ii. Now there's no time to shine my rusty halo.

His curiosity had reached its pique, and now Draco is losing interest in her again. She's just another woman; no different or unique characteristic jumping out at him. Of course, the exception being that she drinks far more than her liver should be able to handle, but that's not his problem. The only thing he cares for is the comfort he receives from knowing he's not the most miserable person here.

He waves over the barman and asks for a firewhiskey this time, and the older man retrieves it without a sound. As they exchange the good for money, the barman eyes him inquisitively. Draco raises his eyebrow, as if to ask him what on earth he's staring at. The man is much older than he, with deeply engrained lines around his mouth and forehead. Not so heavily around his eyes, and he wonders if the man is a sombre and serious one. (Perhaps like him.) A thick mustache occupies the area above his mouth, and Draco briefly wonders why someone would want something that looks like a dead rat on their face. Granted, he doubts there's many people this barman tries to woo in anyway.

"Yes?" Seeing that they're still sizing each other up, Draco decides to just bite the bullet and talk to the man. God, did he hate socialising with common people.

"You been in here a lot." He shrugs, grabbing a tea towel and wiping down the spot in front of the blond.

"Keen observation there, detective."

"No need to be rude, I was only seein' what your problem is."

"What isn't my problem is the problem. Look, I wouldn't expect you to understand. We're not turning this into a cliché scene of the barman offering his sympathetic ear and me finally pouring out all my worries to someone and getting emotional. So why don't you go make sure one of the vermin at the bar aren't dead, and I'll return to my drink."

He blinks. Once, twice. Still not moving, and Draco rolls his eyes. This guy is thick. No wonder the bar is such a shithole, he muses silently. He looks down at his drink then and takes a sip, noting that the barman has moved along and sends out a thank you but unsure as to why. After all, he could have happily continued ignoring him as Draco does with many others.

Two drinks later, and he's glancing around. It's considerably emptier than earlier but he's not certain on what time it is. The young crowd have long moved on, having gotten their cheap drink, and most of the other respectable people have also left. He begins to wonder if he even falls into that bracket anymore – he does come here all the time. This bar, and the other in the nearby streets. Still, what does being respectable even mean? He knows it when he see's it, but he can't even define it. Does its meaning effectively end his membership to that elite group? Draco concedes that he cares a little about the answer, but a whole lot less than he did a few years ago. Or even a year ago.

"We're closin'." The old man mutters, his friendly demeanour no longer present; it almost makes Draco want to smile. However, instead of doing so, he looks around the place.

"There's still people here. Why aren't you kicking them out?" They've never had problems like this before, so Draco reckons that the barman is just pissed because he didn't want to half his problems with him.

"There's two others. And sure, he's helping her." The barman nods over to the couple in the corner, and then turns to go into the back for something. Draco focuses in on the pair, and abruptly decides that he is not helping her.

The semi-intriguing woman from earlier is only half-conscious, falling to the side everytime the man tries to pull her up. In Draco's plainest terms, the man is fat, ugly and treading a dangerous territory. Perhaps he wouldn't be ugly if he wasn't fat as Draco tends to immediately write off someone bigger than him. (He hates the thought of being overpowered. He's a fatist.)

As the guy tries to pull her on top of him, his hand travelling towards the hem of her short, red dress, Draco frowns. On top of all the other wonderful tidbits on his personal resume, sitting by and watching this can't be one of them. She's clearly out of her mind, and in no position to do anything that man has on his mind. Bracing himself, and pondering on when he became so chivalrous, he approaches the table with a casual confidence.

"Excuse me, are you aware you have your hands on my wife?" He bites out, cool as ice.

He shoves her back into the corner of the chair, where she slumps over on her side. Her raven hair does fall over her face this time, and no one is brushing it back for her. Now in closer quarters with him, he notices that the man is around the same age as him. Jet black, shaggy hair touches his shoulders and bright blue eyes with no apparent emotion make up his prominent features. His shoulders are broad, but his stomach fat and his overall appearance shabby. There's an air of creepy attached to his appearance, and Draco quickly classes him with the rest of the vermin that frequent the bar.

"Your wife?" His face twists in amusement, but his eyes remain empty.

"Did I stutter?" Draco's beginning to regret the encounter as they both draw to full height, and he has a good three inches on the blond.

