Ten years.

It felt surreal, when he thought of it. With each step he took, the thoughts—the memories—flared through him, bringing back the old doubts and insecurities that had once lingered, so visceral and overwhelming, just beneath the surface of his skin.

Draco gazed out across the grounds of the Nocturnus Castle, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. The clouds above him hung, grey and gloomy, echoing the melancholy embedded in his soul.

Ten years had passed, drawn out yet a blink of an eye.

Every morning without fail, Draco ventured onto the grounds, marking the familiar trek as his feet carried him along the worn path that led to the memorial they had erected after Nocturnus' victory over their ancient enemies. The gorgeous midnight blue marble with its lines of shimmering silver text. Kept immaculate at the loving, respectful hands of the elves.

The names of those they had lost.

And every day, Draco paid his respects. Sometimes with Hermione at his side, and sometimes with their children, but more often alone. He knew each of the names by memory now.

The daily walks were sobering and humbling—a reminder of the many fortunes he had seen in his life. And the hardships.

The weight of his failures sat in his soul, heavier than ever before as he sat on one of the benches that had been erected around the memorial. All within Nocturnus were welcome to visit, to pay tribute.

But today, on such a significant day, he found himself alone.

The wind whistled past, grey clouds shifting overhead as he released a long, shuddering breath.

That afternoon, the castle would be alive with visitors, both in recognition of the cost they had paid that day so long ago and in celebration of the victory they had achieved. Of the freedoms they had secured for the people of Nocturnus.

Draco felt torn in two, as he often did, at the thought.

His magic stirred within him, the support of Hermione's curling into his. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nudged hers in return, back within the castle. They had grown so familiar with one another, with the gentle push and pull of their magic, and it was the one constant his life still offered.

Would always offer.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Draco allowed his head to drop, the memories chasing through him. He had never been willing to let those who had perished slip from mind. Years ago, Sewell Winnam, the Court Scribe, had penned the history of Nocturnus and Avance, of the fierce battles that had followed. Many guards and council members had contributed, filling in the details of the story.

And every lost soul had been immortalised within.

Draco righted himself, feeling another presence join him, and he blew out a long breath as Scorpius climbed up onto the bench alongside him. Together they sat in silence, only the wind fluttering through the grasses alongside.

Scorpius joined him most often, as Draco had sought to instill such a respect in his son from his early years. He was almost nine and old enough to understand such things. As the heir to the affiliation.

"It's an important day, Scorp," Draco huffed at last, still gazing upon the statue.

"I know." Scorpius straightened his shoulders as he sat up tall. "Today we remember the past and recognise the fallen."

"And?" Draco's lips curled with a smirk.

Scorpius returned the smile, glancing towards his father. "And we celebrate the future yet to come."

"Good," Draco hummed. "Where's your mother?"

Rising to his feet, Scorpius stepped towards the statue and ran his fingers along the carved names, glowing with Hermione's magic. "She's outside with Astra and Hugo."

"Fun," Draco quipped, and Scorpius grinned. As much as Draco loved each of his children, and he knew Scorpius adored his younger siblings, there was something about spending time with just his eldest.

When Astra and Hugo were older, he would be able to instill in them the same lessons as he sought to teach Scorp. Astra was the explorer, Scorpius the diplomat. And Hugo, at just three, still clung to his mother—and often acted as Podski's shadow—as he began to chart his own course in the world.

Draco had never imagined feeling so fulfilled.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, Scorpius hoisting himself back up onto the bench.

At last Scorp asked, his voice small, "Was it hard? Losing so many friends?"

"It was," Draco said, "and it still is. It's why I come out here every day—I still carry those burdens, and I always will. It's one of my responsibilities in leading as the Lunae Ortus; that responsibility for the people of the Nocturnus Order will one day fall to you."

Scorpius shifted, frowning. "It sounds difficult."

"It can be," Draco allowed, locking his gaze on his son. "But if you're a good leader the people will want to stand by your side."

"You're a good leader," Scorpius said, his eyes darting briefly back towards the memorial. "And your friends stood with you?"

"They did." Draco fell silent, following his son's stare. "I wasn't always a good leader—but your mother was a natural. I've learned so much from her."

Scorpius grinned, tucking his hands beneath himself on the bench. "Uncle Harry always says Mum is brilliant."

Draco chuckled, slinging an arm around his son's shoulders. "He isn't wrong."

He looked down upon Scorpius, a smile lingering on his lips. The boy had his colouring, but Hermione's eyes and a gentle wave to his blond hair where Draco's was straight. More so, he always sought to learn as much as he could, and he carried himself with the confidence that would one day take him far.

Draco would do his best to ensure it—in all of his children. He scrubbed a hand through Scorp's hair, mussing his careful hairdo.

"Your hair's a mess." Draco snickered. "We'd better go get cleaned up."

Scorpius only rolled his eyes.

The wind swept through her curls, leaving moisture stinging at Hermione's eyes. Her silver Nocturnus coronet perched atop her head, carefully plaited into her hair, and she wore her Nocturnus finest.

Though the crowds had dispersed, her gaze lingered on the memorial, the names a vibrant silver even with the dim grey clouds above, threatening rain.

It reminded her of the day ten years ago when they had stood on that very spot and unveiled the statue. Spoken words of mourning and remembrance.

And again today, they had done the same.

Nocturnus had travelled from every corner of the continent to pay their respects, many too young to even remember the conflicts.

Much like her own children, piled together on one of the benches that surrounded the statue. Hugo toddled past in his Nocturnus robes, his ensemble completed by a midnight blue tie with silver stars—a gift for the occasion from his namesake, Hugo Bergen.

