Draco began to rub at his head with a gesture he probably thought was stealthy.  It was the same way he tried to rub away a headache every time Pansy started in on someone, and Hermione didn't really blame him.  She slipped her bare foot against his leg under the table and let the languor of direct contact ease away her own, similar, throb.  He made a face at her and she shrugged.  It wasn't her fault he didn't get the good parts of this. She got euphoria, the occasional fire starter hands, and, she was convinced, thick and lustrous hair. He got the ongoing fear that she only liked him because she was doped into it.