Part 3: Resurgo

Her world was a blur. Or was it a nightmare?

Hermione knew nothing but the feel of her own silent tears coursing down her cheeks, Draco's skin cool to the touch as she clutched his unresponsive body to her chest.

And the dull, faint shimmer of her palms where she clung to him, as if her magic were seeking something it hadn't yet realised it had lost.

Over and again, her mind replayed the scene as if it had been hours ago, but it had been only moments.

Vaguely, she could feel Hugo's grip as his fingers tightened on her shoulder, whether in reassurance or to pull her away, she couldn't tell. Ducking in, he checked Draco's throat for a pulse, but his face was grim. A raw, stifled sob tore from her, fresh tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

They weren't on the battlefield anymore, and in contrast, their location now was starkly muted. The lights were out, but through the thin curtains the light of the moon cast just enough light to determine they were indoors.

Hermione didn't know where they were. She didn't care where they were.

Draco's eyelids were closed and pale, the skin beneath his eyes bruised. The tips of her fingers shimmered, her magic reaching for him as she ran them along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

"Draco," she whispered, the word sounding as defeated as she felt. There was no way he— "He can't be gone."

Again, Hugo's hand tightened on her shoulder, but he didn't respond. Faintly, she heard his footsteps as he left the room, but a dull and insistent ringing in her ears kept her from paying any closer attention.

"You aren't gone," she whispered to Draco's prone form, the saltiness of her own tears lingering on her lips.

He still wore his Lunae crown despite that his blond hair was nearly unrecognisable through blood, dirt, and grime. Sweeping his murky fringe aside, she leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead; his skin was cold beneath her lips.

There was still a battle raging.

But in that moment, Hermione had no strength remaining. The great rending of her heart was more than she could handle, and she pressed her temple to Draco's, her tears seeping across his skin as she cried her loss and devastation.

Distantly, she heard voices—Hugo's and another she couldn't place. A woman's voice.

"What in the name of—" the woman said, stopping short as she broke the threshold of the room where Hermione clung to Draco's lifeless body. The thought spurred another rush of hot tears. A sharp gasp, and the woman was at her side, ducking down.

Through her tears Hermione recognised Florence Arcand, and she tore her eyes from Draco for the first time to stare at Hugo.

Reticence coloured his grimace as he shrugged. "It was the only place I could think of that they couldn't find."

And then the events of the night rushed back; Hugo's own father had betrayed him and the Order—he had been working with Cosette all along and none of them had realised.

"I thought," she breathed, the words hoarse and small, "we couldn't Portkey here—"

It helped to distract herself. To talk the situation through. Because they still had a situation to deal with.

"I made one for emergencies," Hugo replied, turning sorrowful eyes on Draco, his fingers pressing to the blond's filthy throat once more. "We won't be able to use it again, though. And we'll need to relocate the Arcands." He glanced towards Florence. "I apologise for the intrusion. We've had a hell of a night."

But then a sharp inhale escaped Hugo's lips, and his eyes tightened on Draco's form. Taking hold of his wrist, Hugo pressed harder, and Hermione felt the reverberations of Hugo's magic through her own crescent as he touched Draco's.

"Hermione," Hugo whispered, "your hands."

Her palms still shone with a faint shimmer, and she nodded. "They've been doing that—I can't really explain why sometimes I can utilise the affiliation."

Cautiously, Florence asked, "What is wrong with him?"

"He's been attacked," Hugo said, his green eyes snapping up, even as he continued to search for a pulse. "The lunar affiliation—his specific and powerful magic—has been torn from his magical core."

The blood drained from Florence's face. "I know a little bit about healing, but of this…"

Hugo stared hard at Hermione for a moment. "We need to get him cleaned up. Do not let go of him."

A breath hitched in her throat, and she gazed once more at the faint magic emanating from her palms into Draco's skin. She whispered, "What are you saying?"

Idly, Hugo handed her Draco's wrist where his bonded crescent still shone, though it had dulled with the loss of his lunar magic. Pressing her thumb to the crescent, she felt a slight shudder of magic, and her heart flared to life in her chest.

With a thick swallow, he said, "I don't know. But he's alive."

