Hermione wasn't certain given the way she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, but she thought several hours had passed. After the chaos settled in the Arcands' sitting room, they had been gracious enough to prepare their extra bedroom for Hermione and Draco's usage; Hugo had insisted upon sleeping on the sofa, but Hermione thought he simply wanted to be alone.
She didn't know how he was holding up so well after facing such a massive betrayal from his own father just hours earlier.
There were more things to worry about than she knew how to handle, and without any sleep the idea seemed futile.
Once Draco had awoken, he seemed weak but mentally clear, which had relieved her fears he might have been adversely affected by Glenneth's rending spell. Other than the fact, of course, that he was bereft of all his magic, not only the affiliation.
It was strange, given she had felt the nudge of magic when he had been returning to consciousness, but maybe it was the echo of her own magic or the intermingling of her natural core magic and the magic of the affiliation.
Just maybe it meant his magic was simply exhausted or locked away somewhere; she didn't dare voice the thought.
At any rate, she was desperate to escape the despair and ready to succumb to the pull of sleep.
She had assisted Draco into the Arcands' spare room, and while he pulled her into her arms, he didn't speak, his stare fixed once more on the ceiling. Hermione couldn't even imagine the depth of the thoughts coursing through his mind, and she wasn't ready to ask.
He would share with her when he was able, and until that point, she wasn't willing to press. They had all seen so many horrors that night, and to come out of it not only knowing Cosette had taken the affiliation but also that it had neutered Draco's core magic as well must have left him feeling so defeated.
It left her feeling defeated and without any idea of what they could do next.
Not when their enemy possessed the deep well of lunar magic and controlled the entirety of the Nocturnus Order.
With those thoughts stirring her mind, Hermione drifted in and out of an uneasy and restless sleep.
Draco couldn't have managed sleep if he'd tried. But despite his mental and physical fatigue, he didn't even allow himself to make an attempt.
Everything they'd worked towards was gone. They had been lucky to escape with their lives, but there was only so much they could do to evade Cosette now that she had the lunar affiliation.
His hand flexed into a hard fist, his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palm. Draco wasn't sure whether his magic had also been seized by the spell Glenneth had used or whether his magical core was merely damaged and stifled. Whether his magic might recover.
In that moment, everything felt hopeless, and bitter tears stung at his eyes. He couldn't even fight them as they broke, trailing silently down his cheeks and onto the pillow as he stared blankly at the white ceiling.
Hermione had managed a couple fitful hours of sleep at his side, and he frowned. It would have been entirely his fault if she'd died. They had been certain the affiliation would be enough.
And maybe they had missed the signs. Maybe Draco ought to have realised that Elias Bergen wasn't truly on their side. Had he simply ignored the fact that his chief adviser had been working against him all along? Had he been so blind?
With the ferocity of his fist, his nails dug into his palm, sharp indents lingering as he finally released the pressure.
Everything he had tried to do had failed.
He had failed the entire Nocturnus Order, and the rest of his council. His mother—his wife.
Hermione, his beautiful bride, the woman who had become absolutely everything. And he had just as good as signed her death warrant.
Draco had no way to protect her anymore—to protect any of them.
As if his thoughts had stirred her awake, her eyes blinked open though she looked far from rested. Shifting so she could use his arm as a pillow, she stared at him in silence for a long moment.
At last she whispered, "Are you alright?"
He couldn't lie to her on top of everything else. "No."
Although he could sense she wanted to say something more, she merely thinned her lips and nodded.
One additional challenge that had been in the back of his mind, ever since things had gone awry at the fortress in Italy, was the safety of his mother. Although technically a member of the Nocturnus Order, as his mother she was afforded certain options. While they had prepared for the battle and before they'd departed for Italy, Draco had pleaded with her to go somewhere safe. There were many Malfoy properties across the continent, and he had given her a Portkey to one in Spain.
He didn't know whether she had gone.
Although he supposed now, whether she had gone to Spain or if she had been somewhere in the mass of fighters in Italy, her allegiance would have shifted from her own son.
Unless there was some discrepancy along with the fact that she was the mother of the Lunae Ortus. He could only hope her loyalty remained to him and not to the affiliation.
It was one of many things they would now have to face.
Hermione was still silent at his side, and she took his marked wrist between her hands, sweeping her thumb across the dull crescent.
As he tensed, he could feel the hollow echo of her magic, but he couldn't feel the sparkle of the bonds between them.
"Earlier," she mused quietly, bringing his wrist to her lips, "I could feel magic through this mark. I can't help but wonder whether your magic is somehow dormant rather than gone."
