There was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. Sometimes he could behave so petulantly when it served his purposes, but this was different. He was being sincere. His grip on her body lessened. She was afraid he was going to run off again, claiming he had some mysterious errand to run just so he could lick his wounds in private. Turning over to look him in the eye, she couldn't miss the pain, the hurt in those dark brown orbs. Her chest constricted at the undeniable truth that despite his decades as a fierce and violent Death Eater, he was at his core just a man in love with a woman who didn't want him. It was easy to forget that even Lord Voldemort's most faithful were only human.