Florence clapped a hand to her mouth before jumping up and transfiguring the sofa into a table; between the three of them they carefully maneuvered Draco's prone form, and moments later Florence returned with a bag of potions and ointments.

Hermione's head whirled with the thought that Draco was still with them, in some faint capacity, and she focused on pouring everything into the magic in her hands. If the affiliation acted upon intent, she could leave little doubt as to her intentions.

She needed him alive.

As Florence began to painstakingly clean some of his wounds, Claude Arcand rushed into the room in a dressing gown. Hermione watched on, fixated, Hugo silent at her side.

If any part of the situation before him surprised Arcand, he didn't show it. He only paced to Florence's side, his expression stern, and peered down.

His eyes lifted to Hugo, his battle gear torn and filthy, and then to Hermione—and she could only imagine how she looked, tears tracking through her dirt-stained face. Quietly, she whispered, "We need your help."

"And you'll have it," Arcand returned, his voice gruff. "It's the least we can do. The house is warded beyond all reasonable measure—"

With a sharp inhale, Hermione looked towards Hugo. "Didn't you say Glenneth helped you set up the initial wards?"

Hugo flinched but then shook his head. "He was never here. He doesn't know the location."

Florence and Claude exchanged a glance, and Hermione felt the need to elaborate the situation, given they had been unquestioning of the danger appearing in their sitting room in the middle of the night.

"We've been betrayed," she said, managing to keep her words as concise as possible. Hugo's jaw was hard when she glanced his way. "By some key members of the Nocturnus council. Nocturnus suffered many losses tonight—"

"No more than Avance," Hugo growled.

"And Cosette has the lunar affiliation," Hermione concluded with a pained, shuddering exhale. Her palms were warm against Draco's chest.

Claude Arcand stiffened at the mention of the woman, his upper lip curling with disdain. Without looking up from her careful work with Draco's injuries, Florence released a sound reminiscent of disgust.

Hugo remained silent, his gaze focused on Draco, but Hermione's heart went out to him. Feeling her stare, his eyes flickered to hers, and she could see the depths of pain beneath his green irises.

Frowning, she asked quietly, "Are you alright?"

"No." He pressed his lips into a tight line, a knit between his brows. "I can't believe—" The words dropped off with a sharp breath, and he ran a rough hand down his face. Shaking off the emotion, he turned to face her fully. "What we aren't considering here is the Order as a whole."

"We've left them behind," Hermione said, adrenaline racing once more as she shook her head. "I don't know what we can do—"

"That isn't what I meant."

At the somber tone to his voice, the rest of them looked up, and Hermione felt a frisson of fear. "Please elaborate."

Hugo sighed, looking down once more at Draco's hauntingly immobile form. The only way Hermione could feel that he was alive was through the faint pulse of magic in her wrist.

"The Order is loyal to the affiliation," he said at last.

With a sharp gasp, Hermione processed his words, feeling her heart plummet into the pit of her stomach. Attempting to steady the racing of her pulse, she said, "They are loyal to the Lunae Ortus."

"Not," Hugo said quietly, "when the Lunae Ortus is not in command of the affiliation."

The words felt clumsy in her ears and just out of reach as Hermione only stared at him, shaking her head.

Florence whispered something that sounded like a string of French curses. Claude slammed a hand into the wall, and all of them jumped.

Unsteadily, Hugo went on. "When the affiliation was rent from Draco's body—from what I've read, and keep in mind this is ancient and poorly documented—the allegiances of Nocturnus would have shifted."

"Shifted," Hermione echoed, feeling the hot sting of tears once more. "To Cosette."

Hugo's lips thinned.

The air in the room felt painfully tense, and Hermione couldn't manage the racing thoughts in her brain. "How didn't we know this? How did—"

"It just happens." Carding a hand through his dusty hair, Hugo paced alongside the table. "Without a Lunae in control of the lunar affiliation, Nocturnus cannot exist. It is part of the ancient magic of the Nocturnus oaths. But since, in this case, the affiliation was appropriated—"

"Stolen," Hermione hissed, her hands warming steadily with her ire and casting a faint glow around the immediate area, though they remained firm against Draco. Sucking in a breath, she added, "Then how come you and I—"

"It must be because we're on the Council," he mused. "The expanded oaths are direct to the Lunae Ortus."

