She had been just like them; seeing Draco Malfoy as a one-dimensional caricature of the next generation of evil, as a figure to be hated and scorned and othered. And he wasn’t that, he wasn’t that at all. Her pulse fluttered and her palms went clammy. Draco was so much more than that. Hermione wasn’t sure what he was really, but after last night, she knew he was something, to her at least. When Hermione had been curled up against Draco – admittedly drunk out of her head – there had most definitely been something sparking between them.