Draco spread his marmalade meticulously into the corners of his slice of toast as he heard the shuffling that marked Granger's entrance into the kitchen. He often chose to eat his morning meal in the small breakfast nook overlooking the greenhouses, and he took a bite of his toast when Granger dropped into the seat across from him.

"You walk like an elephant," he quipped, taking a sip of coffee. Ordinarily, he didn't indulge in the caffeinated beverage, but it had been a late night. "And you slouch."

"Good morning to you, too," Granger grumbled with a frown etched on her face. She selected a slice of buttered rye from the top of the stack and began spreading it with blueberry preserves.

With delicate caution, he said, "I'm only pointing it out."

"And I suppose," she said, dragging the syllables out, "that simply won't do."

In hindsight, perhaps a negative remark wasn't the best way to start off the day. He hadn't been strictly drunk the night before but partially so, and he remembered them having an interesting conversation after he'd returned to the Manor, leaving Hugo, Blaise, and Theo to their joint devices.

"However you choose to carry yourself," he asserted in a drawl, "is up to you."

"So this entire conversation is irrelevant," she surmised, eyes narrowing.

Draco blew out a breath, leaning back in his seat. "Exactly."

A thick, painful silence fell over the room as they both picked at their toast, and Granger poured herself a tall glass of lemon water from the carafe at the centre of the table.

Finishing the last bite of his crust, he interlocked his hands on the table. "We're to meet with the council at eleven. The revised draft of the contract is completed."

Granger's eyes snapped up to meet his. "Fine."

"And I guess," he went on, making an effort to keep to more polite conversation, "this will be your first time meeting most of the council." When she merely chewed her toast with narrowed eyes, he sighed. "Elias Bergen is our chief adviser. He's Hugo's father, and therefore, the reason we put up with Hugo."

Her lips twitched. "I don't think Hugo's so bad."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's a pretentious snob." At Granger's leading stare, he sniffed. "I am not that bad."

"You were," she clarified, finally offering her full attention with the jab. "Okay, so Elias Bergen—chief adviser."

"Oro is the council scribe," Draco went on. "Hugo is, as you already know, the treasurer. There's the high mage, Glenneth, and Dagomir is the Head of the Nocturnus Guard, who also acts as war strategist."

Granger's jaw tightened. "I suppose it all makes sense."

"Most of the roles have passed down through the banner houses. Which means Hugo might likely wind up as chief adviser one day, and the idea of that terrifies me."

"That is terrifying," Granger allowed. "So tell me something—how did the Order originally form? I mean, who decided who was involved and who wasn't? The journals are quite vague."

Wincing, he poured another cup of coffee. "It was incredibly long ago, over a thousand years. I don't even know where the Order started out, but before the Malfoy line brought it into England, Nocturnus existed on the continent for a long time. There is a lot of Nocturnus history steeped in Italy. They were so powerful the Italian magical governing body just left them alone in exchange for protection. Most of the banner houses are from Europe on the continent, but they span across North and South America as well and into Asia and Africa."

"Clearly the Malfoys were involved regardless," Granger intoned.

"The Malfoys have French influence."

"So," she mused, a thoughtful tilt to her head. "The rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—not involved? I was thinking of this last night when Nott was here; he's from an old family, isn't he?"

"The House of Nott is Sacred Twenty-Eight," Draco confirmed. "But not within the realm of Nocturnus. Keep in mind, the Nocturnus Order far predates the documentation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and its influence doesn't reach far beyond Great Britain." Hesitating for a moment, he added, "There is also a lot of speculation around that specific house, given it was Cantankerus Nott who penned the documents of the Sacred. Some say he only wrote the list so he could include his own house, because they were otherwise excluded from Nocturnus."

"So it supersedes old blood," she stated.

"Granger." Draco shook his head, chuckling. "Don't you get it? Nocturnus supersedes everything. There isn't anything older or more powerful that exists. Or wasn't, at some point in time when Nocturnus was particularly relevant. That's why blood doesn't matter—only power."

A full minute passed while his words resonated, hanging in the air between them. He sighed, his voice dropping. "They'll write histories about our rule, Granger, whether good or bad. And the question is… what sort of history will we leave behind?"

Nervous anticipation hovered in the air between them when she met his stare. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

After a lazy breakfast, Hermione and Malfoy made their way into the Nocturnus Wing of the Manor; he guided her with a gentle touch to her lower back through a heavy door, midnight blue and adorned with the phases of the moon.

