viii: I Wish You Were A Stranger I Could Disengage.

Their eyes engage for a moment later before hers flickers away, finding her lap a much more appealing sight. As he is about to resign himself to his drink again, Draco watches as Belle rises and approaches him with the swagger she seems to own at night. Her eyes, of course, tell an entirely different story. Draco has always heard of people being portrayed through their eyes, he's had the phrase used on himself several times – but he finds this woman the most accurate portrayal of that.

It saddens him in a twisted way because she tries so hard to project an image so far from what she really feels. Then again, Draco supposes it would be awfully presumptuous for him to ever pretend to know how she feels. He has to remind himself somewhat forcefully that he doesn't know her.

Nevertheless, Draco observes with guarded eyes and a hooded gaze as she makes strides towards him. She takes the seat next to him wordlessly, ordering her own scotch for the night. He doesn't miss that she puts it on his tab, and he raises a brow at her cheek, not to mention her audacity.

"Who are you?" He says bluntly, in a low drawl. "And what the hell does the night turn you into?"

The barman returns with her drink, and she stands to take it. Swishing the amber liquid around in the glass messily, she gives him a sad smile, "Don't you mean what drink does to me?" He doesn't respond, leaving her to raise her glass slightly as a gesture, "Thanks for the drink."

Draco fails to give her any reply, or even a physical reaction, so she returns to her table with the fresh drink and a new, darker reflection in her eyes. He stares at his drink as her words echo around his head, rebounding through his consciousness and drilling into his conscience mercilessly.

Mostly because the question everyone seems to be accusatorily pointing to him lately, is regarding what drink is doing to him.

The thought isn't enough. Sighing heavily, and wishing to forget the onerous thoughts for tonight (ever) he gets another drink. Draco doesn't think he's quite numb enough yet.

He sometimes hates having to do his mother's dirty work; which, this time, entails snooping to reveal his father's dirty work. Feeling like he's fifteen again moving back and forth between the two authoritative figures in his life, Draco wonders why he still does this. He swore many years ago to cut off his father, to stop leaving himself at the mercy of his mother, but now he swears he has a masochistic streak in him that makes none of this possible.

Draco hates that he reads like a psychiatrists dream – and he's sure he could have spent many thousands on trying to resolve these issues, but the thought of pouring out his darkest traces to a stranger makes his stomach physically churn. In any case, he's a firm believer that they would just tell him what he already knows. He's fucked-up. There is no other explanation plainer and simpler than that, and definitely none that would do him justice.

Sometimes, he thinks back to simpler times; when his family was just growing, and there was a sense of familiarity, comfort and security in the air. Now, he grapples for something real, for something that won't breed insecurity and discomfort. He could go further back in his life than that – to a time where insulting Harry Potter and his best friends was his sole goal from day to day life. Back before his father became more involved with You-Know-Who, back before Draco was dragged into the mess and long before he began to realise that his family foundation is based on superficiality, deceit and asininity.

"You had one job and you couldn't even do that right," A voice hisses disapprovingly, and Draco knows the tone well enough and has heard it enough times in his life to know he's in the right place. His mother had overheard Lucius' making plans to meet here, but Draco had been dubious of how reliable she is. He really shouldn't have, she's shrewder than she looks.

Careful not to be seen by the man he calls father, Draco quickly casts a disillusionment charm and comes to sit closer to the secretive and elusive booth in the corner of the bar. He can barely hear the conversation, and resolves to sit a little closer – and also to see the face of the man Lucius is planning the dark lord resurrection -or something equally stupid - with.

Moving quickly to sit directly beside, and in front, of them, Draco sees Lucius' company much clearer, and part of him regrets it. He lived half his life believing ignorance is bliss; couldn't he have done it for a little longer?

Closing his eyes and standing, Draco knows immediately what he has to do. It might not be what he wants, needs or should do, but for some reason, he knows it's the right thing. He finally has to put things right with his father, mother and his family. They deserved this.

Exiting the stereotypically seedy establishment his father had more than likely chose, Draco can't help but applaud his father for keeping up the surprises. He can hear the sardonic clapping in his mind; you've really outdone yourself this time, father.

It may not be the dark lords resurrection, but in some ways, it's even more stupid.

The walk to the bar is longer than he has ever remembered it being, but Draco easily puts the down to the fact that he's going with a purpose besides getting drunk tonight. Of course, he does plan on putting away a few glugs of his favourite poison, but he has other business to tend to that doesn't include drinking.

A drink doesn't hurt though. He knows he shouldn't, that it's not right to mix business and pleasure – but honestly, he can't find it in him to care. He can't find him to care about much these days, and while a few weeks ago it scared him, now he embraces the dark and numb acquainted feelings.

He enters the pub with a renewed sense of self-loathing, especially upon realising that this dingy, trashy and downright filthy establishment has become his 'frequent'. He doesn't know when that happened, doesn't remotely want to think about why, but doesn't question it.

Ratface – AKA, the barman – pours him his drink without Draco even opening his mouth, which should further add to his self-loathing but only makes him silently remark on the convenience of having a frequented place.

Hours go by with the drinks as he sits alone, nursing the liquid like it was his lifeline to the world. It's more like his cut from the world. His intent in being here was to meet Belle, but for once it seems, she hasn't come. He's disappointed for more reasons than one, but brushes this under the table. He'll have to simply come here every night until he bumps into her again. Draco won't lie to himself – it's not like he wouldn't be here anyway.

It's only mildly disgusting now that he recognises the other lost souls that swallow their troubles with a bottle of gin here.

Draco downs his last drink as he's kicked out. Feeling considerably lighter and freer than hours earlier, he stumbles out of the pub with a renewed sense of revenge. Perhaps revenge isn't the expected sentiment that accompanies lightness, but Draco has always been different.

The moment he saw the man with his father earlier today, Draco recognised his face. It took him all of two seconds to pinpoint where he knew it from, because the day he met him is engrained into his mind so deeply Draco couldn't forget if he wanted.

All muscles, no brain is what he had assumed of the man. Even with that, one does not need brains to be malicious or indeed with bad intentions. Those blue eyes had been devoid of any emotion other than vindictiveness the night he met Belle, and he's positive that hasn't changed.

Still, it helps him piece things together. The reason Belle is always with him at the bar; the reason she lets his hand roam too far; the reason his father has been so shady, strange and dark again. It never occurred to Draco that his father's source of evil would come in a traditionally muggle form, but the man's hypocrisy knows no bounds.

He's read and heard enough about drugs to know it's a dangerous and thorny path. It terrorises the muggle underworld, drives teens and adults alike out of their minds and will be the hit with wizards as it is with muggles. His father will see to that.

That is, unless Draco stops it. That thought in mind, he bribes a local liquor shop to sell him two bottles of scotch, before returning to his office. Gulping it greedily, he briefly has the lucid thought of pushing his limits too far.

A/N: Hey there. So, I won't be surprised in the least if I gain zero reviews for this... IT's been too late since I updated. I plan on finishing this up pretty soon though, and so will update regardless of reviews. Sorry this is so short, but I hope to update again this weekend.

Disclaimer: HP ain't mine. Neither is "Over My Head" by the Fray.

Thanks for reading, and reviews would be nice :)

CN.