She had not seen or heard of Malfoy since the Battle at Hogwarts. He looked somewhat older, wearier. His eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, body malnourished. But the detached way he looked at his father’s grave, gave even Hermione shivers. This was not a mourner. This was someone who had lost everything. May be if this was another day, she would have walked away. If she didn’t know that look, if she didn’t feel the same sense of loss, she might have left. But as someone drowning in her own sorrow, she couldn’t make herself ignore the silent cries of another desperate soul. So even though she didn’t have her own balance, she reached out to him. Hermione walked over and stood in front of him.