Draco was exhausted. He had spent the majority of the morning out on the grounds and had nothing to show for his time and efforts. He dropped down onto a bench, arms folded across his chest and eyes narrowed at the carnage before him.

None of it made any sense.

Why now? Why target him? He couldn't wrap his head around the situation. He was twenty-five years old; the war had ended years ago. If Avance wanted the affiliation so badly, why had they let it sit, untouched, for generations?

What was so different now—or was it something to do with Cosette specifically?

Draco buried his face in his hands, a headache developing behind his temples at the magical strain.

A low whistle sounded to his left, but he didn't look up; he could feel from the crescent awakening at his wrist that it was Granger. Without waiting for his attention, she announced, "You've clearly been busy."

"It's fine," he muttered, pressing his fingertips gingerly to his forehead.

He could hear the amusement in her voice. "What have you been doing?"

Bitterly—but at himself and not her intrusion—he bit out, "Testing."

At last Draco looked up, grimacing at the depth of the havoc he'd wreaked on the grounds. Earth was torn up, planters overturned, and a thin haze of dust filled the air. His fingers still crackled with the magic pulsing through them.

"Testing for other abilities?" Granger mused, leaning back as she gazed out.

Nudging her with his shoulder, Draco met her stare. "That's what it was at first… then I grew frustrated. I wanted to learn the depth of it—whether there's a limit."

"And?"

"And I can't find it." He levied a tired sigh. "It just goes and goes."

Her fingers entwined with his, and she peered at his fingertips, still faintly shimmering. "We knew it was incredibly powerful."

"I wish it didn't exist and that none of this had happened." At the flash of hurt on her face, Draco winced. "I didn't mean—"

"I understand," she said quietly, but her voice sounded timid.

He stared at the ground, unable to convey any of the multitude of emotions that had been sweeping through him for hours. Eventually, he managed, "This is overwhelming."

Granger gave his hand a squeeze. "I know."

"I can't…" He drifted off, debating the words. "The timing of it all just can't be arbitrary."

"Can't it?" Her brows were lifted when he glanced her way again. "Maybe Cosette was the only one who wanted to go after you badly enough."

Shaking his head, he stared at her for a long moment. "But why?"

"I've been asking that same question all along. Ever since we learned the truth about Cosette. What could possibly be driving her to do all of this?" Falling silent, Granger gazed thoughtfully towards the gardens. "It doesn't make sense—this has been no small undertaking."

Clenching his jaw, Draco muttered, "And she won't stop until I'm dead."

The flippancy in Granger's tone was belied by the conviction in her words. "I'm not going to let that happen."

His chest tightened as he sought out the warmth of her stare once more. "I didn't mean it—you're the only good thing to have come from this mess."

She gave him a somewhat stilted smile in return, her hand tightening on his once more.

"I'm here with you, Draco. No matter what comes of this—we're in it together, yeah?"

"Yeah." The word was little more than an exhale, but something about it stirred belief in his soul. He cracked a grin. "You're stuck with me."

"That's okay." Her head dropped to rest on his shoulder. "I can think of much worse places to be."

Hermione glanced up, distracted, from the conversation she'd been having with Draco and Hugo as the three of them neared the Nocturnus Wing. The Swede had been updating them on his research into Alba when he followed her stare and stopped dead.

Elias and Cynthia Bergen stood in the corridor near the strategy room, their voices hushed, but even so Hermione thought they were speaking in Swedish.

Hugo frowned, a furrow lifting his brow as the conversation came to an abrupt stop.

Cynthia grinned with a cry of, "Hugo!" and the man blinked as his sister enveloped herself into his arms.

"Cyn," Hugo replied, his gaze lingering on his father. "I didn't know you were coming for a visit."

With a more demure smile and a bow towards Hermione and Draco, she explained, "I've come with Madeline. She was keen to see you again."

Elias Bergen broke in, eyeing Hugo closely. "And I was unaware you were still living in the Manor. I thought your plan was to return to Stockholm."

