The courtyard of the Nocturnus Castle would forever bear the scars of battle. The grounds beyond the high stone walls were darkened with blood and the spilled magic of those who had fallen in siege of the castle.
Hermione could still feel the anguish in her soul, heavy as it had been in the aftermath of battle a week prior.
Even with an advantage in numbers, they had lost too many. And in the end, she had mourned the fighters from Avance as well, who had been drawn into an ancient feud they hadn't truly understood.
The truth of it had all come out in the days that followed Avance's collapse from those who had defected during the battle. The way Cosette's bloodline—high within the ranks of Alba—had been cursed centuries before by a spiteful Lunae Ortus. That her own magical core had begun to dwindle into nothing at all.
And her desire for the lunar affiliation had driven everything into motion.
That Elias Bergen's wrongful belief in his claim for the throne had planted the seed of darkness and betrayal in his heart, pushing him to spurn his own Order and his sworn oaths.
The Order had been pawns in the whole thing.
But Hermione couldn't regret where she had ended up, despite all the hardships that had stood along their path.
She dwelled within the rolling hills beyond the castle walls, her memories a somber ally as she paid silent tribute to the scores of Nocturnus who had given their lives for the cause they believed in.
As she gazed upon the trampled grasses, Hermione wondered how many such battles had been fought on these grounds over the centuries since the Nocturnus Order had formed. Whether any Lunaes of the past had seen their power usurped from within.
And whether they'd been victorious in reclaiming it.
Her weariness had been visceral since returning to Italy. Despite the picturesque grounds and the vast, unending beauty of the castle, she couldn't help but feel the loss of all those who had fought in the name of the Order.
A chill breeze gusted past, the air still cool with the moisture of the early morning.
The council and many of their friends had remained in Italy following the battle, but the bulk of the Order, having been trapped within the castle at Cosette's command for months, had returned home at last.
A tentative peace had begun to settle within those that remained.
But still Hermione found herself watching her back at every turn, a consequence of living with uncertainty as her constant companion for so long. She remembered the feeling well from having been on the run during the last wizarding war.
And she knew in time the feeling would begin to taper off, leaving her to piece together a new life.
At last, she didn't need to live in fear and doubt, forcing a brave face even when she didn't know how they would carry on. Whether anything would ultimately work out in the end.
It was over now and she could finally make plans for her life.
Plans that didn't involve espionage and battlefields, life and death situations, or using her magic to take the lives of others.
Her soul was weary, and Hermione longed for rest.
A chance to plan a life with her husband and the family they would one day raise.
As if the thought had reached him—and maybe it had—Draco's voice flickered through the mental bond between them, caressing her magic. I made you breakfast.
Burnt toast, no doubt. A soft smile curled her lips. I'll be there soon.
In the days that followed the final battle, they'd been led by chaos before everything began to fall into some semblance of order again.
Dagomir and the guards had painstakingly dealt with every member of Avance who had sought to surrender in exchange for their lives, making each of them vow they would never seek to avenge their fallen leader.
Between the first battle—wherein the members of the Order hadn't been able to properly mourn those they had lost—and the second, losses had been sobering, and innumerable funerals had taken place following the last battle.
The council had decided to pay their respects for every family, at least one of them attending each funeral. Hermione and Draco had been all over Europe, sometimes to several services in a day, and each night she returned to the castle in Italy, emotionally exhausted and spent of her tears.
That afternoon, they would recognise those they had lost in a tribute of their own.
Hugo had poured himself and his magic into the creation of a memorial, devoid of the mischievous grin or cheeky quips she had come to know from him as he worked with solitude and patience.
Hermione knew it was his way of coming to terms with his father's death and the betrayal that had torn his family apart. Even Madeline—who had been injured during the siege and stayed at the castle to recover—had given him space.
Only Cynthia had sought to approach him, and when Hermione had glimpsed the two of them sitting on the ground with their arms around one another, tears had begun streaming down her cheeks before she could quickly avert her eyes.
Presently, Draco found her in the grandest sitting room in the castle, perched on the edge of the sofa and out of sorts. He tugged one of her curls, gazing out towards the grounds where Hugo worked alone to lay the finishing touches on the memorial.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
It was such a simple question—one they'd taken to asking one another every so often—but the response often evaded Hermione.
Thinning her lips, she nodded. Felt Draco's magic curl around hers with love and support, bolstering her waning spirit.
As always, she said softly, "We will be."
That afternoon, those who had remained at the castle ventured onto the grounds. The sky above was murky with grey clouds, a breeze buffeting Hermione's hair into her face and snagging it on the intricate whirls of her crown.
