Liquid Morality

A/N: Thank you to everyone who favourite, alerted and reviewed! I love the response this is getting! I hope you all like this chapter – it took me a while to get right. I'm not planning on giving the Weasleys a huge role, but I felt it necessary to include them – as Ron's family they are key in pushing Hermione's character further emotionally. I'd love to hear what you think – both good and bad – I know this isn't my best, but I hope you like it anyway! Next chapter will be solely focused on Draco and Hermione! :)

Also, thank you to kanjimaru67 whose review I couldn't reply to – it made me smile!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Chapter 3: Leave my Body

"I don't want your future,

I don't need your past,

One bright moment is all I ask"

Leave my Body - Florence & the Machine

"Are you sure, Hermione? Not even for half an hour?"

Hermione smiled sadly at the auburn-haired woman in front of her and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Gin. Now just isn't a good time…"

Ginny Weasley sighed heavily and leaned against the door frame. When she'd first arrived at the Grangers' house that morning to collect Hermione, she'd known that it wouldn't be an easy task. For the past few months, the brunette had exhausted every possible excuse she could think of for not accompanying them to visit Ron's grave. It wouldn't have concerned Ginny too much if not for the fact the Hermione hadn't been once since the funeral – five months ago.

Losing Ron had been the hardest casualty of the war for them, and everyone was feeling the strain. The Burrow, although still a home, was no longer as warm as it once was. There was a sense of emptiness in the air – a heavy presence weighing down on the atmosphere, suffocating its inhabitants slowly. Torturously. As if laced with some sort of poison.

Molly and Arthur Weasley had aged ten years in a matter of months, unable to fathom a way of dealing with the loss of their youngest son. Sleep no longer felt like sleep any more. Time held no meaning. They seemed to get through the day on autopilot, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. She wasn't any better. During the war, Ginny would comfort herself with plans of reuniting with Harry once everything was over. It was a pragmatic dream. She'd never fully considered how it would happen, or even if it would happen.

After being told by Lupin that they'd found Ron's body, that he was stone-cold dead, there was no room in her thoughts for anything else.

Five months later things were still the same.

Some days had been slightly better than others, but Ginny shivered to think of every Sunday when the red-headed brood would sit around the table for dinner, and Ron's chair would remain empty.

A space that could never be filled.

"Mum would love to see you. Everyone would."

Conversation had become limited to "how are things?" and "lovely weather". Every Sunday there was an awkward silence that no one ever knew how to fill. Fred and George had taken to exchanging meaningful glances across the table, whilst Ginny, Fleur and Harry, on occasion, would try valiantly to keep the mood as neutral as possible. Charlie had taken a one-way Portkey back to Romania and refused to come back.

Yet, despite the tension and stifling sense of loss, there was a sense of comfort in simply being able to see everyone. To know that they were still there.

Hermione fiddled with the loose threads on her jumper, looking remarkably small in her parents' hallway, avoiding all eye contact.

"Not today."

Ginny knew Hermione wasn't being selfish maliciously. The war seemed to have taught everyone to think about themselves in one way or another. Some turned to potions that promised to put them into a numbing sleep, whilst others became introverted. She couldn't lie and say that she didn't want Hermione there for her own need for a friend to lean on.

Hermione saw Ginny's face fall and tried to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over her.

"I'm sorry Ginny," she said in a small voice. "If I could force myself to come I would, but I just don't have the energy anymore."

"You shouldn't have to force yourself!" Ginny exclaimed, her patience finally wearing thin. "I'm not asking for the world, Hermione, I'm asking for you to understand that you're not the only one going through this! We've all lost him too!"

The words cut through Hermione like tiny shards of glass. She knew this would happen. It was why she'd been so reluctant about answering the door. Every week it was the same predicament – Ginny or Harry would ask her to go, she'd refuse and then hate herself to see their crestfallen expressions. She would have given everything she had in that moment to be able to smile brightly at the young witch and go with her. Every last fibre of her being wanted to go. But she wasn't ready to face it yet. She wasn't ready to face him.

"I know…I wish I could –"

"Don't bother. I wouldn't want you to over-exert yourself," Ginny snapped, wrenching the front door open and stepping outside.

"Ginny wait, I don't want to leave things like this!"

Ginny took a series of deep breaths before turning to face Hermione.

"You may not need anyone else's support, Hermione, but did it ever occur to you that we need yours? We all went through the same experience – remember all those nights we sat up and waited for the people to come home? Remember having to say goodbye and thinking we'd never see each other again? How do you think it makes us feel now that we can finally stop living with that fear, you decide to become a recluse and drop off the radar?"