Draco sighed, resisting the urge to withdraw his wrist. He felt impotent and futile, the bleakness of it shimmering below the surface of his skin with a barely contained fury. "I know you're only trying to help—"
"Don't," she whispered, cutting him off. When he blinked doleful eyes at her, she frowned. "Don't pull back from me. Now more than ever, we need to be in this together."
"Technically," he drawled, averting his stare once more to the ceiling in an effort to combat the harsh sting of moisture, the anger and adrenaline building in his veins. "If the affiliation is gone, the Order is broken up, and if I'm not the Lunae Ortus anymore, our marriage contract is null."
The words hung in tense silence for long enough that he felt a hot burn of shame creep along his throat and into his face; he didn't dare look at her. He couldn't.
At last Granger whispered, "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," he muttered, voice breaking, "there's nothing tying you to me anymore. You don't need to stay here."
Silence descended once more, and Draco ignored the painful rending of his heart—a thousand times stronger than the empty void where his magic had pulsed. For as much as he loved her, he couldn't force her to stay. Couldn't ask her to continue risking her life now that they had no way to fight back.
Unable to take the tumultuous raging of conflicted emotions, Draco extracted his arm from beneath her head without looking her way and rose from the bed. He dragged an aggravated hand through his hair as, in his periphery, Granger shifted to lean back against the headboard.
Finally she said quietly, "Is that what you want?" Before he could answer, she pushed on. "You just want to, what—walk away from this now that—"
"Granger," he huffed.
A stifled sob was her only response.
As he fell back against the wall, dropping his face into his hands and attempting to draw shallow breaths, he heard rustling and, moments later, felt her presence in front of him. Forming his hands into fists, he clenched his jaw hard and bit out a hissed, "You don't deserve this."
"You do not," she hissed, scowling at him, "get to push me away." Her chest brushed against his; she was so close, but her eyes flashed with fury. "I am not going to let you deal with this on your own—whether you want me here or not." The ire dropped from her voice, and her shoulders slumped, voice falling to a feeble whisper. "I knew what I was getting into when I married you. And don't you dare think you can block me out after everything we've been through."
He stared at her for a long moment, chest heaving with unspoken emotions. Her eyes shone with moisture, despair etched in the lines of her face.
Exhaling a breath through his nose, he caught her wrist in his hand, grazing her crescent with his fingertips. He felt nothing in return.
"Hermione," he began, forcing a thick swallow. "I can't protect you anymore."
He watched, helpless, as tears broke from her eyes, drawing silent tracks down her cheeks. Without a word, she pressed her hand to his chest, silvery white light emanating from her palm.
"Maybe," she whispered, drawing a fortifying breath, "it's time I protect you."
In silence, they both stared as the magic grew, expanding against his chest and pushing outwards. A furrow of determination sat on her brow, and Draco could only gape, watching as the fledgling affiliation with which she had struggled for months grew blinding.
She drew her hand back, releasing the magic into the room to hover around them. Draco's heart raced as he met her stare once more, lips parted but without words.
At last he choked out a quiet, "You."
Granger eyed him tentatively, a thin sheen of moisture on her temples from the exertion.
"I should have died," he breathed, gazing at her. "When my magic—I felt like—"
He didn't have the words to describe the vague, hazy memories. The feeling of his very life essence being drawn from him like poison from a wound.
Shoulders dropping, she once more pulled his wrist into her hands. "Please," she whispered, "we need to do this together." Tears coursed freely down her cheeks as she finished, "Because I don't know how to deal with any of this without you."
Draco drew her smaller form into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His own eyes blurred as she quietly cried, and he buried a hand into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"I love you," he murmured, feeling his own heart shattering. The thought of letting go of control and the utter helplessness of facing any of this without his magic burned in his chest. "We're here. We're together."
Muffled against his chest, she whispered, "We're alive."
He supposed it was all they had right now, so it would have to be enough.
After a long, steaming shower, Draco felt some of his sensibilities return. He felt awkward and clumsy without being able to use even simple spells, and it was an exercise in futility to ignore the creeping dread in the back of his mind that he might not get his magic back.
Even if he had his wand—and in fact, he had attempted to use Hermione's—the feel of his magic in his veins was gone, leaving an emptiness in its stead.
Seeing the way she had manipulated the affiliation with assertive force earlier had been startling when she had once struggled to gain control over it. He couldn't help but think back on those final moments, feeling the life drained from him along with his magic.
