Neville usually remembered to renew the Charms that kept his herbs warm in the wintertime, but he knew from the limp, sorry leaves that it had been weeks since he had given the little garden the attention it deserved.
The herbs weren't the only thing, though Neville surely couldn't blame Hannah for his dead plants. He did what he could with water, crushed minerals, and the neglected Charms, but it was probably too late. For the herbs.
Hannah had been writing and it would have been rude not to respond. And he had been busy. He'd plotted a grove for cherry trees - English Morello and Black Tartarian - and he'd wanted the soil composition to be perfect. Neville wasn't ready just yet to stake a tent outside to observe the dew patterns in the morning, but he was running out of excuses.
And he missed her, as much as he'd known he would. At least he hadn't had any delusions about how much it would hurt.