ix: I guess every form of refuge has its price.

"I guess every form of refuge has its price.
And it breaks her heart, to think her love is only
Given to a man with hands as cold as ice."

Draco isn't fully sure how he came to be standing here, of all places on this earth, but he concedes that this might be the right thing to do. It's better that he didn't have this destination in his mind when he left work today; he would have chickened out. Now here, he knows that he has to go through with this.

As he stands in front of this beautiful house, a wave of nostalgia passes over him. It only serves to encourage him, the bittersweet memories dancing in his mind – so close, and yet, so far to touch. He's reminded of the springtime with the smell in the air; flowers, growth, life. It's unnerving how familiar he is with something so foreign now.

He can distantly hear the radio playing in the back garden, and follows the sound. Unsurprisingly, it leads him to a humming and happy Astoria, kneeling in the garden tending to her azaleas. Draco doesn't move for a moment, somehow transfixed by the lightness he can see in her, the absence of worry and strain. He hasn't seen that in a long time. Draco shakes his head, unwilling to think about their unhappiness, and clears his throat to make his presence known.

Astoria fails to hear him the first time, but after the second, she jumps up and turns. His presence is unexpected, that's for sure, but the disappointment that crosses her features briefly makes him wonder who she was expecting.

"Draco," surprise laces her tone as she takes a slow step towards him, "What are you doing here?"

After scanning the garden quietly, his eyes find hers again, "Can we talk?"

She blinks. "Of course… we talk quite frequently."

"I mean can we talk." He repeats, his gaze not meeting her own probing one this time. Draco can feel her come to stand beside him but he doesn't budge, even though her eyes are boring a hole into his defences. This doesn't work on him anymore. More than anything, he just wants the Astoria who was his friend once upon a time, who can lend him the hand that he refuses to ask for.

Astoria sighs heavily, evidently giving in, and gestures for him to walk inside. He takes the lead, only noticing her grimy clothing upon her wiping her hands on her trousers and realises she would have never done that previously. Doing the garden had been a job for 'the help', not someone like her. He only slightly grudgingly admits that the change suits her.

Taking a seat in the kitchen, she automatically begins making tea and coffee. Even though he doesn't particularly want a drink, he doesn't stop her. Eyes set on the cups, she questions quietly, "Why are you here, Draco?"

Her question makes him feel uncomfortable, and suddenly, Draco wishes he hadn't come here. Her tone is full of reproach and, at the same time, detachment. She couldn't care less if he jumped off the Mailini Enterprise building tomorrow or disappeared to be never seen again. Why should he expect more though? They're not together.

Despite this, his reason for coming here is solid, and he's not going to leave without what he wants. "I… I think you're the only one who can help me."

For the second time today, he catches her off guard and her expression gives it away. Masking it expertly, Astoria places a coffee in front of him and takes a sip of her tea, "I'm not sure what you mean." Before he can reply, she continues, "We've tied up the divorce. I'm sorry, Draco, but I can't give you anything… We can't backtrack on our agreements."

He holds up a hand to halt her, "I don't want anything material."

This, of course, is not taken how he intended and using the counter, she propels herself away from him, shock and ire crossing her features, "We are finished, Draco Malfoy. Don't you dare come here asking for some – some compensation!"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. I certainly don't miss that," He tells her, swishing his coffee in the cup, "I want to talk about our son."

Finally willing to stop jumping to conclusions, Astoria only nods, letting him continue. "I don't know what I did to warrant this sort of anger from him. I'm not sure why he refuses to contact me or make any sort of effort…" His eyes rise to hers, "But I suspect you do."

She sits down across from her, a weariness overcoming her, "I wish I did. Scorpius keeps his cards close to his chest; I rarely get anything on substance out of him." They're both silent for a minute. Astoria begins hesitantly, her eyes downcast, "We—we really hurt him, Draco."

He's not sure what he can say to that. Of course they hurt him. The one big regret Draco has from the split is the pain it caused his son. As a parent, you try your best to protect your child from the world, to shield them from pain and hurt… being the cause of that pain and hurt is the cruel twist of fate; irony at its nastiest.

After another few moments, she speaks again, "He's getting better though. As much as I hate it, that girl seems to be doing him the world of good."

Draco knows how hard that is for her to admit, and in reward, gives her a small smile. He understands. "I think fixing whatever has gone wrong between Scorpius and I will help him, too. Being on bad terms with your parents is never easy… I should know."

Astoria nods, knowing all too well – of course she did – and takes another drink of her tea. "You want me to talk to him?"

"Well… I was thinking a step ahead of that, and maybe doing something a tad bit more proactive." She raises an eyebrow, signalling for him to share this with her, "I think you should set up a meeting between us. Tell him you're going to meet him, but I'll show up instead. It can be in Hogsmeade on their next weekend."

