Thank you to everyone who reviewed.

In answer to queries: (SarahTee) You'll find out next chapter what happens to the Death Eater; (mika) Well, to be fair, Remus hasn't really told Oz everything about himself, but discussions of pasts will come up later; and (Marz1) There is more background to this, which will come up in later chapters. I don't really want to spoil anything.

And to ease worries, I will be finishing this story. I have a detailed plan and outline for it and everything.

There is a bit of a language warning for this chapter, but nothing too serious. Hope you all enjoy this next part.

Muggle pubs were severely underrated. Though it would be hypocritical – and thus impossible for him – to say aloud, in his mind Draco would admit muggles had their uses. Much like cattle, or horses, or house-elves. That wasn't to say Draco revelled in muggle society, just that some things about it were useful. Like their pubs.

While rather large, Wizarding society was still close-knit enough for him to be recognised on a pub crawl. Armed with a fake muggle identification card he'd gotten a while ago on a "just in case" impulse, he charmed his way past the heavy-set bouncers and dreary bartenders literally and figuratively. He was Draco Malfoy, it wasn't like illegal actions bothered him all that much; especially not when he got what he wanted – peace, anonymity and copious amounts of alcohol.

The establishment he was currently frequenting in was like many others he'd visited that night – easily forgettable, and its customers even more so. He should have been the most noticeable person in the dank building – young, attractive with strikingly unusual pale features. However, his father had gifted him with a charm a few years ago. Nothing Lucius Malfoy gave his son was anything but useful. The weak spell was made to be used in muggle society: the owner – and only the true owner – would be able to pass by unnoticed by any muggle around. The Ministry had confiscated many of the Malfoy artefacts, the reason this one escaped their notice was probably the fact that it only responded to Draco's magical signature and activated when in contact with skin.

This type of charm – like most charms really – had its weak points and loopholes. The one that really bothered Draco that night was the fact that the charm only worked on muggles.

Thus, when a tall bleach-blond vampire entered through the lopsided doorway (black leather duster billowing dramatically with every step) it was inevitable that he would notice the young man hiding behind the weak magic. Eying him with a confused frown at first, a smirk soon crossed his features and sat there as he sauntered over.

"Never expected to see a pretty little morsel like yourself tonight," he leaned down to whisper in Draco's ear. Everyone else was ignoring them. "It begs the question 'why?'"

Sliding around to stare at the boy beneath him, the vampire's amusement only deepened as Draco met his gaze fearlessly. He slid a cold finger underneath Draco's collar and pulled the small charmed gem out. Draco was glad the magic was infused into the chain holding the gem as well.

"Cute."

"Useful." Draco tugged the necklace back with a rough glare.

The vampire snorted. "Not useful enough. I can see you. I'd get my money back on that if I were you."

"I wasn't really counting on meeting a vampire tonight." Draco hoped that didn't sound as pathetic to the undead man before him as it did in his head.

A small chuckle escaped thin lips. "You should always expect the unexpected, clichéd as it sounds." He took a seat at the rickety table without asking for permission and lit up a cigarette. "Oughta be careful of gems like that too," he gestured at Draco's chest as he exhaled grey smoke. "No matter how small something seems or what sort of magic's involved, something could go wrong in the worst of ways."

"Personal experience talking there?" Draco wasn't sure why he wasn't telling the creature before him to leave him be (common sense and a healthy dose of fear perhaps?). And he certainly wasn't sure why he was actually continuing the conversation. Maybe he was a little more inebriated than he first assumed. Well, that or just more curious than any cat had right to be. It wasn't everyday you met a vampire after all; much less one that wasn't actively trying to drain and kill you.

Said creature simply chuckled again, though the sound was lower than the last. Self-disparaging maybe? "Something like that," he said. "So," he kicked back, "what's your poison of choice?"

Draco blinked at the strange question before finally realising the vampire was referring to alcohol. "Whisky."

The vampire took a sniff of the tumbler and scrunched his nose, slightly impressed. "Strong enough to kill an elephant I'd bet."

