Author's Note: I own no person, no place, no thing – except the plot! If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Ms. Rowling or some other awesome super-human.

P.S.: There's a song drifting around in the world that is the theme for my Draco is this story. I listened to it a lot as I was writing and editing this chapter. Beg Steal or Borrow by Ray LaMontagne and the Pariah Dogs (2010, God Willin' & the Creek Don't Rise) ajc

Chapter 19 Horror Stories

"So, young Renton, what are you getting Lindy for Christmas this year? First Christmases are always important to the girls, you know…" Shaun joked with his newlywed friend as he scratched Radagast's belly.

Michael piped in from his spot on Renny's sofa, even though his eyes never left the rugby match on the telly. "It sets a standard for future holidays, so don't go overboard. I made the huge error of getting Winnie a diamond necklace our first Christmas together. The next year I got her a new vacuum cleaner – which she'd been drooling over for months, mind you, and cost more than the bloody necklace to boot - and you'd have thought I'd just killed her Mum," he said.

"Mike, you idiot, you're supposed to save the diamonds for the fiftieth anniversary or some such shite. You should have got her the vacuum your first year," Shaun said as he flicked a bit of popcorn at the back of Michael's head. Radagast pounced on the rebound before it could hit the floor, and Shaun chuckled and applauded his good catch.

Young Renton looked between his father and his two older, happily married friends, and shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment. "I haven't got a bloody clue," he said morosely. "I don't have a lot of spare cash since we just bought the house, but I'd been thinking of getting her new pots for the kitchen. She's been wanting some, you know? But I don't want to piss her off!"

Michael groaned, "Don't do it, mate! For the love of all that's holy, spare me the agony of having to find yet another new bass player!"

Renny and Draco, who had their heads bent over Draco's now much-worn Yamaha catalog, looked up at the sound of Shaun and young Renton's laughter. It had taken Michael only five minutes to replace his former bass player, since young Renton and Lindy bought a house in Little Whinging not far from Renny, and he'd grown up playing music with his Dad.

Young Renton looked over at the only male in the room younger than him, hoping for inspiration, or at least to divert the peer pressure to someone else. "Oi, Draco, what are you getting Hermione for Christmas? First Christmases are important I hear. They set a standard, you know," he said sagely.

"Ah, young Renton, you should know by now that I'm not a good person to ask. After all, I apparently bought Hermione a wildy expensive sedan after we'd been dating a week," Draco said, tongue-in-cheek. Michael, Shaun and Renny groaned in amused shame.

"Let it go, mate!"

"Blimey, we apologized already!"

"Come on, Draco, Hermione's only just stopped beating on me about that! She hits bloody hard!"

Draco laughed, batted away the popcorn that flew from three directions at him, and rose to grab a couple of fresh beers from Renny's refrigerator. He patted Radagast on the head as the happy dog cleaned the popcorn off the floor, then Draco popped the tops on both of the beers and handed one to young Renton, who nodded his thanks.

"So, what are you getting her then, really?" Young Renton asked.

"I'm betting on books!" Shaun cried, which caused the others to chuckle.

"It'd better be a ring, Draco. I'm getting rather tired of having to lie to the matrons of our church that I don't notice our unmarried violinist coming in every Sunday looking freshly, thoroughly, shagged. Seriously, mate, get it under control!" Michael said as he finally turned away from the rugby match. Draco good-naturedly took up Shaun's previous activity of pelting the pastor with popcorn.

"No, oh fearless Christian Leader, I am not getting her a ring for Christmas, because it's going to take more than a couple months of cohabitation and near-constant sex to convince my little superhero to give up her elite Granger status and become a Malfoy." Draco said glibly, and ducked out of the way of another round of popcorn as the others groaned in varying levels of disgust.

Once Draco had brushed the popcorn bits out of his hair and shirt and handed them off to Radagast, he continued. "Now, in answer to young Renton's question, I've actually arranged a two-week tour through Italy. You know Hermione, she's been rabid to get out and explore Europe's historical sites. I know enough Italian and I've been around Italy enough that we should be able to handle it ourselves with a guidebook and Hermione's historical interests as a compass."

Shaun whistled. "Nice job, Malfoy. She'll love that." The others nodded their agreement.

"So where'd you learn Italian? The Aprilia catalog? Or was it the Ducati one?" Renny joked as he held up two of the much handled motorbike catalogs sitting on the table in front of him. Draco grinned at the joke and snagged the two ridiculously sexy catalogs from his friend.