Draco wasn't entirely certain how he wasn't dead.
A person wasn't meant to have their magic ripped from within. He hadn't even realised it was possible, and, surely, it could have caused irreparable damage. Perhaps he ought to have been grateful he was functioning, mentally and physically, when by all accounts, he ought to have died.
A soft, creeping suspicion suggested he should have.
But he could remember the warmth of Hermione's magic, nudging gently at the hollow chasm of his own as he slowly roused in the middle of the night. He couldn't help but wonder whether her command of the affiliation had somehow saved him.
Hermione was gone when he returned to the room, towelling the moisture from his hair, and his heart jumped with fear until he saw she had transfigured a fresh shirt and a pair of trousers. The crown cufflinks she had gifted him lay on top, extracted from where he had affixed them into his battle armour, and he felt another wave of emotion assault him.
He dressed, his hands clumsy and slow with fatigue, before emerging into the Arcands' sitting room.
There was nothing they could do about it just yet, but they would need to relocate the family. Their small Nocturnus presence alone was enough to put the safehouse at risk if Avance had a way of tracking them down.
Hermione and Hugo were in discussion in the sitting room, while the Arcands sat in the kitchen.
"Hi, Draco!" Meila exclaimed, flashing him a grin.
Florence glanced up from where she had been preparing lunch, and Claude offered him a nod.
"Hello," Draco returned with a hesitant nod before turning to the older couple. "I cannot even begin to thank you for everything. We'll be out of your space as soon as we can manage."
"The wards are extensive," Claude said, straightening his shoulders. "You saved my family—you and yours are welcome here until it is safe for you to go."
Unable to trust himself to speak, Draco only nodded once more then joined Hermione and Hugo.
The latter leapt to his feet, dropping his head into a bow, and Draco waved him off with a grimace. "None of that here, please." He took a seat on the sofa beside Hermione, before facing Hugo.
Pressing his hands together, he began with a tentative, "It seems to me we need to figure out a plan."
Brusquely, Hugo announced, "I don't have one. Yet." The man looked terrible, as if he hadn't slept at all, and he took a long sip from a mug of black coffee. "I don't know how we're supposed to take on Avance with no army; and more importantly, they know everything about us, while we obviously know nothing about them."
Hugo didn't bother masking the bitterness in his voice, and Draco found himself eyeing his friend cautiously. At last he leaned back in his seat, folding his hands across his front.
"It means a lot," Draco said, glancing at Hermione, "that you stood with us last night."
Hugo's eyes flit between them, confusion marring his features. "You can't have reasonably expected I would betray you as well." As silence fell upon them all, he grimaced and added, "Though I suppose that might have been believable earlier on."
Softly, Hermione said, "I don't think we were expecting anyone from the council to betray us."
As he looked between them, Draco clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. "I don't know why we didn't see it. I wanted to believe that everyone was—" Blowing out a breath, he slumped in his seat. He couldn't even dredge forth the anger the situation might have called for. The betrayal of his closest adviser, the depletion of his magic. He felt numb.
"We didn't think anyone from the council would betray us," Hugo clipped with a scowl, "because who in their right mind would break their oaths?"
At that moment, Meila drifted into the room, distributing three plates of sandwiches and crisps. Draco stared at his meal, feeling an odd welling of emotion at the simple gesture. Swallowing, he bit out, "Thank you, Meila."
The girl gave a hesitant sort of nod before retreating back into the kitchen.
Despite that the Arcands had been more than hospitable, he felt as if the conversation they needed to have was too private and, out of habit, reached for his wand. When his fingers grazed his pocket, he grimaced, pursing his lips.
Following his train of thought, Hermione cast a quick Muffliato before giving his fingers a brief squeeze. Draco returned the gesture but found he wasn't quite able to look her way.
Sympathy shone in Hugo's stare, and Draco couldn't look at him, either. He took a bite of his sandwich, observing the grains of the bread with great interest.
But Hermione turned towards Hugo. "I've not actually come across what happens when someone breaks the Nocturnus oaths. And to that effect, I suppose we won't very easily be able to return to the Manor to collect anything."
Looking up, Draco realised he'd never learned either.
After a tense pause, Hugo said, "It isn't known. What happens to oathbreakers. All anyone knows is that it isn't a good idea."
Draco made a face. "What do you mean, it isn't known? Haven't there ever been oathbreakers in the past?"
"There have," Hugo allowed, snapping a crisp in two. "But it's always different. The magic responds uniquely depending on the betrayal." He looked slightly green, and Draco glanced away; he could only imagine the depths of turmoil going on in the other man's mind.
