Stacks of Nocturnus journals surrounded Hermione as she took hasty notes at the small table in her sitting area, her legs folded beneath her as she sat on the plush carpet. A knock sounded on the open doorframe into Malfoy's quarters—they had taken to leaving the door open since she had found him on the roof several nights prior.

"It's open; you don't need to knock," she said, idly turning the page without looking up. Scratching her temple, she flipped back several more.

"Ah," Malfoy said; she presumed he had entered the room judging by where his voice came from. "Desperately scouring for information on Alba, I imagine."

Rapidly tapping her quill on the table, she mused, "You know me so well."

He was silent for a long moment, which gave her time to locate the reference she'd been searching for. Fleetingly, she thought he might have left her to her task, but his voice sounded again. "I did want to talk to you about something, if you could spare a minute of your time."

Scrunching up her face, Hermione set down her quill and belatedly dragged her eyes from the page. "What is it?"

Crossing the room, Malfoy dropped into the seat on the couch where her back rested; resigning herself to a break, she pushed up to sit alongside him, turning towards him with a leading stare.

"Bergen thinks we should go to Italy," he said without preamble, and Hermione blinked several times.

"That's fine." Nodding, she went on, "I think it's a good idea too. If Alba originated in Italy to thwart the ancient Nocturnus Order—I mean, literally, they're named after the sunrise, for Merlin's unoriginal sake—it makes sense. Let me know when—"

"Alone." Dropping his chin, Malfoy stared at her. "Bergen and I—and maybe a few guards. No contingent, no loud announcement of our presence. We do not want Avance or Alba or whatever the fuck to know we're onto them. We'll need to take precautions, and I need you to keep things running as usual on this end. The fewer people even know I'm gone, the better."

Worrying her lower lip, she nodded after a moment. As much as she was interested in learning more alongside him, it made sense. If Avance so much as caught wind of their interest in Italy, the element of surprise that was currently one of their only advantages would be lost. She gave a voracious nod. "Yes, of course. That makes sense."

Expression stoic, he gazed at her for a long moment. "Are you sure? You aren't upset?"

"I'd like to come," she said, voice quiet. "Of course I would—we're in this together. But I understand that means that sometimes we'll have different responsibilities."

"I want you to come, too," he drawled. "I thought we could visit some of the old Nocturnus castles someday in Italy. But the timing isn't right. Not if we mean to keep under the radar."

"We'll see the castles," she breathed, something hitching in her throat at the thought that he wanted her with him. "I'm here with you all the way. And if that means holding the fort for now, I will hold the fort. But you need to promise me you and Bergen will be careful."

His grey eyes were heated when they met hers, a hint of a crooked smile pulling at his lips. "You know, you were the best Lunae Amor I could have chosen."

Nudging him in the shoulder, she breathed, "I know."

Grinning, he mockingly shoved her, catching her wrist when she reached for him in retaliation. His fingers coiled around her wrist, and he whispered, "You don't need to be a cocky shite about it."

His fingers grazed the crescent mark at her wrist, and the magic of the bonds chased through her, escalating her heart rate. As if feeling the same, his eyes flashed and darkened, and her skin felt warm under his touch. In an instant, the air between them filled with an unfamiliar tension, and Hermione was unable to tear her gaze from his.

Finally she swallowed, uncertain, and said, "There was something I wanted to talk to you about, too. And don't you dare give me that look I know you're going to give me—I gave my notice at Flourish and Blotts."

He gave her the look.

Huffing an irritated sigh, Hermione wrenched her wrist free of his hold, unwilling to give in to whatever strange magic was pulsing beneath her flesh while they needed to have a conversation.

"This is too important." Shifting on the couch, she turned to face him, careful to keep distance between them. "And the owner was upset with me anyways, for dragging your guards along every day, and I don't think he was keen to keep me on… when I told him I was quitting he said he didn't need me to stay on through two weeks."

Face blank, Malfoy rested his elbow on the back of the couch. "I'm glad you came to that conclusion on your own."

"Thank you for not pushing," she allowed, appreciating his lack of smugness over the situation.

His fingers grazed the back of her hand where it sat on the couch. "I understand why it mattered so much to you," he said, "and you know it was never about pushing you to be some proper aristocrat."

"I know." Twisting her hand, she caught his and entwined their fingers. Something about even simple contact with him always set her heart at ease, and while she knew it was related to the bond, she knew that the connection between them would never push her beyond her own comfort—it would only exacerbate what already existed.

Dragging her closer, he slung an arm around the back of the couch; hesitant, Hermione tucked herself into his side. "When are you leaving for Italy?"

