With the subsequent forgetfulness of the moon came the realization that neither he nor Draco had taken their Wolfsbane, even though Hermione had diligently brewed it for them both the week before. Now he lay there, staring up at the morning sky, grey, lifeless, snow on the horizon, and not for the first-time tears leaked from his eyes. Hermione, his mate, stable but unmoving, as lifeless as the scenery around him, and days later, they had nothing to show for it.