Time went faster than Hermione was prepared for from the time they awoke the next morning to the time they were set to leave the castle behind and venture to the Nocturnus fortress.

As the Head of the Guard and war strategist, Dagomir had been tasked with the lead on the battle strategy and had taken to the role with gusto.

It was a devastating comparison, considering this wasn't the first war she'd fought in, but Hermione was relieved she wasn't the one making the plans in this particular instance.

As a whole, the council had agreed that while an attack on the Alba stronghold would give them an edge with the element of surprise, the Nocturnus fortress was nearly impenetrable, and with the whole of the Order ready to fight, it made more sense to draw Alba towards them.

The trick would be in pulling Cosette out from within the safety of her own stronghold without letting on to the sheer numbers they'd amassed. And despite guards on the lookout all day and night, they still didn't know the full truth about Cosette's forces.

But given Bergen and Dagomir had dealt with Wallace Buckley, the oath-breaker who had been providing information, their best hope was in catching Avance off guard.

There were flaws with the plan, certainly—most significant being that Cosette was cunning. The thought of attempting to storm the Alba stronghold wasn't a pleasant one either. Especially as Hermione recalled the civilians—and prisoners—who had been living and working there. They were unlikely to catch very many Avance in one place without actively drawing the battle into existence.

Cosette had danced around them long enough, and the council was in agreement—if there was a chance for her to claim the affiliation at last, she would want to seize it.

So they would hunker down within the fortress and invite battle upon themselves.

Hermione couldn't help the spike of fear from chasing down her spine each time she thought of it—every time the vast array of worst case circumstances clanged through her overactive mind, jarring in her heart.

The thought of losing Draco was more than she could handle.

A bitter, ironic smile curled her lips at the thought that he had become the most important person to her, despite their beginnings and despite the rest of it. He had become everything, and her magic tingled at just the idea of him. He was the Lunae Ortus—her leader, her king, and her forever. Without him at the helm, the Order would crumble, and that was simply unacceptable.

And somehow she knew she would do anything she could to keep him safe.

The Nocturnus Order had converged in Italy by the thousands, their dark and sleek armour filling every corridor and tower of the fortress. Their faces were stern and focused, and as Draco swept through the stronghold, Hermione at one side and Dagomir at the other, a small contingent of guards at their front and rear, each member dropped into a deep bow.

Draco had donned his Nocturnus battle gear, crown resting firmly on his head with magic, and though he had questioned the need for such a thing, Hermione had suggested it to be symbolic more than anything.

The Order needed their Lunaes, proud and leading from the helm of such a dire moment.

There would be no place in battle for long, formal robes, and Draco thought the tailors had outdone themselves as he gazed at Hermione head to toe. Her long-sleeved shirt and trousers beneath the sleek protective gear were of a shimmering, iridescent material, midnight blue with silver detailing sewn into the fabric; the material was inherently protective and repellent of offensive magic. She was the night sky incarnate, chocolate curls pulled into a series of intricate braids and wrapped around the delicate silver of her crown.

But it was in her eyes where he lost himself. In the dark fires of her irises, he saw her steely determination, the hard edge of her desperation.

Sucking in a breath, he paused briefly and pressed his face into her hair, drawing her in for a steadying moment.

Her fingers grazed his chest and midsection, and he felt the hitch of her own breath even as she remained silent. Withdrawing, they carried on, thousands of eyes on them.

The plan was in motion, battle imminent.

Tapping on the door to Hugo's chambers, Draco waited in the hallway for a moment before the door swung open. Clad in his Nocturnus defensive gear, Hugo blinked at him several times before leaping back and dropping his head into a bow.

"Lunae," he said, straightening. "Is everything alright?"

Sidling through the door, Draco locked and warded the room from within with a few taps of his wand; Hugo's expression shifted, his eyes wary when Draco stepped further into the room.

"As well as can be expected at this point," he returned. His own dragonhide felt heavy and cumbersome, though it was remarkably lighter than it looked. It wouldn't stop all offensive magic, but dragon leather was naturally imbued with certain defensive properties that could weaken incoming spells.

The silver crown atop his hair felt far heavier than its mass.

"Right," Hugo drawled, "and what can I do for you?"

Draco managed a tight smile. "I only wanted to run through the—" He blinked several times. "Hugo, are you wearing a sword?"

