Liquid Morality

A/N: Finally finished this chapter amongst finalising bits of coursework and revision– sorry for the wait! Thank you to those who reviewed, and those that alerted and favourited :) Hope you like this chapter – it took me a while to get the awkward bits right. This is the last 'set-up' section – from now on it's gonna be far more plot-driven and interesting! Please R&R!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Chapter 4: Runaway

"Baby I got a plan,

Runaway as fast as you can."

Runaway – Kanye West

Being in the Grangers' modest home was a strange experience for Draco. Never had he pictured himself in a muggle household, let alone that of Hermione Granger, and to say he was apprehensive would be a severe understatement. After crossing the threshold he'd followed her inside, feeling more and more out of his element with each step. He'd looked at the photos displayed proudly in the frames across the hallway, his eyes lingering on a young girl with a mane of frizz and a cheeky grin. Although the photo was frozen, the twinkle in her eye had been captured perfectly. The war had taken that twinkle from all of them, but he knew that he was the reason why it would never cross her eyes in the same way again.

The kitchen was strange to say the least. There were appliances and unusual objects all around the room, and nothing seemed safe or familiar. He hovered by the door whilst Hermione picked up a strange jug-like device and took it to the faucet. He watched as she filled it with water and placed it back in its place, averting his eyes when she leaned against the work top to look at him.

He could practically hear the cogs turning over in her head as she tried to analyse his motives. He had a feeling that her brow was furrowed and her eyes had narrowed, similar to the way she'd look in school when trying to come up with a witty and cutting retort to one of his infamous insults. He stared determinedly through the window that overlooked their garden, the glass tainted with slashes of raindrops.

"Tea?"

Her voice broke him out of his reverie and his eyes met hers. She was looking at him with a mixture of apprehension, trepidation and amusement – the ridiculousness of the situation beginning to sink in.

"I'm not really a tea drinker," he admitted.

"Me neither," she agreed, hesitating for a moment. "Whiskey?"

Draco's eyes widened in disbelief as she walked through to the adjoining dining room and picked up a bottle from a cherry-oak cabinet. She poured them both a glass before he could respond and screwed the cap back on.

"It's the muggle version of firewhiskey. If you like the strong stuff you'll probably like this."

Draco accepted the glass without a word, momentarily stunned. He'd always found it hard to picture her gulping down a butterbeer, never mind whiskey.

They sipped quietly, sneaking blank glances at the other, both wanting to speak but unable to form the right words.

The clock ticked.

Water dripped from the tap.

And Draco's legs began to get stiff from standing.

"Why exactly are you here?" she asked bluntly, her voice husky from the whiskey.

And there it was – the golden question that he had no idea how to answer.

"I…" he started, not quite sure of how he was going to approach the issue. "I wanted to…"

"To what?"

Her voice was soft, with a hint of accusation. Draco's eyes dropped to his glass.

"I don't know."

Hermione sighed, walking over to the table and sitting down.

Draco followed.

"Why did you let me in?" he asked, taking a seat opposite her.

Hermione's face broke into an ironic smile.

"I wish I knew. I guess I've been doing a lot of stupid things lately."

Draco could only nod in response.

"You look awful," she said dryly.

"As do you."

"Touché."

Draco traced the rim of his glass with his finger, unable to understand why there was a part of him – albeit a small, microscopic part – that felt an odd sense of ease. Here he was with Hermione Granger, drinking muggle whiskey, bantering almost as they used to, and there was a part of him that was comfortable. It would have been almost enjoyable if he wasn't aware of how the moment was tainted with his impending confession.

Hermione brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, and Draco was again hit by how small she seemed – it was literally as though she'd shrunk into herself. Even though she was a woman, Draco felt as though he was sitting across from a girl – a girl unsure of her identity and where she belonged.

He knew he had a small piece of information that would either break her further, or piece a tiny part of her back together again, and he knew what he had to do with it.

"Granger, I did come here for a reason."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"I assumed you did."

Draco swallowed thickly.

"I have to tell you something."

Hermione sat up, her eyes locking with his – there was something about his tone of voice that alarmed her. Draco shifted nervously.

"It's about Ron."

The change in her demeanour was so quick he knew he would never have noticed it if he hadn't been studying her intently. Her eyes had darkened, and were now wide and alert, and she'd subconsciously lent forward. She looked frozen – as if she were anticipating his words with baited breath.

"I…I don' t know if you know this, but…I was there that night."

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Just moments ago she'd been wondering why she'd even let Draco Malfoy, childhood nemesis and former deatheater, cross her threshold, and now it appeared that he could be the guy to tell her everything she needed to know. But his grim expression was making her stomach twist unpleasantly, and she had a feeling she'd be needing more whiskey to get through it.

"You were there?" she whispered.

Draco nodded. His throat felt like sand paper, and each time he spoke he felt as though he was being prickled to death. He hadn't even gotten to the main part yet, and already he was contemplating apparating away. Therapeutic my arse, he thought bitterly. It may have helped Blaise, but he doubted it was going to work for him.

"Do you know who did it?"

In that moment, it was as if time ceased to exist. It was as though he was standing at a cross roads – he could either confess and deal with the consequences, or deny and live with the guilt. Neither option was particularly appealing to him.

The sound of keys in the front door broke the moment, and Hermione jumped out of her seat as if it had burned her.

"Hermione, we're home!"

The voice of a woman floated through the walls, and Draco knew he had to leave before things got even messier. Hermione watched as he stood up, anger flashing in her eyes.

"Don't you dare…" she hissed.

Draco pulled out his wand, guilt washing over his face.

"I'm sorry."