He couldn't forget her. Draco growled as he paced the living room, his mind almost unconsciously counting the steps as he paced. Six long paces from the chair to the table, and back again. Over and over. Because he couldn't forget… Granger.

Finally, he flopped into the closest chair, the legs squealing as they slid back an inch. The fireplace was crackling cheerfully, though Draco could think of little reason to be cheerful. She was gone. He'd finally chased her away. Pouring himself another glass of gin he watched the flames through the glass for a second before taking a bitter bullet in hand and swallowing the glass.

"She can't be gone," he said to the empty study. He wasn't sure why he had to protest it out loud – there was… no one left. He'd made sure of that.

Three glasses later and he was near crying (which was very un-Malfoy like, and more importantly, just pathetic). "She can't be gone." Something told him that if he kept saying it she'd come back. But this time was real, so she'd said. She'd packed her bags, she'd taken her stuff. She'd never done that before. She'd never walked out without screaming at him, either. Their fights usually degraded into name calling, before she rushed off to spend a weekend with her parents, and come sulking back. They'd break up, make up, and great sex ensued.

But it'd been a week now. Almost to the hour. Draco knew because he'd been counting them. He had a small bit of shadow growth on his face, all his rather hairless self could muster in the seven days since she'd been gone. He hadn't cooked, he'd eaten when he remembered, which wasn't often.

Alcohol, now that was a true friend. It never failed to make him feel warm and fuzzy and light headed and … forgetful. That was perhaps the best aspect of it. That when he drank himself down a sieve and poured himself into bed, he didn't dream of her, didn't wake with her name on his lips…

It was well past eleven when his groggy eyes opened, the cool wet sensation on his forehead eliciting a small groan. Flicking for a second, his grey blue eyes eventually found honey brown ones, honey spun in chocolate… and so sad.

"Oh, Malfoy." Hermione wiped his forehead with the wet cloth as she kneeled beside him. Her cold hand taking his hot one in hers, squeezing softly as she looked at him. "What would you do without me?"

Draco coughed out his words, letting a hand cup the side of her face as he pulled her close. "Don't know… don't… know." Eyes intent on hers, he kissed her hesitantly before she pushed him away.

"We'll talk tomorrow. We'll – figure this out." She gave him a shaky smile. He was her addiction. Bad for her, great for her, ups and downs… but he was hers, and she could never forget that.