Her heart beat with such an anxious voracity that it hurt in her chest as her gaze frantically sought out Hugo's once more. "So Dagomir—"

"Is in a really unpleasant situation right now," Hugo finished with a scowl. "I can't say for certain about the guards."

"She didn't care," she whispered, a breath hitching in her throat. "Avance was so outnumbered, but her plan all along was to seize the loyalty of the Nocturnus Order instead."

Hugo huffed a muted, "Bitch."

Silence descended once more, but Hermione couldn't control the rage building within her, her magic roaring in her veins and her ears.

Tears seeped from Florence's eyes and down her cheeks even as she carefully applied ointment to a deep gash on Draco's temple. Claude Arcand had taken to pacing the room, muttering to himself in French.

It vaguely occurred to Hermione in that moment that the Arcands weren't Nocturnus and weren't privy to any of the information being discussed—but they had offered their assistance and hospitality with no questions asked, despite the risk the situation presented to their family.

And by the sounds of it, they would need as many allies as they could get.

Hugo glanced once more towards the affiliation emanating from her hands, something flitting across his face Hermione couldn't quite place.

Startled, she suddenly looked around. "Is Meila not here?"

"She is here," Claude announced, "but I've silenced her room. It is perhaps for the best if she is not present for this."

A flicker of shame crept into her stomach, and Hermione frowned. "I apologise for the risk we've put your family at with our presence here tonight."

"We will relocate you to a new safe house," Hugo added with a feeble attempt at a smile. "As soon as we know it's safe to leave. At this point… we don't know who we can or cannot trust."

"It is understandable," Florence said, taking a step back away from Draco as she released the tension from her shoulders. "His wounds are tended to for the moment—he had a significant head injury."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, forcing a thick swallow.

Florence had mended most of his cuts, her paste diminishing his bruising before their eyes. With his eyes gently closed, Draco could have been asleep. But something far more insidious lay beneath the surface of his skin, and Hermione found herself wondering whether it was only the flow of her magic that kept him tethered to life.

Hugo conjured a chair as he stepped away into the kitchen with the Arcands, leaving Hermione alone with Draco's silent form.

Now that the initial rush of activity had stalled and his physical injuries had been tended to, she found fatigue and exhaustion creeping in along with the despair in her soul.

Careful to keep one hand on him at all times, Hermione swept the other through his pale hair, ducking in to press a lingering kiss to his temple. "I need you to wake up," she whispered against his cold skin. Her voice broke with a shudder. "I can't do this on my own."

Tears escaped once more from her eyes, and Hermione wondered how she hadn't yet cried herself dry of moisture. Cradling his face between her hands and observing the silver light breaking from the connection, she attempted to block out the empty shards of her heart.

Her magic pulsed and shuddered, skipping a beat as it coursed within her blood, and her eyes startled open wide.

Draco hadn't moved, but something felt strange as her magic narrowed in, tingling along the pads of her fingers where they touched his skin. With a cautious breath held, she grappled once more for his wrist, pressing her thumb firmly against the crescent.

The magic pulsed again, stronger this time.

A sharp breath escaped her lips. Feebly, she called for Hugo, who rushed into the room. He stood by her shoulder, his expression blank as he stared at Draco, and the next shot of magic pushed through her fingers with enough strength that her fingers twitched against his crescent.

"Shit," Hugo breathed, crouching down on his heels so he could see closer and taking Draco's other wrist into his hand. "His pulse is a little stronger."

Relief chased through Hermione even as she released a strangled sob. "We shouldn't wake him."

"No," Hugo agreed with a frown. "I think we need to let his body come out of this naturally. We don't know the implications of any of this—but he's alive."

"Alive," Hermione echoed, a watery smile crossing her face. Her gaze remained fixed on Hugo as she quietly said, "We'll need to figure out the status of the rest of the council."

Hugo's face darkened as he twisted his mouth to the side. "We know about my father and Tressel." With a flippant shrug that belied the tension in his shoulders, he added, "Difficult to say whether Glenneth would have escaped Tressel's spell—so many things happened in those last minutes. Oro, I haven't seen in hours. And Dagomir."