Hanging from Hugo's waist was a scabbard of midnight blue leather, and within it was the exposed hilt of a sword, brilliant silver with elegant blue gemstones embedded in the metal.

Following his gaze, Hugo flushed a little. "Yes."

Bemused despite himself and the situation, Draco asked, "Are you planning on cutting down Cosette with it?"

"It's symbolic," Hugo muttered, looking uncomfortable. "It's… it was my great-grandfather's. He bore it into battle alongside Septimus Malfoy when he was Chief Adviser of the Nocturnus Order. He gave his life in service that day."

"Oh," Draco said quietly, chastened. "I don't think I was aware."

"I wear it today," Hugo went on, clearing his throat, "as a reminder of my oaths to the Nocturnus Order, and to you, my Lunae Ortus."

A spike of adrenaline lanced through him at the reference, and Draco swallowed. "Interesting, to think our great-grandfathers fought alongside one another." Nodding towards the scabbard, he added, "Let's see it then."

As Hugo fumbled a little in drawing the sword, he scoffed and said lowly, "I never claimed to be proficient with it." Draco snickered, feeling for a moment like a child again as the pair of them admired the elegant steel of the blade before Hugo offered it to Draco, who held it in reverent hands.

Hugo's stare flickered to his. "The house of Bergen has long served alongside the house of Malfoy. For over four hundred years—ever since the Nocturnus Order migrated to England."

"I often wonder," Draco said, adjusting his grip on the handle; the blade felt perfectly balanced in his hand. "Would things have been different had I grown up knowing I would Ascend. If my father and grandfather had accepted their role."

"I think so." Hugo's green stare held something deeper as his lips twisted to the side. "Perhaps we both would have been more prepared for all that was to come."

"How are the lines decided, do you know?" Draco asked, handing back the sword; with great care, Hugo stowed it back into its sheath. "The advising lines, the Ascension lines. The rest of the council. Even with all that I've read, there are still things I don't know."

With a thin press of his lips, Hugo tilted his head to the side. "Sometimes it's arbitrary. Certain lines fall out of favour, or the line fails to continue and another house steps in. Most council roles are held until they can no longer fulfill their duties, at which point the position will pass down, typically via the patriarch. The advising house is second in line in the Order; it was a Bergen who held the throne before the first Malfoy Ascended instead."

Draco wasn't certain he was breathing, and a heavy furrow settled in his brow. "Malfoys took the Order from Bergens?"

Hugo grimaced. "Yes and no. It's all very diplomatic when an heir is either not present or not fit to rule." Sweeping a hand through his thick hair, he thought for a moment. "It's a bit cloudy, as it was centuries ago but… essentially the Order did pass from one line to the other. By the way it's been hushed up, my suspicion is that the only son of the last ruling Bergen was a squib."

It added a more complex dynamic to the relationship with both Elias and Hugo Bergen, and Draco wondered why he had never heard of that before. Or perhaps it was simply buried in the stacks of information he had unearthed in his hurried preparations to Ascend.

"It wasn't…" He paused. "Hostile?"

"Not to my knowledge." With a vague shrug, Hugo dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "Like I said, it's just the way the Order has always operated. The Order needs the Lunae Ortus because they need the affiliation. Without it…"

"Right," Draco murmured, his chest tight. "Without the affiliation, the Order collapses."

Hugo was quiet for a long moment before his eyes lifted once more. "We're going to beat her, Lunae." His voice dropped, gaze darting towards the narrow stone window. "There are some two thousand people down there ready to fight for you and their oaths."

"It's just all been so chaotic since I Ascended," Draco admitted, feeling a kinship with the man more than ever. "I feel like I've been walking through all of this half-blind. I don't even know those people."

"It doesn't matter," Hugo said quietly. "This is how it's always been."

For a heavy, tense moment, they held one another's gaze. At last, Draco swallowed, clenching his jaw. "Tell me something, Hugo. If you believe so much in Nocturnus—if you're willing to give your life to keep the affiliation safe—why were you such an arse?"

An uneasy grin spread across Hugo's face, and he glanced away. "I don't know. I think it took a while for it all to feel real. I imagine you and I grew up in similar environments—in Sweden, the house of Bergen is one of the oldest magical lines."

"I hear that," Draco said with a grimace.