"Gets the job done well enough."

"That it does. I'll shout the next round."

Draco probably should have been running for his life at that point: knowing that a vampire was sitting opposite him in a cheap dirty bar that he'd chosen specifically because it was a place in which no one would dream of looking for him. But the creature's interest in him was rather flattering – even if he knew it was probably just because of the oddity of finding a young wizard slumming. The guy was probably fantasising about how smooth his skin was as he would rip into it later that night.

Draco was hardly a stranger to dark impulses however; and, as a wizard, he did have some degree of defence against the nightwalker. To be fair, he was just as intrigued by his companion.

"Awfully nice of you," he finally replied with a condescending nod. Making up his mind, he held out his hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

The amusement at the introductory gesture fled and was replaced with mild shock as his words registered to the vampire. Shaking his head, he took the hand, saying, "I should have remembered those features. You never did answer my first question though."

"'Why'?" Draco shrugged. "Why not? Heck, for that matter, what's a creature of the night such like yourself doing drinking alcohol instead of blood?"

"Touché."

"You got a famous name to go with that face?"

He smirked. "Spike."

Draco almost swore. "As in William the Bloody?"

"So I'm still famous then? Just bloody wonderful. How about those drinks then, eh?"

"Hones'ly, s'not like I wanna be the guy – he's a poof!"

"I know 'za'ly whacha mean." Draco slammed his tumbler down on the table for emphasis, nodding determinedly at Spike.

"Thank you." Spike threw his arms out and tried to bow to Draco, almost toppling out of the seat as he did so. "No one else wan's ta bloody sympathise. 'S always: "Oh, poor Angel, 'e's broodin' 'gain," or "'E's feelin' guilty 'gain, mus' be terrible dealin' with a soul li' tha'."" He poured himself another drink. "Stupid bints." He knocked back the shot, gasping at the end of it and shaking his head. "I's li' they think auta-mati-cally tha' a soul equals good."

"Tha' is stupid." Draco shook his head at the foolishness of humans, sliding further to the right as he did so. "I mean," he gestured dramatically with his arms, somehow managing to right himself slightly. "I 'ave a soul, an' I'm no' all tha' nice."

"Eh, I dunno, I kinda li' ya kid."

"Really? Thank you." Draco took a drink. "Where was I?"

"Er … "I 'ave a soul, an' I'm no' very nice.""

"Oh, yeah. Li' I said, I got a soul an' so does my father an' he is a righ' nasty piece o' work. Worked bloody 'ard ta ge' tha' way too. Bu' th' real kicker is this." He gestured for Spike to draw closer. "Th' Dark Lord's go' a soul."

Spike slapped his hand on the table. "Get out!"

"I's true!"

"I woulda though' th' bugger had lost tha' years ago. Guy li' him pu's a lo' o' vamps to shame."

"Ya really wouldn' think it, lookin' a' th' guy. Scarier than you are 'e is."

Spike just shrugged at that, appearing rather morose. "Lo's a' thin's scarier than me these days. I've reformed."

Draco stared at him in befuddled amazement. "Reformed, as in, turned ta th' bloody white-'ats! Yer William th' effen' Bloody!"

"Look, no one was as surprised as I was, believe you me. S'pose I's what I get fer followin' me bleedin' heart." Draco watched him shrug and lean back with a sigh, still quite bewildered by the revelation. "S'not so bad. Heck of a lot more dangerous though – but I s'pose good guys need ta ge' their kicks somehow." He poured himself a drink and chuckled. "Plus, it really pisses gramps off when I do it better than 'im."

"Gramps? Angelus? I though' 'e was your sire? Lot a' books say that."

"We 'ad a complicated relationship."

"Obviously if your doin' the good guy stuff to piss him off. Isn' tha' a mite suicidal?"

Spike shrugged again. "Li' I said, gotta ge' me kicks somehow." He took a long drink, the mood turning melancholy, affecting Draco as well.

"Yeah, guess tha's true for everyone."