Cynthia edged away down the corridor with a bit of a wave.

"Change of plans," Draco clipped, his voice assertive as it carried through the small group. "Hugo has stayed on to assist Hermione and I in an unofficial capacity."

With a nod, Bergen folded his hands at his front. "As I see." He adjusted his glasses, and Hermione almost thought the fidgeting to be a tell of his nerves. "All for the best, as it turns out."

Hugo's usually jovial green eyes darkened with coldness as they narrowed slightly in his father's direction. He drawled, "And why is that?"

Bergen flinched, whether at Hugo's tone or not, Hermione couldn't say. But he looked contrite as his gaze swept the three of them. "Perhaps I was harsh in my judgments of a few days ago. I was worried after hearing of what happened in Italy." He hesitated, pursing his lips as he glanced away. "But I see now you were doing what you thought to be best. While I may not fully agree with your methods in that particular instance, it was wrong of me to say you were inadequate at your job. And ultimately, the Arcands were recovered from the stronghold and Claude Arcand unseated in France—so you did what was asked of you."

Hugo swallowed thickly at her side. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he nodded. "I appreciate that."

"We need to be devoting more resources to finding the leak from within Nocturnus. And…" Bergen straightened his shoulders, looking at Draco. "If the Lunaes are amenable, I would retract my vote for Hugo's removal from council."

Grey eyes slid sidelong to meet hers, and Hermione straightened her chin.

"We are amenable," Draco said with caution. Bergen had been so vehement about Hugo's dismissal that it felt like an extreme about-face. But emotion was prone to getting the best of everyone at times, he supposed. "The role of treasurer has already been filled—perhaps without enough due consideration—but there is a spot for Hugo as an adviser at the table regardless."

Before he glanced away, Hermione thought she saw a glassy sheen in Hugo's eyes.

"Very well," Elias announced, clapping his hands together. "Then I will see you all at the council meeting this afternoon."

Silence hung between the three of them who remained, and Hugo blinked, a little dumbfounded, before dragging a hand across the back of his neck. "Thanks," he bit out.

Staring down the hall after Bergen, his expression tight, Draco said, "You know how we feel about the matter." Swinging his gaze back to the conversation belatedly, he added, "But I imagine it's a load off to deal with the situation with your father."

"It is," Hugo admitted. "He and I haven't always seen eye to eye but… my mother passed when I was ten and Cyn was thirteen, and they're both all I've had. Except for Madeline, of course."

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured, "I wasn't aware."

But Hugo shook off the sentiment, though his smile was a bit forced. "It was a long time ago."

Cocking a brow, Draco smirked. "And speaking of Madeline..."

"Indeed." A slow smile tugged at Hugo's lips. "I didn't know she was coming, I swear."

"Go," Hermione breathed, shifting a step towards Draco. "We'll see you later at the meeting."

Before either of them could say any more, Hugo was gone.

The atmosphere in the council meeting was tense, and Draco didn't care for it. Tressel, the new treasurer, was such a bland and uninteresting person that Draco could scarcely get a read on the man other than he seemed unphased at the fact of Hugo's attendance.

The rest of the council carried on as usual once it was announced that Hugo's dismissal had been retracted, and the matter had been settled.

But Draco didn't care for how divisive they had been during the vote the week before, during a time when it was vital they were all on the same page.

Given everything that had been happening with regards to France, as well as the situation in Italy, it was unsurprising that tension lingered all the same. But once Bergen completed his update on the situation with Minister Laurent in France—and Hugo offered a brief synopsis on the Arcands' situation, without giving up any details of their location—the atmosphere had settled once more.

Until Dagomir rose to his feet, looking around the room. His thick beard obscured much of his expression, but Draco felt a frisson of unease.

"It is my opinion," he began, his thick accent brusque, "that the situation with Avance is growing steadily worse. Between our deliberate raid of the Alba stronghold in Italy and Cosette's murder of two of our guards, both sides have made moves. War is upon us."

