He was tiring of this perpetual hurt. He tipped the bottle of Ogden's up to his lips once again, but he found that he had already drained it entirely. Scoffing disgustedly at his own desperation, Draco ordered another flagon of the alcohol, anxious to feel the burn of the spice once again. Hermione had always detested the ease with which he could slip into his dangerous habits, urging him to drink only socially rather than have his usual glass before bed every evening. And when she had been with him, it had been easy to give up the juice, but now that she had abandoned him, his bad habit had only gotten worse. He was ashamed of himself, truthfully, but the sharpness of the drink was just what he needed to chase away the numbness. He had no idea how to deal with such reverberating heartache, because had never been so smitten with a woman before. Sure, he had had his share of casual girlfriends, but none of them measured up to Hermione. Seventeen months and twelve days, and somehow she had managed to grace his every thought and embed herself in his life. There was no way her presence in his mind and his heart was temporary, even now, but the brutal ache of their breakup drove him mad. He was suddenly acutely familiar with the seemingly hyperbolic tragedy of the scorned lovers she had so loved to read about.