“Nox,” he whispers. The light that pulses gently on the tip of his wand disappears. His grip on her hand tightens. Narcissa’s lips, chapped and dry, press tightly together. She mustn’t make a sound. He won’t like and it will only bring attention to their hiding place. Her throat is dry and it’s hard to swallow but she does it anyway. It’s better this way, she tells herself. Better to have the words safe in her belly than through Rodolphus’ ears and her sisters’ who were surely nearby, doing their best to find them. But still…

But…

“It hurts,” she complains in a whisper that threatens to be just a trick of the wind. Rodolphus brows pinch together, and his jaw tightens. Her fingers like porcelain touch gently over the boy’s and press ever so slightly. He recoils, dark brows arching high and hide under the dark hair, slightly damp that sticks to his forehead. Cissa flinches and brings her freed wrist to her chest where she coddles it. Her eyes avoid meeting the ones of the boy next to her, instead focusing on his small nose which wrinkles slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.