"Smart ass, eh? Well then, I'll definitely enjoy this one."

Draco ignores him and moves towards her, deftly throwing her over his shoulder – because after all, he didn't actually give a shit about her – and tossing the other man a nonchalant glance. "All the best."

He seems to have hit a nerve as he turns to walk away from the old fatty, but the guy suddenly lurches forward to either grab Draco or her, he's not so sure. Just inches before the creep as reached his target, Draco thinks of his house.

Poof. He's gone.

As soon as he opens his eyes, Draco curses himself. And the world, and his luck, and his stupid chivalry, and morality. Nothing good comes of being good, he's learned. Every time he does the right thing, it seems to back fire on him. He always had good fortune when being an asshole, that's just the way his life worked.

Dropping the woman onto the ground, he rubs his hands over his face and sighs. Fortunately for him, he didn't often stray to muggle bars and he was perfectly within his rights to apparate that time. He tries not to make habits of that sort of thing though, because when he wants to escape the society he lives in, Draco goes to a muggle bar and attempts to blend in. He's long lost his abhorrence of the muggle race, and instead finds them quite amusing to watch. (He never stopped being condescending, unfortunately.)

Picking up the hand of the woman, he's seconds away from apparating when the porch light of his house flickers on. He curses – loudly, this time. Of course that causes her to hear.

"Draco? Is that you?" The voice is hopeful, yet hesitant. He remembers that she lives alone and figures he must have scared her. It worries him that he's not sure if he cares or not. Looking up at the architectural masterpiece that used to be his house – with its vast and extensive gardens, wide and open balconies and pristine paint coats – and feels a wave of nostalgia wash over him.

Before he can contemplate this further, her voice rings out again. Except this time, she knows it's him, and her tone is shrill. "Draco! What in Merlin's name are you doing here? You're not staying here, I told you that before. I got the house – you gave me the house!"

He stands, dusting his trousers off and remains calm, "That was when I had thought our son would be here, Astoria. Now be a dear and go back to bed." She steps into the light of the porch, and he can see her better now. Draco stands at the end of the steps, his neck craning upwards to watch her.

She wraps her arms tightly around herself – to protect herself from the cold or him, he isn't sure. Her wand is in her right hand, and he remembers that she thought an intruder was on the grounds. She's donning a pale green night dress that reaches just below her knees – not flattering at all – and her hair is tied messily into a bobbin at the base of her neck. Her eyes are tired, and the bags under them are deeply engrained into her pale skin. Concern flickers in him for just a moment, but he pushes it away immediately.

"Stop being such an asshole." She spits, fire raising in her. Astoria's eyes fall onto the figure beside him then, and he knows a volcano is about to erupt. Her eyebrows arch angrily, her eyes turn accusatorily to him and her fists come to her sides, clenched. The wand still tightly, dangerously and forebodingly in her right hand. "You brought a woman here!" Draco knows better than to answer her. "How dare you! Who do you think you are? You're a miscreant, Draco. Not fit to even grace these grounds, especially not with some … some… some whore at your side!"

"Do tell me how you feel." He replies sarcastically, but just as Astoria thrusts her wand forward and opens her mouth, Draco grabs the woman's hand and apparates to his office. Safety has never felt so good.

(He'd never admit it aloud, but part of him is saddened at how he and Astoria unravelled. A civil conversation is beyond them now, far from their days of giddy love and stars in their eyes.)

He isn't able to sleep, and so starts reviewing some sales figures and reports. His office is quite large, with a luxury couch sitting in the corner of the room and a rich cherry wood desk in the centre of the room. Behind him, windows glimpse out onto the streets below and sometimes he people watches for hours out those windows. Other times, he watches the sunrise or sunset from his plush chair.

The only light he has on is the small one on his desk, focusing solely on making his papers readable and writing possible. He's been doing this for about two hours now, and it's coming up to five o'clock. The stranger he saved and then all but introduced to his ex-wife is sleeping on his couch, he still hasn't slept yet, and he has a meeting in four hours. Draco wonders when his life became so pathetic.

