She didn’t look at all like the Hermione Granger that Draco had known at school. Superficially she was the same, if nearly a year older now – but everything that really mattered was different. Those warm firewhiskey brown eyes were harder and always stained around with shadows, and her mouth had tiny lines of strain and stress around it, etched into her skin. She was more angular; too thin. She always looked tired. They all did to some extent, these days. The weight of the war, bearing down on them – and right now Hermione looked worn and weary, older than the nearly nineteen she was. Beaten. Exhausted. Sad.