I don't own Harry Potter, what a surprise.

AN: This is the only time I'll bring up the Iraq war. I have no desire to discuss it, or start anything. It's just that, if one does the math, the incident in question happened eight years ago, and at the height of the war. That puts the incident in 1998 and subsequently, this story in 2006, or thereabouts. Britain was still in Iraq then, so it's a plausible excuse (except for the fact that Lucius' hair is much too long for the military, but people might assume equally they were a civilian presence). So, whatever. I was just trying to think of an excuse Hermione could use.

Hermione drove her Volkswagen Touareg fast, with the windows down and the radio up. Draco was holding onto the dashboard in front of him as if his life depended on it, face pinched and white; while Lucius sat in the row of seats behind them, his tangled hair blowing loose from the swift braid Hermione had given it. There was a look of intense concentration on his face and Hermione glanced in the rearview mirror every few seconds to check on him.

She finally turned down the radio and shouted to Draco, "Is he ok?"

"Ask me!" Draco yelled back. "Ask me if I'm bloody ok, you fucking mental mu-"

Hermione made a sharp left turn in response and the insult was lost to the wind. No more, she'd told herself. No more would she let him or anyone else insult her that way. The time for petty words was past. Draco needed to grow up if he wanted to survive for any length of time.

By the time she'd parked in the small public lot at the center of the nearest town, Draco looked as if growing up was the farthest thing from his mind. His lips were pressed shut and he was looking decidedly green. That's ok, thought Hermione. It is his house color.

Then she turned her attention to Lucius, who actually stuck his head out of the SUV and twisted it about. He wasn't seeing anything, she knew- his eyes still had that blank expression from before. But he was definitely aware. Draco took his father's arm after struggling with the safety buckle for a minute. Then he looked to Hermione.

She looked back at him.

"Don't ever try to use that kind of language with me ever again," she said to him simply. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Ok."

"You're both clean, if not tidy. So shopping for new clothes first, I think," she said. And the subject was dropped, the original plan ready to be followed.

Draco still thought she was fucking mental, but he didn't say it aloud. As for the other term…she was right. He was being stupid, still throwing words like that around. This program was about survival and, if possible, eventual release. And he'd never survive if he kept saying things like that. His father would never survive. Shame hit him full force and oh, how he wanted to apologize aloud to her then, but he knew he wouldn't get anything for his trouble. She didn't care about how he felt, damn it. She only cared about what in hell he was going to do about how he felt.

And the answer…he didn't know. He hoped he could regain his humanity. If that meant respecting her, mucking stalls, and eating blasted eggs every morning, he would. It was better than a lot of the former prisoners got- it was a fucking paradise, come to that, and he knew it.

He felt his father tense beside him and he shrugged.

"Some kind of town. The nearest village to her farm. It's not very busy, but we're here early on a weekday…I guess normal work hours still exist for some people, out in the real world." He paused, glanced about. "She wants to buy us necessities, she said. Clothes, hair brushes. Soap that doesn't smell like lavender."

"Will lemon verbena do instead?" Hermione asked sweetly, clicking the SUV locked. It beeped and went silent. Draco stared at her. She frowned. "What?"

"What's lemon verbena?"

Ginny rolled the cigarette about in her fingers and stared off the small balcony at the city's skyline. Her wrist still hurt from the night before…so did her pride. She'd let him get to her, the bastard.

Maybe Hermione had been right all along. Maybe the whole thing was a giant mistake, designed only for vengeance. The truth was, she'd thought she was harder than this, tougher. Tough enough to rule over a cowardly man who'd only survived the war on lies and money. On turning over her friends to the other side. On spitting on her in the hallway and throwing her books to the ground…right before he undressed her with his eyes.

Except that wasn't the truth, was it. The truth was that she was still scared and desperately hurt and paranoid as fuck. And every time he looked at her now she felt like her skin was crawling. No wonder Hermione had…she shook her head, cleared it of those thoughts. Took another drag off her cigarette.

Look at me, she thought. Only third day in and I'm already shaking like a leaf. Well, at least I have a reason now, unlike Hermione's shakes…which seem to be permanent. Wonder how she's doing. If they're getting better, or worse. I hardly notice them anymore, she thought. I'm so used to seeing them.

She took another drag, blew the smoke out. It tasted sour. She eyed the cancer stick, then stubbed it out on the balcony rail and flicked it out over the side. Right into Mrs. Gardner's petunias, she thought with satisfaction.

"Well, well," came a voice from behind her. Her shoulders tensed, but she forced herself not to turn around. Don't let him get to you that way, she told herself, and her hand drifted down the bruise about her wrist again.

He walked onto the balcony and leaned on the rail so that he was facing her. He didn't have a bruise, of course. Not with his dark skin.

"Go away," she said.