"Not to mention Avance has breached our wards on more than one occasion and sent an operative into our court," Bergen added, glancing at Dagomir as he settled back into his seat. "From what has been shared about the events at the stronghold, Cosette has seen the power of the affiliation and will likely do anything she can to claim it for herself."

Dagomir grimaced again. "And we can assume, given the steps she has already taken to push everything forward, she will be willing to do whatever it takes."

"Right," Draco murmured, glancing at Hermione. They had more or less shared an unspoken agreement not to bring up her own developing control of the affiliation. "And what do you suggest is the best course of action at this point in time?"

Bergen and Dagomir exchanged a look, and Draco suspected they had already spoken on the subject.

Gesturing with a beefy hand, Dagomir said, "We have two options. To move in and catch Avance off guard…"

Staring up at the ceiling, Draco released a long sigh. "Or we wait around for them to make a move."

A grim silence echoed back at him. Not for the first time, Draco wondered why all of this was happening. Every so often, he wondered whether he would simply wake from a bad dream.

But Granger was the one to speak next. "Where are we at with regards to Cosette's movements? Is she in France or Italy?"

"Sometimes France," Hugo said, shuffling through a stack of parchment. "She is a French national, according to my contacts, but her roots with Alba go deep in Italy. Since Minister Laurent has been installed and she's lost her mouthpiece in France, she has been spending the bulk of her time in Italy. Whether licking her wounds or preparing her forces… I can't be sure."

Dropping an elbow to the table, Draco buried his head in his hand. "And what does she have for forces?"

He didn't love the idea of blasting away Alba fortresses with no regard for the rest of the people inside—even if he didn't harbour much remorse over the thought of doing away with Cosette herself.

"We are uncertain," Dagomir bit out. "It is challenging to get a read on her numbers. From day to day, it changes."

"My sources don't know either," Hugo admitted.

"Surely not more than are within the Nocturnus Order." Hemione's voice spoke from his side, startled. Draco pressed his fingers into his temples where a headache was brewing.

A mental image flitted through his mind—white tents dotting the grounds of the Manor for as far as he could see. Thousands, ready and willing to fight. A surge of something akin to hope warred with the nausea in his stomach and the terror in his heart.

"If we are to rally the Order, we need notice," Bergen broke in. Adjusting his glasses, he stared around the room. "Given they were sent home when our contingent stormed the Alba fortress to recover Arcand's wife and daughter."

It was promising, Draco thought, that Bergen took ownership of the Nocturnus contingent. The man had reacted out of emotional strain when he had led a vote to remove his own son from the council and Draco would need the help of his top adviser for what was to come.

Releasing a long breath, he straightened in his seat once more. "So if we are to go to Italy and locate Cosette, and… if we are to go, deliberately, to war..." He glanced around, a pained expression pulling at his features as he met the stares of his council, one by one. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Please, for the love of Merlin, someone tell me there's a plan."

Although he wore a deep grimace, Dagomir offered a nod. "Yes, Lunae, there is a plan."

His fingers drifted lazily over the keys, wrenching emotion from his chest, his eyes bloodshot but dry. Draco had never wanted to go to war—not as a teenager, and certainly not now.

It was an impossible choice.

He didn't want to kill and destroy. He hadn't wanted any of this to come about.

More than enough blood had been spilled before his eyes, and he despised the thought of such a decision hanging over his head. But he had an Order to protect—beyond that… he had a family.

Moisture stung at his eyes.

He had Ascended to keep his mother safe and to keep the same cogs from stirring into motion. But here he found himself on the precipice of war, and Draco didn't know that he had it in him. Now, he was faced with the reality of protecting Hermione and leading an Order of thousands.

Even so, he knew the decision they had to make. He knew the decision Hermione wouldn't want to make was the path he needed to follow to keep her safe. Because he wouldn't drag her into this mess only for her life to be at risk.

For all that he knew, she could look after herself—and she had proven herself time and again in the short months since they had been married. But he couldn't force her to die for his indecision.

War.

As a boy, it was something he never could have imagined.

His fingers slipped across the wrong keys, a jarring, discordant clang of hammers and strings.