She gnawed her bottom lip, sympathy welling within her as her eyes landed on Sewell Winnam; the young woman looked both uncertain and overwhelmed with her grief as she stood alone.
In the aftermath of the second battle, once the rest of the Order had been recovered, they'd learned Oro hadn't made it through the first. Sewell, as Oro's only living descendant, would step into her father's role on the council as court scribe.
Hermione offered her best attempt at a smile but suspected the sentiment didn't quite reach her eyes. Even so, Sewell gave a small smile in return.
It wasn't unheard of for women to be on the Nocturnus Council, but it was rare as the council lines usually passed to a male heir. Hermione appreciated the idea of having another woman at the table, though she knew very little about Sewell.
Her eyes drifted towards the lines of the Nocturnus Guard. Many of the guards had been injured during the fight, but all had attended, some in varying states of recovery.
Hermione felt the many holes in their ranks, each one a knife to her heart.
Lennart—the guard whose leg Draco had healed upon learning the affiliation possessed healing magic. Mikhael, who had been the most soft-spoken but wanted to do well by his family. Luca—who had been known for his easy grin and his notorious sweet tooth. Melancholy sat like a hard stone in her stomach as she thought of those they had lost.
The guards they'd come to respect and to know as friends during their time spent together at the villa in Spain.
And Hermione's eyes stung as they landed on the empty space beside Ben, where Vlad had always stood with pride. Ben's eyes were red and glassy, but he stood tall.
The chill in her bones went deeper than the cold in the air—a reminder that Autumn was upon them—and into the part of her that didn't remember how to mourn so many at once.
She had been forced to do so once before.
Her thoughts hadn't projected into the bonds, but Draco wound his arm around her, drawing her into his side, and Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she sought comfort in his embrace. At her other side stood Harry and Daphne, the latter grazing an idle hand along her still flat midriff.
It had been one of the only bright spots in the past week, when Harry had explained why Daphne had stayed home from the battle. Seeing the watery grin of pride on Harry's face as he told them he would soon be a father had caused Hermione to burst into tears on the spot.
Dagomir stood in solidarity at the centre of the guards, his face the most somber of all.
And across the arcing circle of them, Hugo stood with Cynthia and Madeline, their arms banded around one another.
The ceremony wasn't to be anything elaborate, and without much fanfare, Draco strode forward and unveiled the memorial Hugo had built. Hermione sucked in a breath, tears stinging at her eyes between the wind and the wrought emotion within her.
The memorial was a simple statue made of midnight blue marble in the shape of a crescent moon, and Hugo had carefully traced the names of each person they'd lost in silver script.
To stand on the grounds of the castle forever, as a reminder of the cost of freedom.
Draco slid his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. He spoke quietly but with reverence, and everyone leaned in to listen.
"Today we gather here to recognise and to respect those we lost in battle," he began, thinning his lips as he gazed upon the careful rows of names. "To thank them for their service and their sacrifice. Each of these people went beyond the call of their Order, giving more than we ever could have asked of them." His chest sunk as he blew out a breath. "We thank you; we miss you. Our lives will forever be changed—and enriched—because you lived."
Draco wrapped his fingers around the curve of the statue, looking again at the names. His voice little more than a whisper, he said, "Nocturnus guide you."
As he slipped back into the circle beside Hermione, blurry through the tears in her eyes, she wrapped an arm around his back.
Dagomir spoke next, offering respect to the guards who had given their lives in battle and promising their fallen spirits everlasting life. Then Hugo, who spoke quietly as if to himself, his eyes red but cheeks dry.
Behind him, Madeline and Cynthia clung to one another, the former heavily favouring one leg.
Many spoke in turn, but others remained silent, their heads bowed and expressions stoic.
At last, Hermione stepped forward, spent of emotion and tears, and found herself without words. She could offer only a whispered, "Thank you," as she gathered her magic into her palms and released it into the statue, the marble cold against her fingers.
Each of the names lit from within, the silver letters sparkling with the moonlight in her veins, and she gazed upon them for several long moments. Many of the names were wholly unfamiliar, and she felt shame and unease well within her.
A little louder she said, "Thank you for your sacrifice. Nocturnus guide you."
She wrapped her arms across her front as she stepped back to her spot between Draco and Harry, her eyes still lingering on the statue.
Despite the withering wind, the crowd lingered on in silence until at last the group began to break up, some venturing onto the grounds and others making their way back inside the castle.