"No, incidentally my best friend growing up was Italian, and I spent parts of my summers every year at his family's villa on the Amalfi coast," Draco said as he absently flipped through the pages until he found his favorite model in each catalog, then lined them up with his Yamaha of choice. Time was coming to make his final decision, as he'd be able to get his certification in the next week.

"Will you two stay at your friend's place? It certainly sounds well situated for a certain little history scholar we all know and love."

Draco hummed as he scratched Radagast's head, and then turned the Aprilia catalog sideways, trying to determine if the Italian bike would be the one… "Oh, no. Blaise's family disappeared at the beginning of the War. I've got an investigator looking for them-"

"War?"

"What war?"

"There was a war in Italy?!"

"Did I miss something?"

Draco froze. Cripes, what a tremendous fuck up.

All levity flew from the room at Draco's unexpected slip. Renny muted the telly as all eyes landed on Draco's stiff form and drawn expression. Draco dropped his head into his hands and thought for a moment. A small part of him observed that Hermione had indeed been right, that his hair indeed stuck straight out that grew around the x-shaped scar he'd picked up several months ago. He needed to get it cut again so he wouldn't look bloody lopsided. The majority of him, however, was thinking that what he really needed right now was a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

Michael, Shaun and young Renton all gathered around the table, the rugby match forgotten, as they sat with Renny and watched the newest member of their circle of friends wrestle with his thoughts. Finally, Renny got up and retrieved a bottle of single-malt scotch from his sideboard, along with a tray of ice and a handful of glasses.

"So, Mr. Malfoy, are you finally willing to tell us about the mob War you and Hermione were involved in earlier this year?" Michael asked quietly.

Draco's head shot up. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his pastor, who silently passed him a glass with a finger's width of honey colored liquid in the bottom.

"Maybe you'd at least be willing to tell us how Hermione was able to effectively - and quite callously, I might add - trounce a man nearly twice her size, and hasn't even needed a tick of counseling afterwards. Or why you two don't seem to have any friends or family anymore outside of the people you've met here in Little Whinging. Or why you treat the memory of one Mister Harry Potter like one would a saint?"

Draco blanched at Michael's words. He looked around at the others. Shaun and Renny looked resolute, young Renton, curious, but Michael looked like a man on a mission.

Draco sighed. "You can try to interrogate me all you want, Michael, but there are some things, as I've told you lot before, that I just cannot tell you. I'm not trying to sound like some cool tough guy or anything, it's just what it is. Nothing you throw at me or threaten me with will make me tell you shite you simply cannot know."

"I'm not here to interrogate you Draco. For goodness sake, we're friends! I just want to know if the cryptic odds and ends that you and Hermione have mentioned actually should mean something to us. Are you in hiding? Are you in trouble? Is anyone going to come looking for you that we should be lying to?" Michael asked with such genuine concern that it surprised Draco. These… these men – Draco rarely used the term 'Muggle' anymore, as there weren't a lot of the other kind of people around to necessitate the distinction – these men surrounding him were such friendly, kind, innocent souls, really. They had no idea the kind of savage world Draco and Hermione had come of age in. And Draco damn sure didn't want to enlighten them.

But curiosity was a killer. And Draco and Hermione, despite their best efforts, were drowning in their secrets. Especially after that fucker Sutton had tried his stunt in the Park last month and exposed Hermione as a God-damned ninja. Draco picked up the proffered drink and threw it back, noting pleasantly how similar the single-malt was in smoothness to Ogden's Finest.

Huzzah, a decent liquor had been found. Draco made a note to buy a case of it on his way home.

"You don't know what a relief it is to spend time around people who don't know who you are, and who judge you solely based on your own behavior, and not that of your family," Draco began as he rolled the glass back and forth in his hands.

"If you lot knew and truly understood what kind of person my Father was – is – and what kind of madness and havoc he's reaped on this world, you'd probably invite me to leave Little Whinging and never return – or maybe you'd just find a way to quietly kill me and leave my body to the crows. But the thing is, I'm not my Father. And very, very few people understand that. Hermione does. Potter did. Not many others," Draco sighed again, wishing for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few weeks that Mafalda would just hurry up and find Blaise Zabini. He was truly desperate for his old friend right now.

Draco stood up, and pulled his jumper over his head. Then, while the other men stared at him in confusion, he started unbuttoning his oxford.

"Blimey Draco, do I need to put on some music for you or something?" Renny joked, and they all chuckled.