To have faced war not once but twice in his twenty-four years.

A shuddering breath wrenched down his spine, and he buckled at the thought, hands falling still and catching his face. Tears broke from his eyes. He had always been a coward, and no crown and robes could unmake the person he was.

He ripped at his hair, a ferocious sort of energy coursing through him and pulsing at the tips of his fingers.

Though they had put off the eventuality of it and danced around the options, no time remained. He had to do this, for the woman he—

"I thought I'd find you here."

She slipped onto the bench at his side, slinging an arm around his waist as she dropped her face to his shoulder. Whether she hadn't seen the moisture rimming his eyes or had chosen to ignore it, Draco didn't care, but he was grateful all the same.

"Sulking," she mused, and he could imagine the smile pulling at her lips. "Trying to solve the world's problems on your own."

Draco cleared his throat even as he drew strength from her hold. "You know me well."

"Believe it or not."

However it had happened, she was the one person he allowed himself to be vulnerable with. He never could have predicted it in a million years, that day when she had stood so stiffly in the throne room. He could still remember the look in her eyes when she glowered at his quick dismissal.

Pressing his fingers into a slow chord, he breathed, "What do we do?"

"I think," she said, her voice quiet and mournful, "we both know the answer to that. Cosette will never stop."

"Say we find her." A slow trickle of keys, a minor progression. "We take her out." Leaning forward, he allowed his fingers to slip into a soft, haunting adagio piece. "Then what."

Hermione's whisper conveyed the same pain chasing through him. "We do what we need to do."

He had no idea the depth of loyalty the people of Avance had for Cosette. Whether they would fight to avenge.

Pressing the keys harder, losing track of the rhythm, he ground out, "What gives us the right to make that call? How do we decide?"

"It's an impossible decision," she breathed, "and we make it by knowing we move only to protect. She moves to attack—to take what isn't hers."

The words he feared to say pushed past his lips, bubbling out though they had no place. "I would kill her if it was to protect you." The words he knew in his heart, that he had never wanted to speak into existence. Because he knew how true they were, and he feared that part of himself—he always had. "And I wouldn't regret it—if it was you or her."

Granger didn't speak; only the tightening of her hand on his back suggested she had heard him.

When he hazarded a glance in her direction, silent tears poured down her cheeks. His heart broke at the sight; he clamped his jaw shut, forcing himself to push through the music lest he break entirely.

She remained silent as he poured the shattered remains of his heart out through his fingers, steeling his resolve as he pushed the emotions into the ivories and blacks. Emotions he couldn't bring with him into war. Dragging out the final notes, a heavy, ragged breath tore from his throat as moisture stung at his eyes.

Granger clung to him as he clung to the notes, and he could feel her soft breath against his collarbone, her quiet sniffles as she cried.

Letting his fingers hover above the keys for a long moment, he drew in a steady breath and then another. The light of the moon came in through the high windows in the large room, and he pressed his eyes shut, allowing the peace of it to soothe his soul.

Draco didn't know what the coming days would bring.

Didn't know whether his soul would be shattered beyond recognition if he was forced to use the Affiliation. On Cosette—on innocents in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or those who refused to back down.

He would protect his own, and it was the only acceptance he could find buried in the jumble of chaos that was his mind, in a vain effort to process everything.

"You need to know," he said quietly, taking Granger's hand into his; he brought it to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to her skin, feeling his own tears break free. "I love you. I am going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

"Draco." His name was a quiet exhale between them, and her large, watery eyes blinked up at him. He clamped his jaw shut, unwilling to break. She shook her head, her fingers tightening around his. "I love you, too."

His heart leapt at the admission, but her expression hardened before he could respond; she whispered, "And I will bury anyone who comes after you."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks so much for reading; I appreciate it more than I can say. My wonderful beta ravenslight created a stunning manip of Hermione as the Lunae Amor which I'll be sharing on my tumblr (indreamsink) once this chapter goes live.

Alpha and beta hearts to my lovely friends Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.