"Can't," Blaise replied. "A filthy little blood tr-" He suddenly found it very difficult to breath with her wand pressed tightly against his neck, but he managed somehow. "Traitor!" He gasped. "Brought me home with her-" another gasp. "And I can't fucking leave!"

"You'll call me Mistress or Weasley, but nothing else, you understand me?" she growled at him.

"I'll do nothing of the-" His voice cut off to a sudden gurgle as Ginny pressed harder and muttered a particularly nasty hex. His lips started turning blue after a minute. She smiled.

"What's that?" she asked and stepped away.

He immediately doubled over and gasped for breath. Then he straightened some, though still leaning on the rail, and opened his mouth to swear at her more, and loudly.

No sound came.

Blaise looked stricken and Ginny continued to smile.

"Now, now," she told him. "Servants are to be seen and not heard."

His eyes turned murderous and she stepped back. He closed the distance, towered over her despite her height. The threat was clear, though it was unspoken.

You'll regret this, he was telling her. You'll regret all of it.

She stepped out of the way and gestured inside. "Stop threatening me and get in there and clean. And once you've cleaned it all, do it all over again. Or I'll send you to Hermione's to muck out stalls with the Malfoys," she hissed.

He took a deep breath and prepared to march inside. At the last minute he flicked his eyes to her wrist, then back to her face. Only then did he walk back inside. Ginny shivered, straightened her back, and turned her gaze outward again. A few seconds later she could hear the vacuum starting once more.

The threat remained and despite her resolve, her hands shook as she lit yet another cigarette.

The male clerk in the small clothing store hadn't asked any questions, for which Hermione was grateful. They hadn't needed to get much there anyway- just a few essentials to tide the two men over. Socks and under-things, some t-shirts, a few pairs of jeans each. The rest of their clothing needs, she'd decided, she would order from a catalogue, or have Harry get them for her. After all, aside from height and, ok, maybe Draco was thinner than she liked, the three men were fairly close in size, she'd wager. She made them both get a pair of trainers, too, but didn't worry about work boots. She had some extras lying about the barn that fit them.

After that she made a stop back at the vehicle to drop the bags off, relocked the car, and then surveyed her…prisoners? No, she shook her head. Wards was more like it. What had she said to Ginny? Ah, yes. Strays.

"What?" Draco asked, feeling uncomfortable with the once over. Not that he hadn't expected a once over sooner or later. It was well known that many of the prisoners ended up being used for more than just a household maid. He just somehow hadn't expected a once over from her.

Then again, she hadn't made them buy any sort of sexy or even fashionable clothing. Hell, he hadn't even seen the inside of her bedroom yet. And she really did seem to care more about whether he learned how to muck a stall properly than anything else. But none of that meant she couldn't change her mind, or was just biding her time. He shivered and clenched his hands at his sides.

She'd already turned away and was gazing at something. She finally looked back at him.

"There's a Boots up the street. We should be able to finish up there. I really think that's all-"

"A what? What boots? Whose boots?"

Beside him, Lucius made a sudden, violent gesture and grabbed his arm. He looked very pale and Hermione moved forward, but Draco pushed her away.

"I can take care of him myself."

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms to hide their shaking. "Fine. You can. Then follow me."

"You still didn't say-"

"Boots," came a raspy voice beside him and Draco turned to his father, shocked. He looked up the street, ready to call to Hermione, but something held him back. His father's hand on his arm.

"Boots," he said again.

"Father?" Draco whispered.

Ahead of them, Hermione had turned and was motioning for them to keep up. Draco nodded and started moving his father along.

"What is it?" he murmured as they walked.

"A shop," Lucius replied softly, and a smile flickered across his lips. It was gone just as quickly and then his father's regal face had shut down once again. But Draco was certain, as they walked into the shop behind Hermione, that he heard another quiet, "Boots," followed by the softest, sweetest sound he'd heard in ages: his father's laugh.

Inside the store, Draco looked around himself curiously while his father continued to hold onto his sleeve of his own free will. The place looked like a mix between a candy shop and a potions store. There were all sorts of bottles and other items lining the shelves. He leaned over to inspect a bright blue, glass bottle of something and Hermione leaned over his shoulder.

"Davidoff. Of course. The most expensive product in here and you immediately go for it."

He immediately set the bottle back down. Hermione plucked it up again. She remained near him and as she came back up with the bottle in hand he caught a whiff of her still damp hair.

Orange and juniper.

He took a deep breath and must've closed his eyes, or made some sort of noise of satisfaction, because a second later Hermione was snapping her fingers in his face. He jumped.

"What the fuck was that, Malfoy?" she asked and he flushed.

"You smell good." Honesty was the best policy, right?

Hermione looked as if she wanted to rip his throat out for a full three seconds. Then she relaxed some. She put the bottle in her basket. Draco began to protest. She glared at him and proceeded to stick the entire line of products in the basket. He shut his mouth.

