Draco noticed that the mist around the ground was growing thicker, and that there was a bluish-green tint to it, particularly in the burial ground. It held no odor and when he probed at it, it proved to act no differently to regular mist. He sought to keep an eye on it and went about his business—roaming around his empty home and gazing at and speaking with his wife’s portrait, dreaming of the day he might see her again, but in the flesh. Her portrait always stared back with cold eyes, and when she spoke her words were sharp, recalling the many, many ways he had hurt her.