Spike eyed him like a virgin spread-eagled at his feet. Draco still wasn't sure how much the alcohol was affecting him. "Ya know," the vampire drawled, "Yer really good a' evadin' questions, hatchlin'. I still haven' gotten a straigh' answer fer tha' firs' question."

"You'll 'ave ta refresh my memory. Again." Draco poured himself another drink, but Spike snatched it from his fingers before glass touched his lips.

"None o' tha' 'til ya tell me why yer destroyin' yer liver."

Draco could see the futility in protesting the vampire's actions, so he settled for a pout. "Father's coming home," he mumbled.

"Though' you liked yer ol' man." Spike returned the tumbler to the boy, who immediately filled it to the brim and sculled it.

With a gasp, Draco leaned over the table and glared in a rather intimidating way. "'E's nasty an' evil an' ignores me an' pu's me down an' berates me fer stupid things an' is always off on stupid errands fer 'is master an' 'e's cold an' mean an' o' course I like 'im." Draco slumped further down in his seat, looking miserable. "I just don't want 'im back is all."

"Ah." Spike eyed the glum boy carefully. Maybe he shouldn't have opened this particular can of worms.

After finishing off another drink, Draco laid his chin on folded arms. He didn't think he'd be able to stay upright for much longer. Not that it mattered much at the moment; he was too upset to worry about much now that he was brought back to thinking about his father again. He glanced at Spike and noticed his slight interest in the situation and sighed, deciding to continue. Hey, who would this guy tell? Spike would probably eat him once he was finished, so ranting a little shouldn't matter, right?

"I's jus' …" he had to think about the right way to express himself. "I jus' wish he'd stayed in Azkaban or wen' off with his master and never looked back. Do you realise the shit I've had ta deal with in his absence?" He pointed a trembling finger in the general direction of Spike's face. "Everything. His stupidity in gettin' caught, th' friggin' Ministry on my back, th' fuckin' finances, our lawyers. In th' end I jus' had ta say 'fuck 'em all' and took control. It was a bloody shambles. Since the stupid Dark Lord returned, Father's done nothin' – jus' followed orders. He's no' gettin' off with an Imperius plea this time, so there's no bloody excuse for not takin' care of his responsibilities."

Draco sniffed, hiding his face from Spike as he poured another drink. It was probably useless to hide anything from the vampire right now, but he felt a little stronger doing so. Sipping the amber liquid, he continued, not facing his companion any more.

"Mother's been so drugged up I don't know if she even knows who she is any more. Th' only thin' that seemed ta make her respond was hearin' 'bout th' escape. I could kill him for that. He's all ready ta waltz back and take control 'gain and ruin everything I've done ta drag our family back ou' from th' mud he threw us in. Th' fuckin' bastard. I'd kill him if I didn't love him so much." The tumbler Draco was holding suddenly shattered from the pressure of his grip. He didn't even twitch as glass cut into his pale skin and the alcohol seeped into his wounds. He glanced down once at the mess, then looked back over at Spike, perhaps seeking some sort of reassurance. He wasn't even sure what he wanted any more.

Looking around nervously, Spike said, "You should probably get that looked at." He was thankful for whatever charm Draco had with him, because no one even looked their way as the glass broke. Still, the situation was turning into something Spike wasn't sure he was ready to handle. "Maybe we should –" Spike's gesture was cut off as Draco started talking again.

"Am I th' only one who believes in honourin' our family name any more?" Draco was staring at the few drops of blood that had fallen to the tabletop. Morbidly, he stuck a finger in the tiny puddle that was forming and spread it out over the rough wood. "Am I th' only one who really cares 'bout what happens to us? Why did he have ta come back now once I've finally fixed everythin' and gotten used to it? Now that I've repaired some of the damages so our name isn't spit out like a hairball." He didn't bother trying to hide the tears any more. "Why now? Why can't he just go away? Why do I even fuckin' care?"

Spike awkwardly shuffled around to the chair next to the distressed teenager and patted him briefly on the shoulder. A mistake he swore he would never make again. His chest was suddenly smothered by Draco, his shirt already starting to soak through.

