Hermione didn’t need her sleeping potion any longer. She poured the remainder down the drain and tossed the syringes in the bin. She didn’t delude herself into thinking she was better. On the contrary, she had a much better drug now. A much stronger drug. She had Fleur, and she was ever so addicted. She’d never be able to go back to her pathetic potions. They couldn’t compare. She couldn’t lose this high. She’d rather die.