The way his witch slept looked unnatural. Every time he had previously caught her sleeping, she was usually curled into herself with her hands tucked under her head. Now she was positioned on her back, one hand on her chest, and the other laying off to her side. He could tell that Fleur had tried and failed to wrestle her curls into submission, and had instead left them fanned around her face. His chest caved in as he took stock of how much weight she had lost, and the small cuts and bruises that he could see on her body. How could he have let this happen?