'I gave you my word,' Arcturus reassured him quickly, although he continued to stare unwaveringly at the carriage floor. Inwardly, he was fighting for control of his emotions. A small, childish part of him wanted to shed tears for the sheer injustice of it. A far greater part wanted to curse the next muggle he saw. But he did neither, he kept his composure, and only sat very still.
'I meant it,' he went on. 'I would never, ever tell a muggle of your suffering. I wouldn't disrespect you that way even if you hadn't asked me not to. The wizards here do not need to know unless you choose to tell them, and it is best not to distress ladies like my cousin with talk of unpleasant matters.'
An idea struck him then, and it brought a fraction more animation to his voice. 'If you wanted, sir – if it would make a difference, I could take my broomstick and fly ahead. I would get there far more quickly, and I might bring some chocolate back here to you.' For a moment, he wondered why neither of them had considered it before, but the truth was that without a proper understanding of the reason for the request, Arcturus would likely have taken offense, made some disparaging remark about how he was not in fact an errand-boy. But now that he knew, he wanted to do what he could do to help.