The breeze picked up, jerking Hermione from her thoughts as Draco came up alongside her, drifting his palm to her lower back. His lips brushed her cheek, lingering against her skin.

"I'll take the children back if you need a minute," he murmured, drawing back.

"No," Hermione breathed, pressing her lips into a thin smile. "I'll come. It looks like it's going to rain."

The sky above matched the spirits of everyone in attendance, quiet and somber as they shared memories and thoughts of those members of Nocturnus who had fallen during the conflicts with Avance. Her heart always stung with the recollections as she thought of the many lives lost, but today her cheeks remained dry.

Hugo wound his arms around her leg, Astra and Scorpius giggling behind her, and she hefted the toddler into her arms with a big squeeze.

"Cold!" Hugo exclaimed, poking her in the cheek.

"I know," Hermione said, a smile breaking across her face. "We're going inside."

Astra took off towards the castle, catching up with Liam and Olivia Bergen as the first drops of rain fell from the grey sky.

Scorpius chuckled before following after his sister, and Hugo squawked in Hermione's arms, straining to chase after his siblings. Snickering, she set him down, watching as he stumbled a little.

Then Draco swept her into his chest, coiling his arms around her as he breathed in her scent, their magic entwining with one another's. "We're okay," he breathed, seeking assurance as much as assuring.

Hermione sunk back into his hold, her eyes fluttering shut as the feel of the bond between them swept through her, steadying the race to her heart that had persisted since she'd woken up.

She blew out a breath. "We're okay."

Draco could still remember the day he met the Nocturnus Council. When he had first gazed upon the faces of those who had sworn oaths to serve him with their lives—despite that they had never met him.

He had been scared beyond his wits, instinctively aware that the decisions he'd made had led him to a position where he had thrust himself beyond every comfort he had once cherished. He had been in over his head, and they had all known it.

Hugo, irreverent and immature. Dagomir, gruff and unwavering.

The two who still remained of the original council over ten years ago; the two Draco had come to trust with his life—and had done so many times over. Who had become his closest advisers and friends.

Fear had chased through him, recognising the faith and trust—unmerited though it had been at the time—they had bestowed upon him to lead their Order, long fallen out of favour.

But then Hermione had shown up in the manor; had stood in the throne room, stating her case before him as if she were after a job rather than a husband. How might things have gone if he had dismissed her after all? Draco doubted he would still be alive.

So many things had changed during those months ten years ago.

Ben had integrated seamlessly into the council as a guard adviser. A smile curled Draco's lips, remembering those early days after the battle wherein they had all sought comfort in one another. How he believed they might have all made it through without the deep scars that had been revealed early on.

But life wasn't that easy, and Ben's relationship with Cynthia Bergen had been one of the first casualties of that new reality.

After Glenneth stepped down as the council's high mage, Boris had served faithfully in the role. They had all shared a tearful gathering the year before when Glenneth passed peacefully in his home, surrounded by the council he had loved.

And Sewell had stepped into her father's role as scribe with grace and respect, flourishing ever since.

With Hugo's move into the role of Chief Adviser and the treasurer position having sat open during the period of time when they lived in Spain, the role was at last filled by one Daphne Potter.

Draco's eyes caught on Potter's across the room, and he offered the other man a grin. His friendship with Potter had been one of the positives that came out of so many negatives. Potter often joked that they couldn't have survived a fiery escape from his childhood home glamoured as women without developing a connection.

It didn't hurt that Scorpius and the Potters' eldest son Sirius had become close friends.

As he looked around the room, Draco found the friends and family closest to him—the ones who had been by his side all these years.

His mother sat with Andromeda, the pair of them observing while Teddy's hair shifted a myriad of colours, much to the delight of Astra, Hugo, and the miniature Bergens. Sewell and Daphne talked with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy and their respective partners, while a group of Nocturnus guards, including Ben and Boris, engaged in a game of cards. Draco smiled; some things never changed.

Hugo and Madeline stood along one wall with Dagomir and his husband, a cheerful but introspective man named Phillip who balanced Dagomir's stern nature well. Draco had seen him coax more smiles from Dagomir than he ever might have imagined, and the pair had recently adopted their second child, a cheerful young girl.

As Draco joined the small group Hermione slipped up alongside him, looping an arm around his back. He drew her in tighter, feeling an easy smile drag across his face in the company of some of his favourite people.

After the battle, and after the loss of his father and the death of Cosette, Hugo had carried a darkness within him, and every so often Draco could still see a flicker of it in the man's stare. But he was Draco's closest friend, and they had always understood one another to a certain extent.

Draco knew he carried his own darkness some days.

Hermione had been by his side through some of his lowest days; and he by hers.

As he drew her closer, basking in the comfort her magic provided on such an emotionally charged day, he idly drew their magic together. He hadn't had to use the affiliation against another person in ten years.

He hoped that would never change. Hoped Nocturnus wouldn't face war again—that Scorpius wouldn't one day have to lead their forces into battle. But they would prepare him for the role in the event such a thing was ever demanded of him.

And one day he would Ascend and select his own Lunae Amor to rule at his side.

Drawing a deep breath, Draco released the tension from his shoulders.

For the time they had left, they would make the best of the life they'd been given together.

Hermione's magic teased his own, drawing a smirk to his lips, and her thoughts filtered through the bond between them. I love you.

Love you more.

He adjusted his hold on her, feeling peace and comfort sink into his soul.

The magic in his veins fell quiet at last.

fin

Author's Note: Thanks for reading everyone. I hope you enjoyed the story. The ongoing support for this piece has been truly overwhelming and I can't thank you all enough.

Find me on Tumblr at indreamsink for future projects!

A million squishy hugs to my wonderful team on this story; Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347 (most), and ravenslight. Love you guys.