"For what it's worth," Hugo continued, blowing out a breath, "I regret it. It was never a matter of disrespecting you or the Lunae Amor, although I see now I didn't make things easy for either of you. I guess when I realised you were actually relying on me…" A faint blush coloured his cheeks.

Clapping a hand to Hugo's shoulder, Draco gave a reassuring squeeze. "I get it. If the tables were turned… I think I would have been the same way. I don't know how much you know about the war that happened in England a number of years ago."

"I followed insofar as your involvement," Hugo admitted. "Maybe it sounds odd, but I always hoped one day I would get to meet you. Cut from a similar cloth and all that."

Now Draco felt a swelling of shame in the pit of his stomach, remembering his role in the war and the cost of his actions. Quietly, he said, "I'm sure I was a disappointment."

"We all learn our lessons," Hugo said, a thoughtful tilt to his head. "Remember: I attended Durmstrang. There is… perhaps a different shade to the lessons there than you faced at Hogwarts."

In a flicker of an instant, Draco recalled that Durmstrang favoured blood status and the Dark Arts. Even so, he could only offer a grimace. "I learned a few lessons back then."

Hugo's gaze found his again. "And I suppose I've learned mine here."

"I guess…" Trailing off, Draco found himself looking out the window to the expansive fortress below. "That's all we can ask of ourselves, yes?"

A hint of humour twitched on Hugo's lips. "It is indeed, Lunae."

"Draco." His eyes snapped up to meet the other man's. "Please, call me Draco."

Ducking his head into a bow, Hugo breathed, "I don't know that I can do that, Lunae."

"After everything… you and I have a lot of years ahead of us together," Draco mused, and when Hugo glanced his way again, his eyes were glassy.

"Yes, that we will," Hugo said with a sharp nod; his voice faltered a bit as he added, "I will do my best to ensure it."

"What I need for you to ensure," Draco said, the words tense but soft, "is that if something goes wrong—if things don't go according to plan, and I don't make it—" Holding up a hand, he stemmed the words he knew would fly from Hugo's lips. "You fucking promise me, Hugo Bergen, that you will get Hermione out."

Hugo's eyes shone with despair, and belatedly, he gave a singular, sharp nod. "I promise you I will do everything within my power to get her to safety should issues arise."

"Good," Draco said, the word thick and gruff.

They both jumped, startled, at a soft knock on the door. Through the heavy oak, one of the guards spoke. "It is nearly time to go, Lunae."

Blowing out a short breath, Draco met Hugo's green eyes once more. Quietly he said, "Let's show them what Nocturnus means, yeah?"

A wry smile curled Hugo's lips into a grin. "It will be my pleasure."

Draco fell into stride alongside Hermione en route to the war room central within the fortress. Her expression was stoic, her chin held high, but her hand slipped into his in an instant, and Draco tugged it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles as he reached for the handle of the stone door. The fortress was a place of battle and war and lacked the decoration of the castle.

Tall stone walls towered on all four sides, a thick door and drawbridge the only visible means inside. The entirety of it was imbued with ancient protective spells, which had been bolstered and reinforced by Glenneth's magic.

Below the fortress lay a twisting labyrinth of escape tunnels.

"What's the situation?" he asked as they approached a large oak table featuring a map of several regions of Italy in the centre of the room. Hermione's grip on his hand increased to the point where he held back a wince, shooting her a glance. Her visage had gone pale.

Dagomir and Elias stood in conversation, and moments later Hugo entered the room, sidling up alongside Oro and Tressel. Glenneth stood by the far wall, his expression dire.

There was no cause for light-heartedness on this occasion.

Elias Bergen was the one to break the tense mood. "Avance have taken the bait; they are on the move."

A frisson chased the length of Draco's spine, but to his surprise it was Hermione's quiet voice that spoke next. "And have we an understanding of their numbers yet?"

"It is not exact," Dagomir responded, jabbing a thick pointer finger into the map in the general area of the old Alba stronghold where Cosette had been staying, "given different means of transportation, but according to our guards on watch, several hundred have departed the stronghold. Once they reach the barriers of our wards, we will know for certain."

Several hundred. The words churned like acid in Draco's stomach, and he exchanged a quick glance with Hermione. "The only one I want is Cosette."

"Lunae," Bergen said, dropping his chin, "Cosette is not the only one who will seek to oppose you. The time may come when you will feel obliged to protect your order."