"This is the strategy room," he explained quietly. "All council meetings are held here. We're a little early."

A stocky man with thin silver frames and short bristly hair stood in conversation with an ancient-looking man who sported a long beard. Both wore long robes in navy, and Hermione idly wondered whether she should have worn something else. But Malfoy wasn't dressed in his Nocturnus robes either, and both men dropped their heads into a bow upon seeing them.

"Lunae," the stocky man announced, striding forward. "And his Lunae Amor. My name is Elias Bergen—it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure," she echoed, nodding to the men in return. In an odd, startling moment, she realized she took a certain amount of solace in the fact that Malfoy was by her side—and he had been through plenty of these meetings already. Even as her stomach churned with the thought that they were there to officially finalise and sign the marriage contract.

The bearded man stepped forward and into a deep bow.

Malfoy snickered and clapped the man on the shoulder. "This is Glenneth—the high mage."

Glenneth grinned as he rose to his full height again. "Miss Amor, it is an honour to meet you." His voice was quiet and hoarse, and while Hermione nearly had to strain to hear him, there was a geniality in his tone that calmed her nerves. Despite that she didn't truly know the purpose of a high mage.

Another man entered the room soon after—tall and skittish—and he was introduced as Oro Winnam, the court scribe. Then a broad, muscular man with thick facial hair and a heavy brow entered, introducing himself in a thick Eastern European accent as Dagomir, the Head of the Nocturnus Guard. Hermione made a mental note not to cross him.

And as a large clock on the wall chimed the hour, the group of them settled in at a long table made of dark wood with silver embellishments.

Malfoy broke the silence. "It appears Hugo is late. I cannot say I'm surprised."

Elias Bergen clicked his tongue as the rest chuckled appreciatively. But he announced, "Our reason for meeting today is a joyous one: to finalise the contract of marriage between the Lunae Ortus and his future Lunae Amor."

When Malfoy shot her a glance that was more a grimace than anything else, Hermione realised he was as nervous as she. But he turned back to the rest of the room with a hint of a smile. "Joyous, indeed. From my understanding, the tailors will be here this week to fit Hermione for her dress?"

It still sounded remarkably strange to her ears when he called her anything other than Granger.

Surprisingly, it was the high mage who confirmed this detail; in all of the bustle of preparing for her new life and growing accustomed to the Manor, Hermione had spent very little time actually considering the bonding ceremony itself. She knew it wasn't a conventional marriage, and Malfoy had given her a list of Latin phrases to memorise, but beyond that, she didn't know what to expect. The texts he had given her had been frustratingly vague with regards to the Lunae Amor's role.

"The future Lunae Amor will undergo the necessary rituals in the four days leading up to the ceremony," the mage added.

A frisson of nerves chased down her spine at the thought of what these rituals might comprise.

She was spared from thinking on it any further, however, when at that moment the door swung open and Hugo walked through, taking up the last remaining seat at the table as if nothing were wrong. Every set of eyes swung to land on him.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and drawled, "Good of you to join us."

Hugo merely flashed a grin and pulled a partially crushed roll of parchment from his bag; his hair was disheveled, and idly, Hermione wondered how late the stag party had gone after Malfoy had left.

Sliding a copy of the contract in front of her, Malfoy silently read through his own.

Everything was in accordance with the provisions they had discussed before, although some of the technical terminology was challenging. But the line at the very bottom above the line for signatures gave her pause.

The Lunae Amor shall not engage in any endeavour which may harm the Lunae Ortus.

The next line repeated the sentiment, but in reverse. It was so broad in scope that it caught her off guard. Her eyes tightened as she read through the line three more times, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth in an effort to read between the lines.

"It only means," Malfoy's voice said quietly in her ear; attention caught as it was, she jolted in her seat. "We work together as a team. I can't do anything that will cause you any harm or suffering, and likewise. It's a means of protection—for both of us. Mentally, emotionally, physically."

"And what if we disagree on something?" Hermione asked, keeping her words quiet and between them. "Policy, or a course of action, or something."

"The nature of the Lunae bonds enforce that one of us cannot make such a decision without reaching an accord with the other," he said; his grey eyes were stormy as they met hers. "If we disagree, it's a matter of compromise. I can't go ahead on something without consulting you—and vice versa. Symbiotic, remember?"

The low tone to his words settled into the surface of her skin and chased through her veins as he held her stare; she forced a swallow, mouth dry. "It just comes across as awfully open to misinterpretation."