"Early in the morning," he said, and from so close, she could feel the low rumble of his words in his chest. "Bergen's making the arrangements as we speak."

Glancing up at him, her lips twitching, she said, "You didn't promise to be careful."

His grey eyes met hers, something behind his irises softening as he adjusted his hold around her shoulders. "I'll be careful." She jumped, startled, when he pressed his lips to her temple. "You be careful here. And alert me instantly if anything happens."

Hermione whispered, "I will."

Shifting against his side, she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut in the comfort of his embrace; it was strange, how quickly she had come to feel at home with Draco Malfoy, but he had been by her side through such a drastic series of changes. While she could feel the bonds pulsing distantly in her veins, there was more to it. They could relate to one another in a way that she didn't feel with anyone else—not anymore. Harry and Ron had their path, and hers had become such a volatile, tumultuous road in the span of a little over a month.

There was little sense in resisting the walls between them beginning to crumble, not when they would need to work together to get through everything they now faced. Malfoy hadn't been cold or malicious, and while she couldn't so easily forget everything that had happened between them in the past, it would only serve to hinder what they needed to do.

Their strength against Avance was in the bonds between them.

After an extended silence, wherein Hermione's anxious thoughts were lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he released a sigh, his fingers trailing along her arm. "I should get some sleep—long day tomorrow."

"Of course." Uncertain, Hermione extracted herself from his hold, inexplicably reeling from the loss of contact and feeling instantly cold. Intent on breaking the thick tension, she teased, "You've kept me from my reading long enough."

Cracking a grin, he muttered, "You needed a break anyways." Despite her best efforts, a wide yawn escaped her, and she scowled when he snickered and rose to his feet.

Following him to the door that separated their living quarters, she pressed her lips into a thin smile. "I look forward to hearing what you find out. How long will you be gone?"

"A few days," he mused, staring down at her. "It's difficult to say for sure. Owl daily?"

Nodding, she leaned against the threshold. "If something goes wrong—get out."

"Never thought I'd see the day," he mused, his eyes sparkling, "when Hermione Granger cared if I lived or died."

"Prat," she huffed, "you also never thought I'd marry—"

Her words were interrupted by the swift press of his mouth against hers—she froze, shocked, before gently returning the soft pressure. Eyes falling shut, she melted into him for a brief moment, her fingers grazing the curve of his jaw, before he drew back.

His grey eyes were darkened when they met hers, and his lips twitched with a smirk. "For luck," he breathed, dragging the tips of his fingers across her cheekbone, "and a little bit of just because."

Magic and something wholly visceral coursed through her below the surface of her skin, and Hermione found herself to be oddly breathless as she pressed her lips together and forced a thick swallow. His touch awoke something within her, and she nodded. "For luck, of course."

With a grimace, he muttered, "Something tells me I'm going to need it. Good night, Granger."

Unable to tear her gaze from his, she replied in a quick, breathy tone. "You know I'm not Granger anymore."

"I know." The bridge of his nose wrinkled. "But calling you Hermione still feels weird."

Her laugh sounded odd and out of place in the space between them, but she offered him a smile all the same. "Fine. Good night, Malfoy."

For a blink of a second, she thought his gaze flickered down to land on her mouth, and she felt her heart rate pick up again, but he only nodded and retreated into his quarters. She forced herself not to follow.

The Manor felt strangely empty in Malfoy's absence, despite that he had only left with Bergen the day before. Hermione had left the door into his quarters ajar, as it had been prior to his departure, but she didn't care for the invasion of his privacy that would go along with snooping.

She had been surprised, initially, to see his quarters were not a chromatic celebration of Slytherin house—and neither were they decorated in the deep midnight and silver of the Nocturnus Order. It was all done in tasteful blues and greys, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder whether he had furnished the rooms himself.

According to the marriage contract, she would one day share his bed to produce an heir, although the topic didn't specify whether she would actually live in the same space. The idea didn't roil in her stomach the same way it had at first—not after he had kissed her the night before he left for Italy.

Hermione had sent a vague and nondescript owl to find him the evening prior, careful to keep her letter bland in case it were to be intercepted. After preparing for her day the next morning, she decided to make her way to the Manor owlery to see if they were holding any mail for her. The initial threatening letter from Avance—which had taken on a more sinister meaning altogether after what they had learned in France—had heightened security on all incoming mail.

She wasn't keen on asking Podski or any of the other elves to pick up her letters for her, and with Malfoy in Italy, Hermione had spent the entire day before scouring Nocturnus journals—her brain needed a break, and her body needed to move.

