He had no idea where he'd gone wrong and lost her trust. He had remembered to kiss her good morning every day, and kiss her good night before slipping into unconsciousness with her in his arms. He had realized that she hated flowers, because she'd said they were too pretty to be plucked and allowed to wither indoors, so he'd bought her books instead. Muggle classics, Wizarding tales, research tomes, and even a first-edition copy of Hogwarts: a History signed by Bathilda Bagshot herself. He had never limited himself to complimenting her looks alone; he had praised her determination in her job as the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, marveled at her tenacity in dealing with Potter and Weasley's endless antics, lauded her endless passion for lobbying for the rights of non-human magical creatures (especially with S.P.E.W., her proudest achievement), and commended her unfailing patience with him, a man who had never been worthy of her love. He had been completely smitten with her, and he could not claim to be past those feelings. He was still drawn to her, unable to tear his attention away from her, watching from his dark corner as she lit up the room with a single electric smile.