"I didn't see Oro either," Hermione mused. "Not that we can assume anything based on that. And Dagomir… well, he was with us all night, wasn't he?"

"Until he led us to Cosette," Hugo added, his tone free of judgement. A pregnant pause hung between them, and Hermione worried her bottom lip. "I want to believe Dagomir is on our side."

"Still," Hermione clarified.

"Still."

The nudges of Draco's magic continued, increasing in pace and pressure, and Hermione channelled everything she could into the fledgling affiliation magic that had accumulated in the very tips of her fingers.

Through the curtains of the Arcands' sitting room, the sky was still black, and Hermione felt as if she'd lost all concept of time. It was as if days had passed since they had emerged from the war room at the fortress, and she absently twined her fingers with those of Draco's marked hand.

His chest shifted subtly, and a hint of a grimace crossed his face.

Relief and a faint glimmer of hope settled in her chest, gaze fixed on him as she clenched his hand tighter still. Reaching to sweep his hair away from his eyes, she waited with anticipation.

Hugo stepped back, giving her space, but she could feel the security of his presence lingering behind her, and she wondered at what it had cost him to turn from his father. How he could possibly be alright.

"Hugo," she said quietly; at his low hum, her head fell into a tilt. "We're going to figure this out—I don't know how, and I don't know when, but…" He was silent for the first time she could remember, and a shuddering breath fell from her lips. "I'm sorry."

When Hugo still didn't speak, Hermione glanced back at him over her shoulder; emotion shone in his eyes as he stared at the window. At last, he said, "I am the one who should be apologising. My Lunae Ortus is laid here on the verge of death because I was unable to realise something was awry." He paused, collecting his thoughts for a moment. "I'm finding it difficult to accept that this isn't all a terrible dream. And… I will do what is required of me to make this right."

A low, pained chuckle pulled them both back to the situation at hand. Draco's eyelids fluttered open; his mouth was set with a tight grimace, and his grip felt feeble in hers.

Quietly, he clipped, "Watch who you're calling on the verge of death."

"Draco," Hermione breathed, warmth stinging at her eyes as she sought out his stare.

His voice was hoarse, as if his throat was raw. "I feel like I've been thrown from a cliff." He attempted to sit up but settled back down within moments, grinding his teeth together. "Where are we?"

Sweeping his hair back, she stroked his temple, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead to check for a fever. "We're in Vilnius." Draco's eyes snapped up towards something behind her, and she turned to see the Arcands lingering in the entrance to the sitting room, worry etched on their faces.

He gave a nod with a murmured, "Thank you for your hospitality." The Arcands nodded in return.

Then he stared at Hugo for a long moment, awkward silence hanging in the room.

At last, Draco announced, "I don't know what we are going to do now."

Florence Arcand paced forward, casting a few diagnostic spells, and Draco eyed her warily for a second before melting back into his makeshift cot. He looked more fatigued than Hermione felt.

"Don't worry about that right now," Hermione soothed. "You just need to recover."

Fixing his gaze upon the ceiling above him, Draco drawled, "I don't suppose anyone found my wand."

Her mouth fell open and panic seized at her heart; Hermione could feel Hugo's stare on the side of her head. She tried to recall the scenario as it had played out before Hugo pulled them both away with the Portkey, but she couldn't remember having seen Draco's wand.

And in the ensuing panic that had followed, she didn't even think of it.

Quietly, Draco added, "It was on the ground. I think. I don't exactly remember the last moments."

"I didn't see it, Lunae." Hugo stepped forward, his expression grim.

Still, Draco gazed at the ceiling as if he couldn't bear to see anyone else. He flexed his hand, the shimmer of magic that had flowed easily just hours earlier still and quiet. Not even a hint of the affiliation shone from the veins in his palm.

"It's fine," he breathed with a heavy exhale, moisture breaking from the corners of his eyes. "I wouldn't be able to use it anyways."

At the ominous declaration, Hermione and Hugo shared a glance.

But Draco went on before anyone could speak, his tone both dark and defeated.

"My magic is gone."

Author's Note: You're all such troopers for sticking with me this far, and now as we move into the third part of this story. Thank you so much for reading - your feedback and support means the world to me.

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