Draco knows his tone his earnest, his eyes pleading, but it doesn't faze him, where it would have usually disgusted him. He has to do this, and if persuading his material-hungry ex to help him is necessary, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

He lets silence reign over them again. Finally, he looks back at her to gauge a reaction, but doesn't quite find one. Astoria is intently studying her tea, her expression one that he rarely sees; pensive. It's not that she's not a thinker – it's just, well, she's actually not really.

Worry begins to claw at him, doubts threaten to overwhelm him – why on earth would Astoria care to help him, of all people? Had they not established enough times that they are not incompatible?

"Draco, you know, all I ever wanted was domestic bliss." She says to him, a serious quality lacing her words, "I never wanted us to become this. I—I just wanted us to be happy. It didn't work out that way, I'm aware now, but it doesn't mean that has changed." Astoria pauses, surveying him, "I still just want us to be happy. The three of us."

Draco fails to find the appropriate words, finding that none on his mind measure up. They haven't been so... so nice to each other in so long. He feels a sense of relief envelop him, a certain degree of closure that he hadn't been aware was missing. The utmost feeling is one that he isn't accustomed to, and will more than likely be fleeting.

"Of course I'll help you and Scorpius."

Peace.


Tonight, he's more invigorated than ever, and not even the damp smell in the air, the knowledge of his pitiful existence or the flickering lights can bring him down. He's not going to let this day go downhill, and by the time he leaves this bar, he'll be an inch closer to conquering one more of his remaining demons.

Being in a better mood than he probably ever has been in this bar, he shoots the barman a rare and wry smile, "The usual there, ra—ahem… please…" Thinking to spare the servers feelings is a new one, he normally rejoices in the calling of 'ratface', but not tonight. He isn't going to engage in any pettiness tonight.

He'll later reflect sadly how this seems to be lost once she walks in the door. Around the same time, his drink is set down in front of him, but he knows that the barman is well aware of his 'tab'. Eyes transfixed onto the irritatingly mysterious woman, he allows himself a moment to observe her. By the exaggerated sway of her movements, he can safely assume she is already slightly intoxicated. Her dress is a deep purple, covering only one shoulder and wraps her body like a second skin. The purple highlights the strikingly pale tone of her skin, which is looking rather sickly tonight.

The other men don't seem to see this, and instead leer at her unabashedly. Mildly disgusted, Draco sneers at them – they're oblivious –before giving Belle a nod of recognition. The gesture catches her attention and he's surprised when a smile flits across her face, reminding him eerily of an innocent girl.

This is a woman. Capable of looking after herself and making her own stupid decisions.

Right now though, she's also a woman he's in need of. For this reason, he's glad when she approaches him, obviously to retrieve the customary drink he now buys her each time. "Tell me, is there a pattern to your visits here?" He asks, feigning disinterest as he does so.

She winks, "I guess you'll just have to find out."

"I rarely know what day it is, so I don't reckon that will be a viable option."

"I didn't say you had to figure it out yourself," She responds, enigmatic as ever, before ordering a scotch. For the first time, she sits down beside him and puts her bag down on the counter. With a glance to the usual booth she occupies, Draco notes that it's empty.

When the drink has been placed down, he turns to her, "Do you fancy sitting?" Her eyebrows rise in visible shock, but after a beat, she merely shrugs. He takes that as a yes and leads her to where she usually sits, figuring this to be the most comfortable place for her.

He only cares because he needs her connections.

However, Draco doesn't even get the opportunity to exercise this before she opens her mouth. "What do you want from me, Draco? I know you wouldn't sit with me willingly." With what starts as a weary question, ends with a somewhat self-depreciative statement. He arches on eyebrow in curiosity, before disregarding his previous mission and asking the question that has been burning him since day one.

"Which one of you is the mask?" They don't have to play games here; she knows exactly what he means. The almost imperceptible tilt of her head is enough indication that she is considering answering him. Draco doesn't know why, but this woman has always entranced him – and not like she does with other men in here. He's not after some quick shag in a dingy motel, he – for some unfathomable reason – wants to know her. There's an insatiable thirst for her story that, obviously, only she can cure for him.

He's still startled when she replies, "I think it's quite obvious when you really think about it." For the first time since they met, he notices her turning the band on her ring finger uncomfortably. How did he miss that before? Draco, who prides himself upon observational skills, among many other skills of course, missed the most telling part of her tale?

Against his better judgement, his eyes narrow, "Your husband is okay with you gallivanting around at night, getting yourself into all sorts of trouble?" His critical and mocking tone sickens even himself, and he almost immediately has the reflex to apologise. This is unlike him – which causes him to pause.

Belle ducks her hand away from view then, a sheepish look overcoming her, "I—I suppose he wouldn't."

"Who is he?" He hopes his disregard of the original question will serve as enough of an apology, and it seems it does, because she gives him the smallest of smiles.

She returns to the conversation then. Just like that, her smile vanishes, only to be replaced by a false sense of detachment and a very real ache in her words, "Do you know Bennet Devine?"

