Hermione watched as Draco scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms tightly around his mother. They clung to each other for a moment; Narcissa’s face pressed into one broad, skinny shoulder. Draco’s maimed arm lay across his mother’s back, and the sight of it, still present even in this happy moment of Draco’s made Hermione desperately sad. She thought maybe he was crying, but she couldn’t tell from where she stood. Hermione had never felt more like an intruder in her life. And yet she couldn’t pull her eyes away. It was so strange, seeing Draco clinging to his mother and, if not actually crying, then on the verge of tears. Hermione held her wand tightly in one sweaty palm and pressed her lips tightly together, moisture prickling at her own eyes.