out of their way to reintegrate into the wizarding world. She couldn't even pin a number to the amount of galleons they'd donated to the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts and along Diagon Alley.
So for him to reinstate this Nocturnus Order merely for personal gain felt at odds with the persona he'd presented for half a decade.
But Hermione wasn't friends with uncertainty, and to make matters worse, there was next to nothing as far as information on this Order. Whether it was all hidden behind closed doors, lost to the annals of time, or simply passed through tribal knowledge, there were only a handful of books in all of Flourish and Blotts that did more than mention the Order.
And the rest only spoke to its reams of power and influence.
Which did little to reassure Hermione's reservations on the subject.
She couldn't quite picture Malfoy leading what seemed to equate to a magical dynasty in terms of scale and purpose—but the fact remained that he was the rightful heir. As Daphne had suggested, the last Lunae Ortus had been Septimus Malfoy before Abraxas Malfoy had allowed the Order to fade away.
The situation in itself was distracting her from her voracious attention on the situation in France, which seemed to worsen by the week at an almost exponential rate. Witches and wizards who had contributed to society for years were being forced from their jobs and, in some cases, from their homes over creature affiliation. Werewolves, Veela, vampires—the campaign of Avance was far-reaching and vicious.
It made her blood boil. And Hermione couldn't understand why so many people were standing by and allowing it to happen.
Cold despair had crept into the back of her mind as she pored over the Prophet every morning, tears stinging at her eyes at the injustice of it all.
That particular morning, it was the woes of a coven of vampires, who had been civil and proper with their requests for blood from a nearby hospital in exchange for volunteer work and other beneficial services. But under the new policies driven by Avance, the coven was left to fend for themselves. Unwilling to attack and kill humans, many of them had grown so weak the coven had been forced to flee in search of another arrangement.
Fury ripped through her as she turned the page, nearly tearing the newsprint in her anger, and froze, blinking down at the next article.
Malfoy's Nocturnus Ascension Spurred by Rising Threat in France
"It isn't possible," she whispered to herself, eyes widening as she skimmed the article, then read it another three times.
So the article claimed, Malfoy's decision to dust off the ancient magical order was due to the problematic situation in France. According to a spokesperson for the Order—not even Malfoy himself—the Nocturnus Order was far older than any ruling Ministry and therefore operated within its own laws and jurisdictions.
It meant this Order had the strength and wherewithal to oppose the new policies set forth by the French Ministry.
Hermione wasn't certain she was breathing.
But why in the name of Merlin did Malfoy care so much as to uproot his entire life?
There was a quick mention, at the bottom of the article, that Malfoy would be holding an open call for his future wife—the Lunae Amor. According to the article, it was ancient Nocturnus practice that the leader select a partner who would be not only his wife but also one of his chief advisers. There were words like symbiotic, bonding, and equals, and the woman's magical power would only combine with his to strengthen his rule. Hermione felt badly for the poor girl he'd choose.
Snorting, she folded the paper and set it aside, mind churning with more thoughts than she could comprehend.
"Can you honestly believe it, though?" Harry asked, a scowl drifting across his face as they wandered the streets of Godric's Hollow. Even years after the occurrences with Bathilda Bagshot and Nagini, Hermione still felt a frisson of unease when she visited the small wizarding village.
But it was important to Harry to visit now and again, and she suspected he was thinking of purchasing one of the small cottages on the outskirts.
"I can't," she replied, shaking her head. "Honestly, I thought one war in a lifetime was more than enough. But with the way things are going—" Cutting off, she shook her head. "Do you suppose things will wind up going that way?"
With a grimace, Harry swept his hair out of his eyes. "I hope not. But Avance can't be allowed to keep proliferating these toxic ideas. And if Malfoy's archaic order is getting involved—well, he hasn't got all those bannermen camped out at Malfoy Manor for nothing."
Whirling to face him, Hermione's eyes widened. "What? Bannermen?"
"For his Ascension." With a shrug, Harry went on. "I don't know much about it, of course, since I'm not a part of the Nocturnus Order. But I guess it's a really big deal for him to step into power. The entire Order's gathered in preparation of the full moon this weekend. And from how it sounds, they'll be set to go at his command. If things should happen to lead that direction."
Nose wrinkling, Hermione intoned, "I guess I thought it was more of a political tactic. Scare some sense into them since no one else is willing to check Avance's influence."
"It is," Harry amended. "From what I've read, Malfoy doesn't want war. But… he's sure got the numbers for it if he needs to."
The pair of them ambled down the street, Harry pausing now and again to peer closer at the houses. Frowning, Hermione wrung her hands absently. "I can't seem to find very much information about it."
"And it's driving you nuts, I suppose," Harry said, cracking a wry smile. Sobering, he carried on. "I think the whole thing is just so bloody ancient it's probably steeped with hidden information. I'm surprised you haven't reached out to Malfoy, the way this whole situation in France is bothering you."
Snickering, Hermione nudged him in the shoulder. "He's still Malfoy, fancy old dynasty or not."
"Just think," Harry teased, elbowing her back. "You could be his—whatsit—Lunae something. His consort. Then you'd have all the influence over the situation you could possibly want." Scrunching up his features, he barked a laugh. "That's a lark, isn't it?"