His response ground through his teeth even as he realised the truth in Bergen's. "I am aware."

When he glanced up again, something like sympathy shone in Hugo's green eyes, and Draco couldn't handle that. A thick lump settled in his throat, and he couldn't quite swallow.

"We have two thousand Nocturnus standing ready," Hermione said, her tight stare fixed on the map. "What are their orders?"

"Their orders," Dagomir said gruffly, "are to defend their Lunaes at any cost. This is war, and Avance will not show mercy if they are anything like their predecessors."

Hermione gave a sharp nod; her skin held a sickly green tinge.

"If any Avance seek to surrender—" Bergen broke the ugly tension, his words sharp "—the guards will of course follow protocol."

"Of course," Draco murmured, the words slipping from his lips as if of their own accord. All he could think of were the thousands of people who were willing to lay down their lives for the sake of an order in which he'd only been involved for a handful of months. Managing a swallow, he added, "Do we have an estimated time of arrival?"

All Dagomir said was, "Very soon."

"We will know as soon as they have breached the wards," Bergen added.

Frozen at his side, Hermione stared ahead, her eyes tightened as if in severe concentration. One hand hung awkwardly at her side as if in mid-action.

His head spun with the thought that this was actually happening; war was upon them, and there was nothing for it at this point. He couldn't imagine hundreds of people so zealous as to seek his death to seize an ancient magical power.

Even one so powerful as the lunar affiliation.

"Something is… not adding up here," Hermione said, her brow heavy with a furrow and lips twisting into a frown. She still hadn't looked away from the map. "Why would Cosette willingly walk into battle where she is not only significantly outnumbered but also at a complete disadvantage from a battle standpoint?"

Tense silence answered her question.

Glancing up, her eyes sharp as they roved the council, she went on. "Can you imagine storming a fortress when you have only a fraction of those defending it?"

"Cosette believes she has an advantage," Draco murmured, adrenaline spiking in his veins. "She must."

Her voice dropped, a hopeless edge to her words. "What can she possibly believe? When Draco could take out her entire order with one wave of his hand."

Draco had no answer, finding himself lost for words as he simply gaped at her. All of it swirled around in his brain, leaving him barely capable of processing even the most basic thoughts. Bergen cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses.

Hugo gave a hesitant shrug. "She could be bluffing."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "With the lives of hundreds?"

"More likely," Hugo went on, dragging a hand across his neck, "she isn't. The Lunae Amor's right, and we need to take a closer look at this situation. Perhaps we're… overconfident. We have the fortress—the numbers—the affiliation. What does Avance have? Cosette knows how many strong we are, and she would not seek to lead her people into certain death. If she did not believe she could take the affiliation today—"

"She wouldn't be coming," Elias concluded.

Draco wasn't certain he was drawing breath, and Hermione's hand gripped his so tightly his fingers were numb. "What," he asked, his voice low, "are we missing?"

The entirety of the council was silent, and a shudder of dread seeped from Draco's spine through his whole body, leaving him feeling cold but for his fingers, which tingled red hot.

His great-grandfather's ring on his finger pulsed with the raw magic it sought to control.

The crescent at his wrist throbbed with the unease of his Amor.

With a grimace, Dagomir leaned over the table, both hands planted flat. "I do not know, Lunae Ortus."

"I am afraid," Glenneth interrupted, his entire countenance somber, "we are out of time. Avance have arrived just beyond the wards. The enchantments will not likely hold them for long, as they will have brought their own spell-breakers."

Hermione whispered, "How many?"

After several moments of consideration, as if he were gazing elsewhere, Glenneth said, "They number in the estimation of five hundred, Lunae Amor."

Five hundred Avance seeking to take his life.

Draco stared down at his palm, the life lines shimmering with the pure magic constrained within. How many had died—how many had killed—for the sake of the magic flowing within his veins?

Regret and despair stung at his eyes. It had been a mistake, reigniting the Nocturnus Order, and he saw it now clear as the light of day.

Even as the murky orange and lavender of dusk broke through the narrow windows into the outer fortress beyond.

Clenching his hand into a tight fist, he breathed, "So be it."

Author's Note: Next chapter's a big one, friends. I hope you liked. Be safe and see you soon xo

Alpha and beta squishes to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.