"No, no music needed today, Ren. I want to show you all something, but it's not something I'm terribly proud of." He turned around as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, exposing his back to them. Something that Hermione had never minded, and in truth she rarely even noticed, since her back was in similar shape, was the fact that Draco Malfoy's back was littered with stripes. A lifetime under his Father's rearing had heaped layers and layers of scars on Draco, but the physical ones were much easier to explain than the psychological ones.

"My Father is a monster, and I was raised with a whip on my back," Draco said as his mates gasped in shock and horror. "I'm not the son of the Devil though. I'm merely the son of the Devil's right hand. But if you ever need more proof than my back, just look at Hermione's." Draco turned back to his companions and sat back down, beckoning to Michael for the bottle to pour another drink.

"So, you're, what? The son of an abusive mob leader?" Michael asked.

"Ahh, I guess at its crudest you could describe it like that. I come from a very old, very wealthy, very powerful family. My family's holdings in the UK alone are worth nearly a billion Pounds, and that's above-the-board, legitimate business and property holdings. When I come of age in four and a half years and take over the reins of the family, I'll be able to start cleaning out the more unsavory elements. In the meantime, the, ah, the government has frozen my family's holdings so that they can't be manipulated by any of my Father's more clandestine business associations."

The four men sitting opposite Draco all sat in various stages of boggled silence.

"Uh, should I keep going or just stop right there and quietly make my exit from Little Whinging?" Draco asked wryly.

"Er," Michael said, then coughed. "Er, no, it's all right Draco, you can continue." Shaun, Renny and young Renton nodded silently.

"All right… So, well, as of three or so generations ago, the patriarchs of my family started getting ideas about racial purity – no doubt we can blame some of this on that freak Hitler – and as such began campaigning for better pedigrees in the family's choices of business associates, friends, and most of all, spouses. As a matter of fact, if the War that I'd rather not tell you about hadn't happened and my father was still free, I'd be getting forcibly married off by next summer to a third cousin of mine who I've been betrothed to since I was five. Don't tell Hermione that, by the way, she knows the girl and loathes her, as do I." Draco gave a full body shudder, and his companions laughed at the look of disgust on Draco's face.

"I take it you aren't bound to the girl anymore?" Renny asked.

"Not if I have anything to do with it. I think technically I'd probably be bound to it once I turn twenty-four and take over as the head of my family, but with my Father in prison and our assets frozen I can't see Astoria's family being eager to press our – Gak! Ugh, sorry, - union. Regardless, I hope to be married to Hermione long before then, which would render that entire betrothal fiasco moot, thank God."

"So you do have noble intentions towards our violinist?" Michael piped up eagerly. More popcorn rained down on the Pastor, who rolled his eyes and popped Shaun on the back of the head. "Oi, I'm fully within my rights as his and Hermione's Pastor to antagonize them about this, especially since they're now shamelessly living together and apparently can't keep their bedroom activities a bit more private. Seriously, Draco, tone it down, mate!"

Draco chuckled. "You'll have to talk to Hermione about that, Michael. She just can't keep her hands off me, especially Sunday mornings!"

Michael and the other men groaned in mock horror yet again, and Renny reached over to pour himself a finger's width of scotch. He gulped down half of it, shuddered, then pointed his finger at Draco.

"You're a good friend, Malfoy, but Hermione's younger than my son, and I nearly lost my lunch there. Please spare me the details of your sex life!"

Draco grinned wickedly at his friend, and quipped, "What's wrong, Ren, did Shaun tell you that I'm applying for Sainthood?"

Shaun burst into huge guffaws of laughter and consequently fell off his chair. Draco shook his head at the others as he said, "Don't worry, inside joke. You don't want to know."

"Well, now that we're all good and traumatized, can we get back to the real subject? That subject being you and Hermione and this mysterious mob war?" Renny asked, finishing his scotch with another shudder.

"Yeh, and put your shirt back on, mate. Your creepy pirate tattoos are freaking me out. I swear that damned parrot's staring at me," young Renton joked as he pointed at Draco's left shoulder.

Draco looked down at his arm in shock. "Pirate tattoos?! That's a phoenix, you twit. And this," he pointed at the skull and serpent, "is called a… well. Hmm. Okay, this actually brings us back into the subject quite nicely. This was forced on me shortly after I turned sixteen. It's the symbol of my Father's master's organization. My Father wanted me at his side, and offered me up like a damned birthday gift to his master. All of their members had one, all in the same place. It's awful isn't it?" Draco mused as he pulled his arm back from the center of the table where he'd laid it out to show the others. He reached back to pull his shirt off the back of his chair so he could cover himself up as he continued.

