Liquid Morality

A/N: Hey! Thank you to everyone who favourited, alerted and reviewed – each one meant a lot to me! Chapter two's up finally, though it's a lot shorter than I originally intended it to be. But I promise that not only will chapter three be longer, but it will also feature some Dramione interaction! I hope you like it and I'd love to know what you think, so please review! Happy Easter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!

Chapter Two: Toy Soldiers

Only emptiness remains,

It replaces all, all the pain.

Toy Soldiers - Martika.

Despite popular belief, Draco Malfoy had never been one for seedy nightclubs.

The music was always too loud and not to his taste, the lighting was either too dim or too stark, and the women were never as desirable as they seemed after one too many firewhiskeys. He'd always felt like a fish out of water in such establishments. But since the war, he'd come to see the appeal. Where better to escape from the harshness of reality than a place which asked no questions? He felt comfortable in the shadows where the name Malfoy held little prestige and little fear. He'd found that, as long as he never looked up too suddenly, the lighting failed to hurt his eyes. And the women stayed away if he put up as many barriers as possible. The last thing he needed was another conquest to complicate his life any further.

It turned out that the young Malfoy wasn't the only one. Many had taken to drowning their sorrows in such secluded watering holes, all united by the trauma they'd experienced regardless of what side they'd fought for. It was easy to spot them; men and women emitting the same emptiness as if it were a special scent.

Draco smirked half-heartedly to himself. The war seemed to have eliminated all traces of 'the individual', leaving a cloned race in its place.

"You call that a drink, Zabini?"

Blaise ignored his friend's sneer at his tall glass of butterbeer and cracked a smile.

"It's better than the poison you insist on pouring into yourself."

Draco nodded grimly and cast his eyes over his friend's face.

Gaunt. Colourless. Creased.

His eyes no longer held the promise of mischief they used to exude. It was harrowing really – Zabini had suffered no physical injury from the war, and yet he looked more disheveled than most in the St Mungos trauma ward.

"Sleep still alluding you?"

Draco nodded again, running a hand through his hair and fixing Blaise with a troubled gaze.

"I don't know what else to do! Potions and magic don't help, and that muggle stuff only made me feel worse when I woke up. It's fucking me up, mate."

Blaise sighed in understanding and began fidgeting with his hands.

"Look Draco, I think it's time you took control of the situation –"

"How am I supposed to take control of something that can't be controlled?" Draco snapped.

Blaise shook his head and tried to reason with the blond.

"We went through a lot of shit. The stuff we've seen…the stuff we've done…the sounds…But we have to find a way of living somehow."

Draco pondered his words. Redemption was something that seemed intent on staying out of arms reach for him. Azkaban had refused to have him, he hadn't lost his family's manor or fortune, and - the most puzzling of all, he was still alive. Draco wasn't used to doing things for himself. Since he was a child, things had either been done for him, or to him. Decisions had been made, and he'd gone along with them. For so long now, he'd been waiting for someone to come and deal with the situation for him - punish him for his deeds and deal with his life. This concept of taking charge was new and surreal.

"I don't suppose you've worked out a system?" he asked.

"I don't know about a system, but I did stop drinking and living in denial," Blaise said in a sagacious tone. "And I grew some balls and went to talk to the families I'd affected."

Draco's eyes widened and he looked at Blaise in awe.

"What?"

Blaise swallowed thickly.

"I know it sounds ridiculous. Merlin, sometimes I can't believe I actually did it. But honestly Draco, there's nothing like it. Nothing can punish you more than looking into the eyes of the people you've taken something from and seeing the pain you've caused. We've left children without parents, parents without children, people without their other halves. You don't realise just how much that means until you see it for yourself."

Draco's throat was dry. He could understand where Blaise was coming from – in a weird way it made sense. But the thought of doing it himself made him feel undeniably queasy. He'd hurt too many people to even begin to list, and the one murder that affected him more than the rest was something he didn't want to touch. It was a can of worms that had to remain sealed.

"Didn't they lash out at you?" he asked.

Blaise chuckled dryly.

"Of course. Believe me, I've been hit and insulted more times than I care to remember. But it's worth it – what we did…there's no punishment that fits the crimes. But this comes pretty close."

Draco sighed heavily.

"Something tells me that I won't be going to visit the Weasleys anytime soon."

Blaise leaned back, piercing him with hard eyes.

"It's not just the Weasleys you took something from though, is it?"