It was infrequent that she visited the Nocturnus Wing of the Manor, and never had she done so without Malfoy, having only ventured that way for council meetings after the initial arrangement of their contract.

One of the Nocturnus guards who had followed her to Flourish and Blotts, Ben, was in the owlery, and he jolted to attention upon seeing her, back instantly straightening at his post. "Miss Amor," he said with a sharp nod. "You've had some owls."

"Thanks, Ben." Offering him a smile, she collected a pair of scrolls. "Nothing threatening, I hope."

He cracked a grin. "Nothing to that effect, Miss Amor."

"Hermione will do," she murmured, distracted, as she unrolled the first letter. Guilt crept through her when she recognized Harry's untidy scrawl and realized she'd been a delinquent friend since bailing on him the night they had gone to the Three Broomsticks. Even worse was the fact that he had extended a proverbial olive branch and invited her and Malfoy to join him and Daphne for dinner. She would need to politely decline or postpone without revealing the fact that Malfoy wasn't in the country.

The second letter was written in the neat script of her husband, and she tried to convince herself her heart wasn't beating any faster when she noted he had addressed the letter to Hermione.

Her interest dropped off almost instantly when the letter contained no information of value and was little more than a technical report. Clearly he couldn't reveal anything about the trip in case the owl was intercepted, and she wasn't certain what she was even hoping for.

Brushing the disappointment aside, she wrote a quick response to Harry's letter and sent it off with one of the Malfoy owls before parting with a quick farewell to the guards.

Back in the corridor, her mind drifted elsewhere as she walked, and she nearly collided into a young woman around her own age. The girl blinked, eyes widening, before she quickly stepped back and ducked her head into a bow. "Lunae Amor—I am so sorry; I didn't see you in time."

"Oh," Hermione said, startled. Waving a hand, she added, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." She didn't recognize the girl at all and given she wasn't dressed in a Nocturnus uniform, she likely had no connection with the guard or the council. Most of the Order families had gone home weeks ago after the bonding ceremony. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"My name is Cynthia, Lunae," the girl responded, folding her hands at her front. A hint of a smile pulled at her lips. "I was looking for Hugo Bergen."

With a grimace, Hermione deadpanned, "Hugo invited you into the Manor?" Irritation caused her to bristle at the thought of it, despite that the girl had caused no harm. As tight as security had become in the Manor and beyond it, Hugo thought he was fine to invite girls over. For a fleeting instant, she understood Malfoy's distrust of the man.

Chewing on her lower lip, Cynthia nodded; Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. "I'm not certain which is his room, but the council quarters are down the hall and to the left."

"Thank you!" Cynthia exclaimed with a wide smile. "Oh, and I love your hair like that!"

Blinking as the girl made her way in the inferred direction, Hermione tugged at her curls where they fell loose as usual. Ducking back into the owlery, she frowned. "Ben, did you know Hugo's invited a girl over? Does he do this regularly?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Ben asked, "Cynthia? Or the other one."

"Other one?" Hermione exclaimed. How many women did Hugo have coming and going? "It was Cynthia."

Ben grinned. "Cynthia Bergen, Lunae. She's been properly vetted. Hugo's sister."

"Oh." Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. "Too many Bergens. What do you mean about the other one?"

"The other one is Hugo's girlfriend from Sweden. Madeline." Judging by the look on Ben's face, Hermione could only imagine how Madeline looked. When she cocked an unimpressed brow, Ben straightened, his expression stoic. "Madeline has also been approved to enter the Manor."

"By the Lunae Ortus?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Hermione nodded. "Very well. Thanks Ben—I think I've been on edge with him gone." It felt odd to admit, but the guards were under strict oaths around privacy, so she added, "Don't tell him I said that."

She felt a certain kinship with Ben, anyways—he was one of the only British guards, and his jovial mannerisms always put her at ease. He whistled and said, "Didn't hear you say nothin', Miss Amor."

Making her way back to the door, she smiled and fluttered her fingers in a wave. "I have lunch with the Lady Malfoy—and I'll be back to send another owl later."

Plastering another wide grin on his features, Ben returned to his post.

Carding a hand through his hair as he gazed into the golden vestiges of the late setting sun, Draco frowned. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

Elias Bergen nodded, referencing a small parchment notepad. "This is the vineyard where we are meant to meet with my contact." Casting Draco a look, he added, "It had better be the right place—I spent all afternoon warding it."