"So, my Father's master had roughly two hundred people in his organization. Their agenda was to overthrow the British government and cleanse the country of… I don't know how else to say it… commoners… with any sort of power or property. Their plan was to re-establish something that resembled the old feudal systems of old England, with a proper King and court. All non-nobility was to be killed off or enslaved. The plan was to use extreme force to bring the country to its knees. Do you lot remember that story a couple years ago about that bridge that collapsed in London? Or the mystery virus that wiped out those villages up north? Or the never-seen tornadoes that ripped up several towns all over Great Britain?"

Draco received four nods, accompanied by various stages of shock. Young Renton was the first to pipe in. "Are you saying that some terrorist mafia did that shite? Killed all those families?"

Draco nodded.

"But, Draco, why wasn't that in the news? And why were you and Hermione, who would have been just kids still when that all happened, even involved instead of the military?" Michael asked with a frown.

Draco frowned in return. Coming up with vague generalities to describe what had gone on in the Second Wizarding War that wouldn't violate the International Statute of Secrecy was a bugger. But these men deserved some kind of truth. He had no doubt that it would further help Draco protect his and Hermione's privacy as well as their freedom to entrust these men with at least some of his and Hermione's secrets. Minus the magic, of course.

"The government didn't want to cause pandemonium, or give regular citizens cause to start thinking of arming themselves against door-to-door psychotics. Two hundred wealthy, pissed off racists don't make an army, according to the English government, and a private opposition army had already organized against them. Local police were involved at each attack, but honestly, can you imagine what would have happened if the military openly started marching through every city? We're talking about a civil war in England. It's the twenty-first century, and the government couldn't allow that to come to public knowledge. So, there were sixty or so of us in all that opposed my Father's group. I was rescued from my Father and recruited to the opposition army by my godfather, and Hermione was recruited by default because Potter was her best friend. See, Potter's family was part of the same, er, social class, as my family, but they were on the side that pushed to maintain equality and freedom of all social classes. Potter's parents were killed by my Father's master because he wanted to end that line – end that opposition within the upper class. Ugh, does that make any sense?" Draco broke off his narrative and rubbed his hand over his face as his four companions chimed in.

"No!"

"Yes. Wait, no. Are you saying Harry Potter was actually some aristocratic leader of a private army?"

"I have no idea."

"Wait, this happened in England?"

Draco banged his forehead down on the table in frustration. The scotch was kicking in, and he was afraid his tongue would loosen up too much. He really couldn't hold Muggle liquor for shite. He lifted his head and propped his chin in his hands.

"Look, there's not much more I can tell you lot, outside the fact that Hermione and I were recruited while we were still in school, we fought with Potter and the rest of the, well, the good guys, and we worked with the approval and support of the British government to bring down my Father's group as quickly and quietly as possible. But still, it took us two years, and a lot of people died, including Potter, my Mother, my cousin and her husband, et cetera et cetera. Hermione and I are bound to keep this information to ourselves because of our positions within the, well, I guess the military. And we're here in Little Whinging because we're trying to start over with a modicum of privacy. Not that either of us expected to meet the other here, that was just fortune smiling on my extremely lucky arse." Draco smiled wryly at the others, who were still staring at him in varying stages of confusion.

"Sorry, mates. That's really all I can tell you," he said, and held his hands out, palms up in supplication. "Other than that, I have to beg you lot to just trust us. We're the good guys, and we won the fight. All the bad guys that we know of were rounded up and imprisoned, like my Father, or killed outright, like my Father's master."

"So… you and Hermione aren't in hiding? Witness protection or some such rubbish?" Renny asked.

Draco grinned at his older friend. "Nope. We're not in hiding, Ren, we're retired!"

/…../

Seven months earlier…

Hermione felt the invisible rope cutting into her ankle as she swung back and forth with the agony of trying to take a breath. She coughed again, spattering blood across the face of her companion in torture, who was similarly upside down and hanging only inches away directly in front her.

"Merlin's balls, Granger! Stop hacking blood all over my face!" Draco growled as he wiped Hermione's blood off his lips and chin.

Hermione winced and groaned. "Sorry… Malfoy… It's not like I've got a… damned choice here. Broken rib… I think it's stuck in my… lung-" she panted, but was cut off by another agonized cough that she barely managed to cover with her hand.

"Cripes, stops wriggling around then, idiot. You're just making it worse, and you'll end up fucking drowning," Draco snapped, and reached out with his right hand to grab her by her shaking shoulder to hold her still.