"Now," she said, voice uneven, "you'll smell good too. Then you won't have to go about sniffing at me like some perv."

He flushed an even brighter shade of red, but his lips remained closed and he continued to follow her around the store after that, and didn't pick another product off the shelves. Lucius, in turn, followed him, the look of intense concentration back upon his face.

Secretly, Hermione felt a little like it was Christmas- buying all those things, with Draco gazing at every new item she placed in her basket as if it were the holy grail. As if it were the most precious, beautiful thing he'd seen in years. Not that he was that obvious about it. But she'd gotten pretty good at reading people (oh, how she'd had to) and she knew joy when she saw it. She felt extremely charitable, indeed. Never mind that it was confused by the fact the items were for confirmed Death Eaters. They were strays, she told herself firmly, even if they did need to be de-clawed. And even strays deserved a home. She didn't have to like them, but they deserved a home.

Especially since, after last night, she didn't think she had the strength to be deliberately cruel to these men. Firm, yes. Demanding, oh, yes. But cruel? Whip them, use them to satisfy her own selfish need for revenge, or worse? No, she didn't have that fight left in her any longer. Oh, she was still plenty angry about the past- and hurt and scared. But she couldn't bring herself to do to them what had been done to her. No one should ever have that done to them, ever again, and certainly not by her hand.

Draco made a small noise of recognition and Hermione turned around to see him looking at a row of toothbrushes.

"Recognize those, do you?" she said and nearly grinned. He merely frowned at the teasing tone of voice and looked away. Hermione pulled two off the rack anyway and waved them beneath his nose.

"Blue ok?"

He grunted, but didn't complain. She took that as a yes, and into the basket they went.

By the time Hermione took all the products (combs, brushes, proper razors, creams, wash, soap, after shave, shampoo- the list went on) up to the front counter she and her tiny entourage had garnered a bit of attention. The other customers were whispering about the strange men with the strange, but nice, Ms. Jeannie, as they knew her. The clerk smiled at Draco and behind him, at his father, then looked to Hermione.

"Hello, Jeannie," the woman said. "No refill today?" Hermione murmured a hello in return and then shook her head. Draco wondered what they all thought had happened to her. He supposed she could have just cast a glamour on her face, but that somehow didn't seem her way.

"And who are these two fine young men?" the woman asked, although it was clear Draco and his father were neither of them looking fine at the moment. Neat and clean, but his father's hair…and he knew his own beard looked patchy. He hadn't had a new razor in weeks. In fact, he was dying to get back to the farm and feel clean shaven, truly clean shaven, for the first time in years.

Hermione hesitated as she continued to pull items from the basket and the woman scanned them, one by one. She glanced over her shoulder, smiled guiltily at Draco. She looked back to the woman.

"They're my cousins. They've both been…in Iraq," she lied. "This is Drake and his father, Luke." Hermione leaned forward and so did the woman, the universal sign of intrigue. "They needed a place to recover, especially Luke, and well, with the horses…I could certainly use an extra hand."

The woman nodded wisely and finished ringing up the purchases. The smile she turned on the two men was more kindly this time.

"I'm glad you're with our Ms. Jeannie," she said. "You take good care of her." Then she leaned over the counter and shook hands with Draco. "And God bless you both."

Hermione prayed that she wouldn't be struck dead for a lie like that and thanked the woman, then hurried them all from the store, bags in hand.

"Iraq?" Draco asked as Hermione piled their bags in the Touareg's backseat, next to Lucius. "Where's that?"

"It's a country the Americans invaded a few years ago, which you'd know if you paid any attention to the muggle world," she explained with a huff as she buckled Lucius into his seat. "Britain got sucked into it as well, for political reasons. Some of our soldiers were deployed to help out."

"And came back looking like us?" Draco asked and whistled. He and Hermione climbed into the front of the vehicle. Hermione glanced at him sharply.

"You really don't know anything, do you?"

"About muggle politics? No. Why should I? We've been in a war of our own."

"Well, so have a lot of muggles. To survive, just like you've been trying to do. Except a lot of it just seems bloody pointless."

"People have died?"

"More than should've, on both sides," Hermione replied. "Anyway, it's not been a popular war, but it was the best lie I could think of on the spot. Hopefully no one will go checking into it. Not many people want to talk about it, so it should be fine. And it's not like you'll be going out into that world often."

"But we may have to live there," Draco murmured as Hermione started the vehicle. She glanced at him again as she reversed out of the lot.

"You think so?"

"Like the wizarding world wants us back," he responded. "I may have to start learning about this war, about these people and their politics. It could be the only life I know someday."

Hermione didn't reply and the drive back to the farm was quiet between them. The radio remained off.