Lucius Malfoy had changed. He seemed to not care about anything anymore, which was perfectly understandable. His wife was dead, his son had left in disgust and his home was in shambles, the remaining House-elves doing their best to scrub away the blood on the dungeon walls.
Hermione was not surprised to see Lucius sitting on a snowy bench in Knockturn Alley, staring listlessly at the snow. Hermione had no love for the man but even she had to admit he looked miserable and lonely.
Taking a breath, she sat beside him. "Hello, mister Malfoy. Are you quite all right? No one has seen you for a while. Your son has been worrying."
The thin, sickly man glanced up. His pale eyelashes fluttered against his gaunt cheekbones.
"Draco hates me." His voice broke. "As he should."
And he began weeping into his hands.
Hermione was nothing if not kindhearted, so she gathered the shell of a man into her arms despite his faint protests and whispered half-hearted comforts into his ear.
A/N: Prompts by: xabandonedaccountx. Their new account is 'the whole world is watching'.