He set his glass down and fumbled the Scrabble tiles and board back into the box, eyes clouded and hand trembling. He stood and limped to his bed, and shoved the Scrabble box well beneath it, along with the rest of the games Hermione had brought him. Out of sight, out of mind. The books, Draco left on top of his dresser, reminding him of her with every glance; at least them he could read. It was only practical to read them, and not shove them out of sight. Or that was what he told himself. He hobbled back to the table and retrieved his glass of firewhiskey, staring into the depths of the amber liquid, and then swilling it back, and refilling the glass. It was time, Draco thought self-deprecatingly, to sit and drink himself into oblivion.