"She'd come. She always came," he thought to himself as another winter chill blew over him. He nestled down even farther into the autumn leaves to keep warm as another swept over him; he shivered and lay his head down on the hard dirt ground. "She'd come… unless something had happened…. Had something happened?" he tired to think he let darkness consume him and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke it was dusk and no one had come or left. He shivered as the question came to mind again, "Had some thing happened?" and suddenly there was an answer, "Yes…." She had been there, trying to help him and he had probably killed her.

He got to his feet, the ground shaking beneath him, and he walked up and over the hill beside him. Sure enough laying at the bottom was a tangled mess of auror robs and pink hair.

"Oh no…." he said to himself as he slid down to her. Claw marks striped her cheek, arm, and stomach. "What have I done," he cried.

"Please don't cry," she spoke softly, "I'm okay…." He jumped at her sudden speaking.

"No, no you're not. You need a hospital. It's my fault."

"Listen to me," she said struggling form his grasp as he tried to pick her up, "nothing your werewolf could ever do would make me love you any less."