She brushed the corner of her eyes and said, "I haven’t given you enough credit Mr. Malfoy.’ And she hadn’t. But this Draco Malfoy standing in front of her was so different than the one she met back at Hogwarts, or even at the graveyard. Draco at eleven years old hadn’t a care for the world. The world catered to him. Draco at eighteen didn’t care for anything, not himself even. He was lost, without purpose, without hope. But this Draco Malfoy knew exactly what he wanted. He cared enough to go after what he believed. He had something he believed in. How could Hermione stop him? She knew what it was to follow something she believed. She had obliterated her own parents memory and had chosen to follow Harry. She had just never put Draco in the same category as herself. But listening to him speak, she knew there was so much more to his story than the part he played in that war. All his life he had never been given a chance to choose something for himself. But now that he had that opportunity, he was choosing to help guide those in need of his guidance. She nodded her head in his direction and affirmed, "You should go back.’ Then she let his hand go and turned away and softly whispered, "I am proud of you.’