Through her seemingly endless tears, Hermione saw Draco briefly speak with Harry and Daphne, then moments later she was enveloped in Harry's arms.
"I'm so proud of you," he said quietly beside her ear. Hermione only sniffled in return, so fatigued with the strain. So tired. He drew back, staring into her eyes. "You don't need to be strong right now. But just know that you're my best friend and I'll always stand with you for the rest of our lives." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Just look at what you've done, Hermione. All the people you've united forever."
A sob broke from her lips, the great tidal wave of emotion within her threatening to crash down and obliterate her. She drew in a deep, rattling breath, nodding as she plastered a hand to her mouth.
For several moments, they stared at one another in silence until at last Hermione huffed out a breath. "Thank you for everything, Harry. For standing with us when there was no hope."
"You were the hope," Harry whispered, his green eyes watery. "You have always been the hope, Hermione. And Malfoy knows that too. You'll look after one another."
Hermione couldn't find the words to respond, so she only pulled Harry into another tight, desperate hug, her tears leaking onto his shoulder. Releasing him, she drew back and mustered a smile. "Thank you, Harry. And I'm so proud of you, too; you're going to be a wonderful father."
His lopsided grin in return sparked something in her heart, and some of the strain began to sink from her at last.
Draco clapped Harry on the shoulder, drew Daphne in for a brief hug, and then wound his arms tightly around Hermione. The rest of the group had dispersed, leaving only the four of them.
Draco looked between them and said, "Thanks for coming, Potter and Potter."
Harry snickered, toeing the ground. "We wouldn't miss it, Malfoy and Malfoy."
A watery laugh escaped from Hermione's lips as she sunk further back into Draco's hold. They watched as Harry and Daphne Portkeyed away, and then they stood for a while longer, gazing at the names etched on the memorial.
Hermione sighed, pressing her eyes shut. "Is this the part where we try to start fresh?"
"No." Draco's lips brushed against the curve of her jaw. "We'll never forget everything that's happened. But it's the part where we begin to move on from here."
"Okay." Her voice sounded small. "I think I can do that."
Hermione stared into Draco's stormy gaze from across the small table in the kitchen at the villa in Spain.
He pursed his lips. "It's up to you."
"It isn't," she said. "It's up to both of us equally."
Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms and cocked a brow. "It's a big decision. And we don't need to make it right now."
"But we'll need to make it eventually."
His eyes tightened.
With creeping tendrils of magic into his core, Hermione tried to seek out his thoughts on the matter, but his own magic swatted her away. Amusement sparkled in his stare.
"Fine, then," Hermione said with a huff. "Assume we have a family one day. Where would be the best place to raise them?"
Draco blew out a breath. "We're talking about three different countries here." He gazed around the villa. "I think mother likes it here in Spain the best. We could let her keep it."
"And you," Hermione said, infusing her tone with as much flippancy as she could manage, "aren't keen on going back to live in the Manor."
While Malfoy Manor had sustained massive damages, the elves had been working to repair the worst of it. With a little time and energy, they could eventually get it back to the way it had once been, less quite a few cursed objects that had been destroyed in the fires.
His gaze flicked back to hers, his expression sobering. "The Manor holds mixed feelings." He snickered and added, "They all do, if I'm honest. But I know you like the castle."
"I do," she hummed, propping her face up with an elbow to the table. "But is it the best place to raise children?"
"Face it, Hermione." He drummed his fingers on the surface of the table. "Our children aren't exactly going to have a normal childhood. We'll also need to consider where they'll go to school one day. If we want them to go to Hogwarts, we'll need to be in England."
She glanced away, feeling warmth in her cheeks. They hadn't even seriously discussed the thought of children yet; they'd only just come out of a war a few weeks prior.
Quietly she admitted, "I guess I'd built up the idea of living at the castle. It's just… there's so much Nocturnus history there. And it's beautiful. We had so many wonderful memories there at first. But maybe now…" She shook her head, trying to gather her words. "Now it feels tarnished."
"No," Draco returned, his eyes flickering to hers. Raw and vulnerable. "Our memories are still there. And we won't let Avance ruin that for us." Dropping his voice, he added, "I think the castle is my choice."
Hermione sucked in a breath, a smile tugging unbidden at her lips. She whispered, "We'll just have to make new memories to override the bad."
He answered her smile with one of his own. "A lifetime of new memories."
Draco gazed upon the faces of the council, each one in turn, and felt a tightness in his chest.
Hermione, his beautiful Lunae Amor—his wife, his queen, his partner—without whom he would be nowhere. The one who made him want to do better, to be better. He couldn't wait to begin the next phase of their lives together, and the next after that, until their existence together faded into nothing more than pages of Nocturnus history.