Not only had his father betrayed him, but he couldn't reach out to his sister or his girlfriend while the loyalties of everyone in the Nocturnus Order were under question.
"So treason, betraying the Lunae Ortus, and seizing the affiliation—" Hermione said, her tone heavy. "I can't imagine that will go over well. How could this possibly have been worth it?"
"My only thought," Hugo managed, pulverising another of his crisps into crumbs, "is that Cosette must have promised him something." When he looked back up, his eyes were red with a glossy sheen. "My father has always loved Nocturnus—since I was young, he's taught me everything; he's always had the utmost respect for the old traditions. I can't…" Swallowing, he steeled his countenance. "I can't imagine why he's done this."
"You told me the house of Bergen held the ruling seat before the house of Malfoy," Draco said, dragging a hand down his face. It would help if they could face the situation with reason and logic. "At the fortress, your father claimed Nocturnus belonged to the Bergen line and that the house of Malfoy was never fit to rule."
A bitter twist pulled at Hugo's lips; Hermione sat picking at her meal, looking oddly small.
"And at the time," Draco ground out," you told me it's simply how Nocturnus operates."
"It is!" Hugo exclaimed, tugging at his hair as he jumped to his feet. "It was. The House of Bergen didn't have an appropriate heir to Ascend, so the Malfoy line stepped in." Shaking his head, he turned mournful eyes on the pair of them. "I don't know what my father thinks about those times."
"Because everything was so poorly documented," Hermione spoke softly. "I didn't even realise that about the house of Bergen."
Silence fell once more, and Draco found himself staring at the ceiling. "We need a plan."
"I spent most of the night thinking about this," Hugo admitted, slumping back into his seat. Draco could see the exhaustion on his face and in the set of his shoulders. "And we are, quite clearly, outnumbered. We don't have an army, and we don't know who we can trust. We can't go back to Malfoy Manor, and the Nocturnus castle will have been compromised as well."
"Peachy," Draco muttered, discouraged as the issues climbed in front of them. "So what do we have?"
"We have us," Hugo said, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. "The Arcands are supportive. Your mother?"
"I don't know," Draco muttered, leaning forward. "I asked her to leave if things became unsafe."
"She must have," Hugo confirmed with a nod. "I don't believe she was at the fortress during the battle."
"We have to hope we have Dagomir," Hermione broke in, worrying her bottom lip, "and the guards."
Hugo nodded again. "We can attempt to reach out to Dagomir—but remember, he remained on the battlefield when the allegiances of all Nocturnus switched."
The thought didn't ease the nausea already churning in Draco's stomach after everything Dagomir had done to protect them.
"Beyond Nocturnus?" Hugo's brows lifted, and for the first time Draco felt a flicker of hope. They'd been looking so narrowly at the situation that he'd almost forgotten they had other allies.
"The British Ministry," Hermione offered quietly. "Minister Shacklebolt is supportive."
"Our friends," Draco listed, though the effort felt like one of futility. "This isn't enough to mount a fight against the entirety of the Nocturnus Order plus what remains of Avance when Cosette and Elias have the affiliation. Not even close."
The three of them jumped, startled, to see Claude Arcand leaning against the wall, a grim set to his mouth. It was only then that Draco realised their Muffliato spell had worn off.
Gruffly, Arcand announced, "You have France."
"France," Hugo groaned. "Our appointed Minister was Nocturnus."
"Not the Minister," Arcand conceded, "but the Ministry. The citizens. Your work in France, though you may not have realised it at the time, gave hope to the people."
"Centaurs and werewolves," Draco muttered, quelling the frisson of hope in his chest. "I can't ask them to fight this battle."
Hugo's mouth pulled to the side as he finished his meal. "We might not have to."
Even though they had people still on their side, it felt like an odd, thrown together jumble of allies. Especially in comparison to the polish of the Nocturnus Order. It didn't feel like nearly enough, and it would be an uphill climb to try and coordinate anything at all when Avance would be watching for them, waiting for them to emerge, and ready to strike.
And he didn't even have the most basic use of his magic, rendering him useless in a fight.
Fatigue blurred the back of Draco's mind as he considered what other avenues they might have.
"We have one other thing they don't know about," Hugo said quietly, and they all turned to face him.
He glanced towards Hermione, her hands clasped anxiously in her lap and a soft silver sheen breaking from her palms. For the first time since they had landed in Italy, Draco felt a hint of a smile pull at his mouth.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're all keeping well and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.