"...I don't know. I think." The weight in his limbs is oppressive now and he shifts, slumping in the chair, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling and closes his eyes.

"Tomorrow," he repeats faintly. "I'll...I don't know where I'll be tomorrow." The potion is shifting, he thinks, beginning to roll out of his mind, leaving only exhaustion behind, and the creeping thirst beginning to return. It takes him a few moments to open his eyes again, and straighten slowly as if he aches, and take a sip of the tea Remus has left him, then a longer drink.