His Chief Adviser Hugo, who had put Draco through the ringer more times than he'd been able to count, especially early on—but who had become his most trusted and reliable friend. The one who he knew bled midnight and silver for his Order.
And if he was honest, seeing Hugo with his sword through Cosette's rib cage had shown him still another side of the Swede.
Dagomir, their loyal trusted Captain of the Guard, who had always been willing to put the Order ahead of himself. The stoic strategist who had kept the rest of them alive probably more times than Draco even knew.
Ever since the battle, the last of Avance falling or scattering on the wind, Draco had seen the strain in Glenneth's bright stare. No longer was the wizened mage cheerful and eager with a smile. Draco wondered whether Avance's hold on him haunted the man more than he had let on or whether he still punished himself for his unwitting role at the first battle, wherein Draco would have died at his hand if not for Hermione.
Still, Glenneth lifted his chin with a nod when Draco met his gaze.
Sewell Winnam had stepped into her father's role with respect and propriety despite her own despair, her eyes sharp and quill quick. Draco hadn't known anything about her prior to the last battle, but she had integrated into a grieving council with graceful ease.
After offering such integral assistance and intelligence towards their cause as Dagomir's second in command, Ben had been granted an official position as a council adviser.
And beside Ben sat Boris, who had been training in the capacity as their mage prior to Glenneth's rescue. Draco hadn't seen fit to remove him; after all, they had already rewritten so many of the ancient rules of the Order.
But at the previous council meeting the week prior, Glenneth had announced his intent to step down as the council's mage. He sought to return home and settle into a life of quiet comforts. The council had held a vote, and Boris had unanimously been offered the position. The former guard had been training with Glenneth ever since in the ancient enchantments he would learn as the Order's high mage.
The council had seen several iterations already in the months since the Order had been reformed, but Draco felt the weight of his responsibilities now more than ever as he sat tall in his seat.
"Thank you all for coming today," he said, his voice echoing through the lofty council chamber and bouncing around the vaulted beams. The Nocturnus Castle truly was the most remarkable place he had ever seen; even the magnificence of the Manor paled in comparison. "One month it's been since everything changed yet again. I cannot thank you all enough for all you've done to help this Order."
He blew out a breath, seeking comfort in Hermione's stare.
"Many months ago, when we all first met, a situation hung over us." He hesitated once more, feeling emotion swell within him. "A situation that quickly turned out to run far deeper than we ever could have realised. We have lost many. Acquaintances, neighbours, family, friends. So much has been sacrificed for us to be here today. And now we face a new age of Nocturnus."
Silence hung around the table, the eyes of the council fixed on him as Draco forced himself to press on.
"It is time to go home—to return to our lives." Thinning his lips, he huffed a breath. "We have done what we needed to accomplish, though it didn't look at all how we anticipated. And maybe one day something else will arise and call Nocturnus together once more. But for now… it's time to move on."
Draco caught Hugo's stare, the man's expression faltering as he nodded.
The rest of the council sat, stony-faced; tears spiked at the corners of Hermione's eyes.
His heart heavy, Draco added, "We'll still meet as a council sometimes."
"Thank Merlin," Hugo huffed; a quiet titter went up around the table. "Monthly or something."
At the general murmur of assent, a smile tugged at Draco's lips. Hermione's hand slipped into his beneath the table and he gave it a squeeze.
"Monthly," he conceded. "That sounds fine." Fixing his stare on Hugo, he added, "And of course you all have your coins and Portkeys. Consider this castle open to each of you always."
A sparkle slid back into Hugo's eyes.
Dagomir spoke for the first time, his voice gruff and eyes glossy. "So we face a fresh beginning for now; Nocturnus always in spirit."
Draco's own throat felt thick with emotion as he forced a swallow.
But Hermione stepped in with a quiet, "Thank you to each of you. You have no idea what your support has meant to us."
A quiet moment followed as the sentiment hung between each of them, and the depth of Draco's gratitude threatened to overwhelm him. He could only manage a nod.
Seeking the eyes of each person around the table one more, Draco drew in a breath. "This council meeting has come to a close. Thank you for coming."
Hermione remained at his side when he rose, her magic stirring within his veins. Belief and hope for the future.
Draco watched as the council trickled out one by one, until at last they were alone. The sudden silence was deafening.
But the air felt just a little different.
Author's Note: We're getting so close to the end. Thanks for reading, friends. xoxo
Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko, and beta love to ravenslight.