He drank more. Draco had achieved what he had wanted. He had hurt Hermione enough that she would no longer keep trying to convince him to give their short, ill-fated relationship a chance. She couldn’t fix what Draco had irreparably broken. He sloshed more firewhiskey into his glass with an unsteady hand, liquor slopping over the glass and onto the table. There was no way he could be happy with what he’d accomplished; he loved her. But Draco thought that he should at least be feeling some sort of grim satisfaction that he’d finally ended things between them. Hermione would despise him now, and that would make it easier for them both to let go, and move on as best they could.