That certainly wouldn't have been his first guess. Draco stills, unable to move for fear of breaking their contact as he assesses her claim. He begins to convince himself that it isn't the Devine he knows; simply can't be the Devine that once made late calls to his house, serving the snivelling Death Eaters with fresh pieces of information on the Ministry.

Instead of voicing this, he asks carefully, "Do… do you mean the head of Magical Law Enforcement?" She nods, not giving him any more words, and he releases a heavy exhale. "What on earth are you doing with him?"

Not realising how out of line he is, Draco continues to look at her for an answer. As the seconds tick by, he almost now expects to be reprimanded; after all, what does he know of their relationship? To his utmost horror, however, he only sees her eyes begin to shine forebodingly. Eager to stop the inevitable onslaught of tears, he tries his hand at being empathetic. "Maybe I'm wrong, who am I to know if he's changed? Sure, I'm just bitter no one could or would ever prove his involvement in the war!"

Belle looks at him, with her voice raw from emotion, she declares, "I hate him." He doesn't think he's ever heard words spoken so sincerely. He's about to question her marriage to him, but stops himself, supposing that it wouldn't be easy to divorce a man like Devine. The epitome of Slytherin; he is cunning, sly and manipulative to the core. This only heightened by the curse of his intelligence, which would rival any Ravenclaw. Aligned most faithfully to the dark side for most of the war, as an auror he supplied valuable information to the Dark Lord. However, there is no record of this and Draco's father would never support him on the accusation, causing Draco's claims to look like a mockery and his rejection to the force was stamped more vigorously.

"I take it he's not so popular with you, either," She remarks, having evidently picked up on his tense body language and lack of speech.

"Are there many he is popular with?" Draco retorts wryly, earning him a short laugh from the woman beside him. He wants to ask how she ended up with someone so horrid, what he does to keep her with him and how on earth she escapes every night and leads this other life. He only asks the last question in the end.

"How does he not find out?"

Her laugh is humourless this time, "He doesn't care. I think he'd be happier if I overdosed, to be honest. He would be rid of me without any of the 'unpleasantness'." Draco gets the distinct impression the conversation has actually occurred between the two of them, making him briefly recall his other two questions. He supposes 'unpleasantness' is divorce, which would stain his name in his old opinion.

Something strikes Draco then. "Merlin, he must be old now!" More drinks are set down in front of them, and their empty ones taken away, which he's glad for. At least the barman knows his drinking habits at this stage.

Belle appears even more downcast at the mention of this, "He is."

"He's older than my father!"

"I would imagine…"

The mention of his father sobers him up considerably, sharply reminding him of his original task. No matter how disagreeable this may be to their night, he has to talk to her about Lucius. He has to get her help. "How do you know my father?" He asks her simply to start with.

The woman blinks at the swift change of topic, into something more serious for Draco. Instead of giving him a direct answer, because she never seems capable of that, Belle sighs, "You know how Lucius and I met."

"That's how you knew me – when I 'rescued' you."

"Yep. I threw that Lucius comment in to infuriate you, and, well, because they were your fathers drugs I had."

Draco's jaw is set stubbornly, the cogs in his head turning rapidly. "That's what I need your help with. I—I need you to help me bring him down, Belle."

He gives her some credit for not looking completely astonished, for not disagreeing with this mere acquaintance and ratting him out because instead, she nods determinedly. "I'll help you in whatever way you can."

Immediately, his Slytherin side creeps into the night, causing him to narrow his eyes once more at her, "Why?"

No one gives him help so willingly, so freely. She shrugs, "I like you, for whatever reason. I think this is the right thing to do."

"You do realise I'll have to bring forth all of your dealers names?"

This seems to register with her only then, and she pushes her drink away abruptly. Belle's hair falls across her face as she freezes in that position, not unlike himself earlier. Ever so slowly, she turns to look at him, irritation obvious, "What?"

"If I'm to cover all bases and ensure his arrest, then there has to be full proof."

She shakes her head rapidly, her whole body convulsing with the jerks. Grabbing her jacket and bag, Belle stands hurriedly and throws him one last glance, "I can't do that." He feels the wind brush against his face as the door to the pub is opened and closed once more, but this time, he's sitting alone in the booth. With the barman removing the glasses, all traces of her are removed again.

Except that lingering feeling in the pit of his stomach. It encourages him to flag down the bartender, demanding a row of glasses of his strongest stuff. This is going to be a long night.

His promises of that evening are just distant memories now.


A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't update tll I finished the story on my comp, but I just couldn't resist this one... Loved writing the chapter, so I can't wait to hear your opinions. I know her husband is, technically, an OC. I was going to make him a known dark character, but I wanted someone much older, and found Evan Rosier - perfect candidate. Except he's dead. Most of the viable ones were (or in Azkaban), and so, I made someone up. This way, I can still be canon.

Disclaimer: I do now own HP or "Lyin' Eyes" by the Eagles, which was originally my inspiration for this story. It's somewhat deviated since then, but still at the heart of it.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.

CN.