"Then I suppose," he mused, "we're going to have to trust that we're on the same page."

"We aren't always going to be on the same page," she hissed. "Not for the rest of our lives."

The rest of the council had vacated the table and were making idle chatter along the far wall, as if in an effort to give them privacy.

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, his expression tight and unreadable as he leaned forward in his seat. "Of course we aren't. But we will have to offer one another a certain modicum of respect. If you don't think that's possible, then don't sign the contract."

His words jarred through her, despite the lack of animosity in his tone.

As she stared back, feeling a furrow in her brow and her heart racing in her chest, Hermione considered that this would be the rest of her life. Even if the situation in France came to an end… the bonds would continue. Would a duty fulfilled be enough to push her forward for the rest of her life?

Or would she and Malfoy simply drive one another miserable, to the point where she would come to regret it all?

The scroll of parchment in front of her indicated forever.

And the man at her side, with his hard, imploring stare—she didn't know whether he could be the one she chose.

Uncertainty crossed his face, and he pushed her contract away; with a start, she realised there was a slight tremble in his hand.

"I know it won't always be easy," Malfoy murmured, "and I know, Granger, I never would have been your choice in a million years. But this… this is something we can achieve. I know I treated you like shite in the past, and I don't expect you to forget that. I know I'm not easy to get along with… but despite anything else this marriage stands for, you will be my Lunae Amor. I will treat you the best I can, for the rest of our lives." He swept his hair back through the slight blur that had become her vision. "And I hope you can learn to see it the same way, one day."

For a brief moment, as her breaths chased, harsh, from her lungs, his hand hovered over the table. And then he took hold of her forearm where it sat, giving it a light squeeze. As her eyes fell to the contact, it occurred to Hermione that it was the first time he had actually touched her, beyond the realm of politeness.

This was never even a possibility of what she had dreamed for her life. She had hoped to get her career on track, meet someone and fall in love, and then when she was well and ready, consider things like marriage and a family.

And here she was set to wed in less than a week to someone she didn't even properly know.

But there were bigger things at stake. So much bigger.

She breathed, "Respect. I can do respect."

A slow grin spread across his face, and he belatedly released her arm. "I know you're not scared because you're a Gryffindor," he teased, then his expression sobered. "But if it helps, I'm terrified. By all of this. I don't know how to rule this Order that's been idly waiting around for a new leader. I don't know how we're going to deal with this situation on the continent… there are more things I don't know than things I do know, Granger."

"I don't know much about any of that either," she whispered, swiping at her eye as a tear broke free, "but I know a few things. And between the two of us, maybe we know enough to figure this out."

Malfoy's grey eyes sparkled. "It's enough to hinge a hope on."

Blowing out a shaky breath, Hermione forced herself to draw a long inhale and released it. "Okay. We can do this, yeah?"

A smirk curled his lips. "Yeah."

Offering him a thin smile, she drew the contract back in front of her and picked up an elegant quill. She was relieved there wasn't a quake to her hand as she signed her name; a flare of magic chased down her arm and settled in her chest. Malfoy took the quill, his fingers brushing against hers, and scrawled his own on the next line.

Lastly, Elias Bergen signed as witness; the contract shimmered with a silver glow before he rolled it up and tucked it away.

To her surprise, Dagomir, the gruff-looking Head of the Guard summoned a bottle of champagne and announced a toast.

Despite herself, and all of her deep seated fears, Hermione felt a laugh burst past her lips as she clinked her glass with her soon-to-be husband.

There was a disturbance in the hallway as Hermione glanced up from her book, one of the old Nocturnus texts Malfoy had provided her. A loud knock sounded on the door into her living quarters directly from the corridor—if it was Malfoy he would have had access through the adjoining door.

She was meant to meet with the mages that afternoon and begin the preparation rituals, but it was too early.

Carefully marking her page, she set the book aside and rose to answer the door. A pair of serious looking guards clad in full Nocturnus uniform stood upright in the doorway. Blinking at them, Hermione shrunk back automatically at their abrasive presence.

"You have mail," one of them bit out, his expression stern. "But you need to come with us."

Her voice came out smaller than intended. "Okay."

The second guard offered a weak attempt at a smile before he turned and knocked on the door to Malfoy's quarters. Idly, Hermione wondered why it took a crew of guards for her to receive mail and decided she ought to speak with Malfoy about her permissions within the Manor. This certainly wouldn't fly—and Merlin forbid she wanted to invite a friend over.

