(no subject)

Bernard was restless, again.

He’d gotten up once for a glass of water, and had stared at the ceiling for a long while after. Eventually, his breathing slowed, though it wasn’t the usual deep, comforting rhythm, and she knew he was sleeping.

But Nymphadora couldn't. She felt the pit grow in her stomach as he slept. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, and a thin sheen of perspiration on his skin glinted in the moonlight. His fingers twitched just a bit on the blanket, and it reminded her all too well of that first night of his illness.

Nymphadora reached out, brushing her fingertips carefully against his arm, and he flinched away.

Stricken, she sat up and looked down at him.

What’s happening? Why won’t you let me help you?

She watched as Bernard curled onto his side, rolling away from her and shivering slightly.

Trying to fight down the rising alarm, Nymphadora pulled the covers up over his shoulders, and laid back down.

And watched.