Hermione felt a bubbling self of betrayal in her stomach, curdling her insides. It was as if one lavish dinner had brought back the pompous, aristocratic pure-blood she’d despised in their youth. His social stature bleeding, perforating through his conscience, soaking through the thin veil he’d hung for her. One hit of the opulent, elite drug that was pure-blood aristocracy, and he was Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts. 