Despite his best efforts at a smile, Draco couldn't manage a laugh. Not in the face of the dark stone building before them. Squaring his shoulders, he adjusted his hood. They had dressed as secretively as possible—for Draco, that included hiding his distinctive platinum hair—and were shrouded under a veritable cocktail of concealment charms.

"I am told," Bergen said, venturing forwards, "there is a back entrance into the basement."

The vineyard looked like something out of a horror tale, and as if it hadn't actually produced anything of merit in a decade. Draco made a mental note not to drink the wine. Muffling their steps, they made their way around the main compound towards a small rundown supply shed. "There," Draco hissed, ducking behind the building.

The continued stealth of their operation in Italy was of the utmost importance if he didn't want anyone—namely anyone with connections to Avance—to realize they were investigating.

There was a gap in the ground just beyond the corner of the compound, and if they weren't looking they might have missed it. A narrow stairwell descended from outside of the building towards the opposite corner. Bergen hurried ahead, and securing his hood once more, Draco followed into the darkness.

A single torch lit the passageway, casting orange shadows dancing on the dirt walls—the sense of foreboding in the pit of Draco's stomach escalated as they continued deeper into the earth. But it wasn't long until the stairway ended, opening into a wider room with the same dirty stone walls as the outside of the compound. Dim torch lighting flickered inconsistently, sparse enough that entire sections of the room were left in darkness. From somewhere within, a steady drip of water echoed off the walls.

Under his breath, Draco growled, "This had better be legitimate."

"It is," Bergen said, his voice hushed. "The information will be worth it."

Navigating around a pile of old kegs, Draco realised the room was larger than he had originally anticipated, and a series of channels twisted off the main room. Round lacquered tables stood at odd spots throughout, circled with torn booths that had seen better days.

A lone occupant sat at the furthest table, the most obscured in darkness, and Draco drew in a long, steadying breath. His magic tingled beneath the surface of his skin, alerting him of his own unease, and almost instinctively, he swept his thumb against the crescent at his wrist. If he didn't return alive, Granger would never forgive him for getting her into this mess then getting himself killed.

Bergen ventured forward; cursing under his breath, Draco followed suit, and the pair of them slipped into the booth. The man's face was partially hidden beneath his hood, but Draco could just make out the scruff on his jaw; his hands were filthy where they laid on the table.

But with a snap of his fingers, three tankards of ale appeared. Skeptical, Draco eyed his, expression carefully blank, until the man took a swig of his own.

Bergen broke the silence. "You have information for us."

No introductions, then. Draco wondered how Bergen knew the man—or whether he was merely a contact of a contact.

In a gruff voice, the man ventured, "Our business is our own tonight."

Clenching his jaw, Draco nodded in acquiescence. "We seek the truth of the connection between Avance and the ancient society Alba."

"The connection is simple." The man took another long swig of his ale; despite his deep unease, Draco took a pull of his own when Bergen did as well. The man had a thick Italian accent. "The leader of Avance has roots in Italy—her family was long ago prominent within Alba."

"Her," Bergen bit out. "What is her name?"

With a glance around the empty room, the man huffed and said, "She is known as Cosette."

"Cosette," Draco repeated, leaning forward in his seat. "What are her motivations? Why France if her roots are here in Italy?"

It was Bergen that answered. "Because of Minister Arcand."

The man nodded before taking another swig of his ale, his tankard already half empty. "Claude Arcand is a man with few scruples. He bought many favours to rise to the top of the French Ministry—many of them from Cosette. When she needed a public figure to carry out her aims, she had enough dirt on Arcand that he could not refuse. And he was loud enough to reach the right ears."

"Why now?" Draco whispered, leaning forward in his seat. "Why has Alba remained hidden all these years? What are they planning?"

It was dangerous territory, to risk revealing himself as the Lunae Ortus when Draco wasn't aware of how much this man already knew. But whether Bergen had dirt of his own or if he had bought the man's silence, they needed to learn everything they could about this Cosette.

"Alba seeks what it has always desired—the lunar affiliation of the Nocturnus Order. They're patient, always have been—many generations they have remained hidden in the past. But always, they have revealed themselves with caution and purpose." A rogue grin crossed his face. "You can be assured whatever motivations have driven Alba from hiding will be strong."

Draco exchanged a brief glance with Bergen. His adviser only frowned, turning to their informant once more; he asked in a low voice, "How do we get to Cosette?"

At that, the man laughed. "You do not find Cosette. She finds you."

The expression on Bergen's face was grim.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading. Your kind words honestly mean more than I can say during these times, and I hope you're all keeping well and safe. I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything that's transpiring!

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347; beta hearts to ravenslight. Go check them out if you haven't already!