His hands held up helplessly through the onslaught, Spike sought out the barkeeper and gestured the man over. "You got any rooms or something?" he asked quietly.

"Hotel's down the road," was the gruff reply.

"C'mon kid." Draco felt himself being pulled to his feet through the haze of alcohol and tears. He allowed himself to be led out of the pub and into the warm night. His companion seemed to know where he was going, so it shouldn't matter if he just held on tighter and closed his eyes a little: his mind wandering though drunken thoughts.

Everybody in the Wizarding World knew about the scandal of the Death Eaters caught in the Ministry. But discovering Lucius Malfoy among them was a true cause for gloating for a great many. The Prophet was filled for weeks with articles about Draco's father and his family. Letters from hundreds of wizards and witches filled pages of the Prophet detailing every tiny suspicion and opinion about his father. There was even a special edition of the paper just to cover interviews done detailing what various important people in the community thought about the senior Malfoy. He and his mother as well. Oh, Draco was put down just as badly. They had no proof of his evilness, but any one who knew him knew it was "just there". And the public wondered why he refused to show his face for ages.

It got to the point where even the Quibbler ran issues with articles on his family. The Ministry was hounding him; he couldn't go anywhere without people shouting questions and curses at him in the streets and Aurors dogging his steps. Raids went on for days until he'd finally had enough.

Over the rest of the summer, Draco had hardly been seen in any company other than his solicitors or Gringotts representative. He'd eventually fired his accountant for complete incompetency and started dealing directly with the goblins at the bank. The other pure-bloods thought his methods uncouth; he really didn't care what they thought. He was sick of everything – press, public, his peers. He was too angry to care about anything at this point. Focusing on his finances and social situation in a business perspective helped keep him calm and grounded.

In the end, he only kept one solicitor from a new and rather small firm. He knew what he was talking about and was able to help Draco understand his and his family's position at that point in time. Draco was able to take complete control of the Malfoy fortune and assets and he had fewer people to pay. It was probably only due to Draco that his solicitor's firm soon became as popular as it did. They dealt with many of Draco's financial responsibilities and, most importantly, had no ties to Lucius or any of his father's associates.

Gossip died down and the eventual result from the young Malfoy heir's efforts was a renewed almost-respectability. In other words, only his father was usually slandered in news and magazines. There were always a few vultures out for stories and any sign of his "inevitable" fall; but Draco continued to ignore all bad publicity, still mostly avoiding the public eye. He would never be the poster child for all things good and he hardly wanted to be. That was Potter's job. He just wanted to be left alone and to ignore everything that had happened. That approach worked rather well for a good while too.

With one great escape though, everything fell apart. Lucius Malfoy hadn't even shown his face yet and he still managed to ruin everything Draco had worked for. The very next day, comparisons between father and son began to show up once more and the entire Malfoy family were pariahs to the Wizarding World. As soon as Lucius finally deigned to contact his son, Draco knew that everything was over. He wondered if he shouldn't just take the same escape route as his mother; there wasn't really a point to living right now but for his father's whims.

"Fuckin' bastard," Draco mumbled as Spike led him to the lumpy mattress sagging to the cheap hotel floor. Blinking dull grey eyes open as Spike manoeuvred his limbs into a more comfortable position for sleeping, he said, "If he thinks I'm gonna jus' roll over, he's go' 'nother thin' comin'. I'm still a Malfoy."

Spike patted his hair as his eyes closed again. "Sure mate," he soothed quietly, watching the determination fade to a softer peacefulness. Hearing the slow even breathing, Spike crossed the room and sunk into the old couch opposite the bed. He was far too tired himself to make a proper bed. He made sure there would be no way for sunlight to get in the next day before lying down and making himself as comfortable as possible.

Draco could hear his squirming as he drifted off to sleep and before he fell completely into unconsciousness, he was sure he heard the vampire say, "We're probably bloody lucky the kid's not the Dark Lord."

He's probably right, Draco had to agree.