A stirring on the couch draws his attention, the woman groaning and stretching as she wakes. He had thought she would be out for a few more hours, and had been slightly perturbed by it. After much thinking, he had come to the conclusion that if she were still out by the time people were arriving for work, he would put her in some hotel. Yes, he's aware that he's playing citizen of the year.

However, all these plans are fruitless as she rouses. He puts down his pen, and watches carefully as her eyes blearily open and close. Draco's waiting for the horror when she doesn't know where she is, and then turns and see's him. Her hair is matted and awful looking, while her make-up is smeared. She looks a bit of a mess.

Slowly, he see's it dawn on her that she doesn't recognise the area. Instead of the expected horror though, she nods in approval at the surroundings before jumping when she see's him. He raises a brow in her direction, and she raises both in return.

"I don't believe I know you, or where I am." She's not sheepish as he expected, and she's not as grateful as she should be. He envisioned her waking up and throwing herself at his feet, thanking him profusely and begging him to not think too ill of her. Except instead, she sits there casual as you like, speaking as if this were a daily occurrence. On reflection, Draco realises that he has no idea if it is or not for her.

"You're at Malini Enterprises. My name is Draco… and you are?"

She stands, fixing her dress in a surprisingly graceful fashion, "Right. Um, you can call me Grace."

"I can call you? So that's not your name?"

"Is that really important?" She questions him, a flicker of the desperation in his eyes that he expected. "I'm very grateful for whatever you did last night, because I know nothing happened by how I feel.."

"Yes, I just saved you from being raped. As you do." He says nonchalantly.

She pauses, shock entering her expression for just a moment, "Well, thank you. What was your name again?"

"You don't recognise me? Draco."

She tilts her head to the side, studying him. As she does this, Grace walks towards him and sits with her legs crossed on the chair in front of his desk. She almost manages to look professional, had her face not been a wreck and her dress not been but a belt. He remembers he had asked her a question when she replies, "No, am I supposed to?"

"Well, if you don't live under a rock. But who am I to judge habitats. Draco Malfoy, though I must say the pleasure has been all yours." He extends his hand, a bit gingerly, and she accepts it daintily.

"Grace Office."

"Excuse me?" He wonders if she has mental problems.

"I—I couldn't think of any other name quick." Now she looks sheepish. At this point, he finds her infuriatingly difficult to figure out and decides that he doesn't have the time for this carry on today – or any other day – and knows it's time to kick her out. At least now she can walk out herself.

"Right, I get thinking can be difficult. I've a lot of work to do now, so if you wouldn't mind leaving?"

Grace appears a little taken aback, "You don't seem the type to help a damsel in distress." Her facial expression afterwards portrays that she hadn't meant to say that out loud, but he merely waves her off. She apologises anyway before looking around. Her gaze is calm at first, but as the seconds tick by, it becomes panicked.

Draco rolls his eyes, "The door is to the right of the couch."

She doesn't even blink, "No – no, my bag.. Do you have it? Please say you have it, I don't know what I'll do.. I need … do you have it?" Grace looks quite lost, and he pities her, so Draco entertains her requests some more. (He never does this kind of thing.)

"No, I don't." The gentle tone to his voice strikes him, "Maybe it's at the bar?" Feeling extremely charitable for reasons he can't fathom, he opens his drawer and takes out his card. "Look, if you can't find it at the bar, give this number a call. It has to be here somewhere otherwise."

She accepts the card and says nothing for a moment, simply standing there looking at it. Draco returns to his reports, but after several minutes he becomes aware that she's still standing in the same place and sighs. He's beginning to feel frustrated.

"Have a good day, goodbye now."

She jumps, then nods. Dressed in the clothes from the night before, her hair and make-up in a disarray, she steps out of his office and then out of the building. Draco, unable to help himself, glances out his window and see's her doing the walk of shame down the street. In the background, the sun is beginning to rise and he turns his attention to that instead.

Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.

Hope you enjoyed that! I enjoyed writing it, I have to say. I like writing this Draco :) As always, I'd love to know what the thoughts are! Thanks a million for reviews, and the more I get, the faster I'll update.. That's not blackmail or a threat, it's just generally what happens. I'm going to try and get the newest chapter out by Wednesday. Meaning, either mon, tues or wed.
Disclaimer: Don't own HP or "Rusty Halo" by the Script.
Thanks for reading, reviews would be fantastic!
CN