Chuckling, Hermione slid her hands into her pockets. "Can you imagine?"
A feeling like unease prickled across the surface of her skin.
The atmosphere between them shifted, and Harry glanced her way. "You can't tell me you're considering it."
"No," she bit out quickly. "Of course not. I'm sure he'll have the purest of the pure fawning all over him with an open call for potential partners."
"Sounds like it isn't about blood purity so much as it is power. Magical strength," Harry mused, squinting into the sun. "Ironic, given the way Malfoy berated you all those years over your blood status."
"Even so." Tittering, Hermione shifted on the spot, feeling antsy. "I'd have to marry Malfoy. Probably carry his spawn."
"Right." Offering a chuckle, Harry continued down the street, and she fell into step. "That definitely wouldn't be worth it."
Silence fell over the two of them as they rounded the outer edge of town before making their way back towards the square. Finally Hermione peered up at him, worrying her lower lip. "But what do you suppose Malfoy's going to do with all that power?"
Without missing a beat, Harry intoned, "Not a damn clue."
The full moon was high in a cloudless sky on the night of the Ascension. As per tradition, he hadn't had any involvement in preparation of the ceremony—his only duty was to arrive, and to Ascend. The rise in Moon Rise, so to speak.
He'd been presented the traditional midnight blue robes of the Lunae Ortus, which seemed to glow of their own accord with a shimmer of iridescence. The coronet of the Ascension was a titanium silver wreath of constellations, intricate and fragile, and forged to incredible strengths. It was symbolic, so Draco supposed, of the Order he was now meant to lead.
The very thought set a crushing force of emotions in his chest, racing through his veins.
Draco had never realised the extent of the Nocturnus Order—and as everyone had poured in for the Ascension, he had found the first shreds of doubt creeping in, which had only compounded over the course of the week.
Not hundreds, but thousands. Thousands of people had crossed the globe for this event—for the rebirth of an Order he still didn't know everything about. And how was Draco meant to lead them with any small level of success when he hadn't been raised to do so? Past generations of Malfoys had been bred and raised with the expectation of Ascension. But Draco's father had pursued an altogether different path.
The advisers were knowledgeable, and it offered some solace to know he wasn't doing this alone. And of course, there would be the Lunae Amor.
That set a different form of nerves chasing through him. In the coming week, swaths of women from within the Nocturnus Order and without would attend his open call. With only weeks to select the one who would rule at his side, Draco had almost no time between the Ascension and the Bonding.
Every time he mentioned something on the subject, the answers were the same. It's the way things have always been.
He wondered if that was why Nocturnus had fallen out of favour to begin with. By a stubborn refusal to shift or deviate from the ancient traditions. Not that Draco was opposed to the idea of selecting his Lunae Amor—he would simply have appreciated having more than a handful of weeks to do so.
And it was nice, he thought, that the ultimate decision would be his. The last thing he needed was a contract forcing him to marry some specific woman with whom he wouldn't get on or care for in any fashion. Furthermore, the magical bonds with his future wife would influence the strength of his rule—his Lunae Amor would sit at his side as an equal.
Maybe once he'd selected someone, she would be able to relate. Because for all the advisers—even his mother—telling him how everything was meant to be, Draco couldn't help feeling as if he'd taken on more than he could handle alone.
There was a certain small comfort in knowing, no matter how things went, he would have someone else at his side.
Draco had spent too many long years feeling alone.
Jolting back to the present, he was jarred by the Nocturnus high mage speaking Latin over him. Draco knew only small amounts of Latin—not counting what he'd been required to memorise for the Ascension—and he couldn't pick up on most of what the man was saying.
A handmaiden stepped forth, and Draco ducked his head as she secured the coronet atop his hair. Unable to manage more than a nod, he stood upright once more, eyes fixed ahead. The grounds of Malfoy Manor had been set up to hold the thousands of people in attendance, and it felt as if his heart was hammering in his throat as he thought ahead to what was about to happen.
For all of the mayhem that had led to this moment over the past weeks, the ceremony was quite short, as Draco was told. A series of rites and pronouncements as the clock struck midnight, the full moon high above him. With his initiation, Draco would become imbued with the elemental magic of the Lunae Ortus, which largely meant he would develop a lunar affiliation. Draco had always drawn mental strength from the dark and the quiet of the night, but now it would become literal—intrinsic and tied to his very core.
And then a feast and a party like none other. If the barrels of whisky and wine that had been shipped in that afternoon were any indication, it was an understatement. It was a comfort to realise the people of the Nocturnus Order were less interested in the minutiae of the Ascension and more interested in getting loaded. Maybe there was a chance he wouldn't fuck everything up, after all.
His eyes fluttered shut as the mage concluded his rites, and Draco returned a brief passage, nodding to the man before he vacated the small chambers in which Draco had been getting ready.
Releasing a long breath, Draco straightened his shoulders and made for the door which would lead him to the grounds and to his Ascension to Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order.
Author's Note: Wow, thanks everyone for the wonderful reception to the first chapter! I'm really excited to finally be sharing this story with you all. Updates will be weekly on Mondays, so the last was sort of a bonus since chapter one was an introduction. :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347; beta hearts to ravenslight.