Malfoy swung the door to his sitting room open, his expression stoic; upon seeing her flanked with two guards, his eyes narrowed. But Hermione's attention fell elsewhere.

His hair was wet, as if fresh from a shower, and swept to the side out of his face. He wore only trousers, slung low on his hips, and a towel hung from his hands. She found herself staring at the lean lines of his chest and stomach and forced her gaze elsewhere, colour flushing her cheeks.

"My apologies, Lunae," the guard exclaimed, horrified, as he dropped his head into a bow; Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. "We require your presence—it's a sensitive matter."

Malfoy's expression didn't shift as he offered a nod; for a brief instant, his eyes met hers and his lips twitched with an infinitesimal smirk. "I'll be along in a moment."

He pressed the door shut, and for a terribly awkward and tense minute, Hermione lingered in the hallway outside of his personal quarters with the pair of silent, brawny men. But thankfully Malfoy wasn't long, and when he emerged, his hair was dried but hanging loose and he wore a navy oxford.

Dawdling while the guards paced forward, Hermione fell into step with Malfoy as he took up the spot at her side almost instinctively. Shoulders back, he took care to match her pace even as his face remained blank. "What is this about?"

Almost embarrassed at the thought, she murmured, "All they said was that I've received mail."

The bridge of his nose wrinkled for a moment. "All incoming mail has been screened since the Ascension was announced. Tested for hexes and the like."

"I'd like to know this lot aren't reading my private messages," she grumbled, frowning at the pair of guards several strides ahead of them.

Malfoy's eyes tightened. "It's for your own safety. And I don't know what sort of messages you're receiving that are so private."

"I'm not," she scoffed, "but my mail is my mail."

"Evidently not," he bit out, expression souring, "if you've received something worth their involvement."

The thought sobered her ire as they walked towards the Nocturnus Wing. There was an owlery tower to the south side of the Manor, and Hermione and Malfoy followed the guards towards a desk where a scribe was sitting, discomfort written on his face.

A letter sat on the desk, shielded by a series of protective wards, and Hermione shifted on the spot, glancing at Malfoy as he moved a step closer, his gaze tight on the letter.

"It's a threat, Lunae," one of the guards stated bluntly, folding his arms across his front. "A threat on the future Amor's life."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach even as it leapt into her throat. She wanted to sneer or roll her eyes with flippancy—but this was all a new world to her, and she didn't know how legitimately she ought to consider such a letter.

Malfoy's hand landed on the small of her back, and she tensed, nearly jumping at the contact. His grey eyes searched hers for a moment before he picked up the letter; it shimmered with protective magic as it touched his fingers. Peering closer, she read the letter in silence beside him, feeling her insides churn.

Walk or die. It was the essence of the letter, in so many words.

They would leave her alone if she backed out of the bond and away from the Nocturnus Order. But if she went ahead with it…

Eyes narrowing, she heard a sound of mirth, and it took a moment before she realised it had escaped her own lips. "Doesn't this just mean they feel threatened?"

"That," Malfoy sneered, "is exactly what it means." Turning to his guards, he handed back the letter. "Track this by whatever means possible. I want to know where it originated, who wrote it—I want to know where the bloody ink was purchased. Step up security in advance of the bonding ceremony. If Avance thinks they can threaten my Lunae Amor, they're about to learn a hard lesson."

He clipped the word in a perfect French accent, face flashing with revulsion.

"Very well, Lunae," the guard said, his expression hard. "As you wish."

Malfoy's voice dropped. "Thank you for letting us know—alert me if any more arrive."

As her mind spun in an effort to process the implications of the letter, Hermione allowed herself to be guided from the owlery. Malfoy's shoulders were tense as they walked, and though he dropped his hand, he stayed close by her side. Although she could understand his protectiveness—she'd been feeling a certain amount of the same since everything had been determined—it felt strange all the same, given their past.

"Are you nervous, Granger?" he bit out after a long moment.

Swallowing the fear the letter had incited within her soul, she glanced his way. "I am all the more convinced we need to do this."

"Good," he breathed. His lips curled as he slid his hands into his pockets. "Fucking good. That is why I chose you."

When he glanced her way again, a hint of a smirk was on his lips. And—if she wasn't mistaken—pride shone in his eyes.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading! I sincerely hope you're enjoying this story. Currently, it's at 125k with a long way left to go :)

For anyone who might be interested, I'll be posting the first chapter (out of six) of a completely written short Dramione story this Thursday.

And as always, love and hugs to my alphas Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and my beta ravenslight.