"Where'd… he… go? Can… you see… anything?" Hermione gasped.

"Don't know. I can see the stairwell behind you, and out the window next to it, but I think we're in one of the tower attic spaces, which means we've got to be at least seven stories up in the air. I'm surprised we can hear any of the fight from here. Don't try to twist around, you stupid bint! Ugh!" Draco covered his face as Hermione was overcome by a wracking cough when she'd tried to twist to see out the window behind her.

"Sorry! Fuck… this hurts! Theo's Dad… is… an… arsehole… Malfoy!" Hermione groaned as she wiped her mouth and tried to blink the stars out of her eyes. Her vision was getting rather loopy and swoopy, and all the blood in her head combined with the pain in her body was starting to overwhelm her senses.

"No shite, Granger. That man's a diseased sociopath, I'm not even sure he's human… Wait – did you just say fuck? Holy shit, Granger! You just said fuck! I think I'm finally starting to rub off on you!" Draco crowed in mock delight to distract his waxy-faced companion from what looked like imminent unconsciousness. "Oi, Granger, no passing out. Hang in there, Potter should have us all fixed up soon enough. Ugh! Stop bleeding on me!" Draco complained as she coughed weakly again.

"Sorry…" Hermione groaned.

"Whatever, Granger. All right, since you're spitting your blood all over me, I'll just give you some of mine so you can fully appreciate just how utterly disgusting that is." Draco wiped a finger through the blood dripping out of a cut on his forehead and rubbed it across her cheek.

"Cut it out… Malfoy… I'm not… interested… in some bloody… blood… bonding…" Hermione trailed off as she blinked a few more times.

Draco reached down, grabbed her left hand, and tugged her closer to him.

"Granger! Hey! Granger! Hermione! Don't pass out. It's got to be coming to an end soon, and you need to be awake to catch yourself when we fall," Draco commanded.

"Fuuuuck," Hermione groaned, then tensed up and coughed again.

"Damn it! Granger! Gods that's bloody disgusting. Here you go then, have some more of mine, you cow," Draco snapped as he wiped more of Hermione's blood off his mouth, then took another swipe across his forehead and rubbed it across Hermione's other cheek.

"Arsehole… cut it out," Hermione whined, but she was too tired to wipe his blood off her face. Instead, she concentrated on evaluating the extent of her injuries. "My back… hurts," she said. "Did Nott… use a real… whip… or his wand?"

"Wand. Sorry Granger. That's a fun little spell my dear old Dad invented and taught to all his friends. You and I will be carrying these scars around for the rest of our lives. How many did you get?" Draco asked.

"Uh… I think… fourteen…" Hermione said.

"You girls always get it so easy. Miserable wanker gave me twenty," Draco groused.

"Are yours… bleeding?" Hermione asked.

"Um, possibly. Maybe in one or two places. I've got so much scar tissue on my back it's hard to open it up anymore. Thanks be to Lucius Fuckface Malfoy, I guess. Bet yours is a mess, huh?"

Hermione winced. "Yeh, it's hard to… move my… right arm. I think… I've… got some superficial… muscle… damage." Another choking cough overwhelmed her, and even though she tried to swing away from Draco, she still managed to catch him in the face since he was still holding her left hand.

"All right, that's it!" Draco wiped his mouth off for the twentieth time, and once again rubbed his fingers through the cut on his forehead. He reached out and drew a smiley face on Hermione's forehead with his blood.

"There you go, three times blood exchanged. Now we'll be best friends forever, Granger. Aren't you the lucky girl?" Draco chuckled as Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"You're… so… immature… Malfoy. You'd better not… cast… any blood… magic on me."

"Why not? You keep spitting your blood all over me, and what else am I supposed to do with my free time while I'm hanging upside down? I think all I have to do now is seal it with a kiss, and you're all mine," Draco mused, and laughed as Hermione flinched. "I'm just kidding, Granger. I didn't cast a spell on you. You're a nice girl and all, but I don't think I want to spend the rest of my life bound to you. If anything I'm pretty sure your Weasel would get awfully pissy if I stole you from him."

"Like you… could… steal me… Ferret…" Hermione mumbled.

To Be Continued.

Author's Note: Sometimes when I'm having a bad writing day, I go back and read all my amazing reviews from you lovely people. Your insight, suppositions and encouragement - and especially the shameless flattery - are a balm to my stubborn imagination. Suddenly – POOF – I'm inspired again, and the words and ideas flow from me to you. ajc