Ginny was now growing increasingly pink in colour, and Hermione was finding it hard to hold the gaze of the green eyes that were now flashing dangerously. Guilt pounded through her and her chest began to tighten.

You need to hear this.

"And Harry?" Ginny continued, her harangue far from over. "Well, let's just say he feels like he's lost both of his best friends. After everything you've been through together you can't even make the effort to owl him?"

Hermione was so numb she didn't once feel the tears trickle down her face.

Ginny took a deep breath and ran her hands through her hair distractedly, the anger seeping away leaving vulnerability in its wake.

"We miss you."

In the future when she looked back over the events of her life, Hermione knew that this moment, and those three words, would stand out for their importance. Maybe it was the broken tone in which they were spoken. Perhaps it was the anger she could see in the other girl's expression. Maybe it was simply because when she looked past Ginny's head for a moment, she noticed that it had begun to rain – she couldn't remember the last time she'd noticed the weather. Regardless of why, Hermione was affected enough to stand on the doorstep long after Ginny had left, slowly getting soaked, and feeling slightly more human than she had in a long time.

x-x-x

Draco Malfoy had never been to a muggle neighbourhood before.

Born and raised in an isolated manor under the prejudiced eye of his father, it was hardly on the top of his to-do list. Whilst at the age of twenty-one he knew that a lot of what he'd been taught was wrong, he was still largely apprehensive about being in the muggle world. He had no idea what to expect, and didn't like feeling so ignorant. He knew he was like a fish out of water, and with no one to reassure him or do the deed for him, the anxiety was beginning to mount.

Standing on the Grangers' doorstep with no one to ask for assistance, he contemplated his actions thus far. Since Blaise had spoken to him, he'd been unable to shake the idea away, regardless of how hard he tried. So for some reason, he'd decided to throw himself into a situation completely out of his comfort zone and waltz into the muggle world to tell Hermione Granger – his sworn nemesis for ten years – that he'd killed her fiancé five months earlier.

Out of all the stupid things he'd done in his life, Draco was sure this was pretty high on the list.

It hadn't taken him long to find the Grangers' house, but once he'd located it, he'd stood on the doorstep for ages, his thoughts entangling themselves into an even greater mess. He was so tempted to leave. All he had to do was turn around. He had no plan of how he would deal with the events that transpired after being granted the chance to speak to her. Every time he considered his approach, his head began to hurt. Granger had a temper on her, and Merlin only knew what she was like now in a grief-stricken state. But there was a small part of him that knew he had to tell her. If it would help him sleep for a few hours, it had to be worth it.

He inspected the doorbell with a scowl, unsure of how to proceed. In a moment of experimentation, he pushed the button and startled back as it made a noise. He shuffled nervously as he waited for her to open the door, shifting his weight on each foot. It felt like hours before he heard footsteps approaching from the other side.

Before he knew it, the door had opened, and he was standing directly in front of a soaking-wet Hermione Granger.

Bloody Hell.

She'd gotten thinner. Her hair, still bushy and brown, had lost some of its life. Her cheeks had gone in slightly, and her clothes, though dripping with water, hung off her petite frame. She had the same hollow look in her eyes as everyone else.

Another product of destruction.

"Malfoy?"

Her eyes swept over him, though he noticed that they didn't widen in fear like so many others. He was suddenly glad his cloak masked his mark on his forearm.

"Granger," he returned gruffly.

Keeping one hand on the door, as if poised to slam it shut, she poked her chin up and glared at him.

"What are you doing here?"

And there it was. The million dollar question. What was he doing there. He swallowed the lump in his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I…don't know."

If only you knew.

There was a long pause.

The rain poured, and Draco barely felt it.

The clock ticked, and Hermione barely heard it.

Just when he was convinced that nothing would come of it, she spoke.

"Are you coming in?"

His eyes widened.

"You shouldn't let me in, Granger," he advised, his voice grainy.

Hermione smiled wryly and leaned against the door frame.

"You're right. I shouldn't."

Draco nodded solemnly and decided it was for the best. Associating with the families of the victims may have helped Blaise, but it wasn't for him. Draco was a Malfoy, and a large part of being a Malfoy – as he had come to find out – meant being a coward. He wasn't going to fight against her or persuade her to let him in.

Straightening up, he began to depart before Hermione stepped aside.

Draco blinked.

"I guess I'm a sucker for punishment."

That makes two of us.