One hand went to his hair and he raked it away from his face. "It's not an excuse," he told her. "It's...I can't change the moon, or who I am." And no matter how much he loved her, he didn't want to change his mind so soon, either. "You know I love you," he said finally. "But my love won't keep you safe."
He was already upset, but his face steeled when she told him she'd fought Bellatrix - that Bellatrix knew - that her boss knew. What was she thinking?
"What?" His grip tightened around his whiskey glass, knuckles turning white. "How did they find out? You can't go around telling everyone! What were you thinking? Don't you realize what they'll say about the child?"
The more he thought about it - that her safety had been compromised, that it was his fault - the more his blood began to boil. He hadn't left her so that she could act recklessly. He pushed back his chair with a loud scrape. It clattered to the floor as she began to talk like she hadn't much longer to live and he gave her a hard look.
"I'm leaving," he said. "I'd tell you to take care of yourself and act safely, but you won't listen to me anyway." His disappointment - in himself, in the situation, in what he'd done to her - weighed heavily on him, and in the look he gave her. "I suppose I deserve it."