InsaneJournal

Miles Bletchley had been a man with secrets since he was seven. His parents had always taught him that Muggles, Muggle-borns, and half-breeds were bad, and aside from a few things that went bump in the night, Miles had not believed them. Not when the neighbours down the road had such wonderful stories about the War to End All Wars, or that the old man in the old fashioned chemist always gave him sundaes for free whenever the seven-year old read the paper to him because his eyesight was getting so bad.

So he lied. He lied every day, when he recited their mantra. He lied when he went to school and laughed at the poor and the "dirty." He hexed a girl because Marcus Flint told him to, for the sake of their Quidditch match. He told his brother that he had decided to be an Auror to spy for the Death Eaters to cover up for his own ambitions, that he wanted to wipe away the memory of witches and wizards who were too cowardly in Miles's mind to know that if you really didn't like something, that you shouldn't eradicate them, you should strive to be better.

Miles never liked to rest on his laurels, no matter how good his laurels might look.

If he had known a year ago that feelings might creep into his relationship with Daphne Greengrass -- no, he had to stop thinking about her as a Greengrass. She was a Bletchley now. Miles had realised somewhere along the line that if he didn't want her to bear his name, he could have done a million things to get out of it. They were much more similar than he'd originally thought. Both kept their emotions in check at all hours, no matter who was around. Both would do anything to get ahead in life. Both of them had accepted this sham of a marriage for what it was: to keep the pureblood lines together, though Miles had no idea why he should care.

Conversations, like the one he was certain was about to take place, didn't fit into Miles's idea of a very fun evening. In fact, it didn't sound like something he'd want to do on the worst day of his life, and he was fairly certain this would rank up there with pulling off that stupid Death Eater's mask to find his brother Tommy beneath it.

Daphne had gotten under his skin, somehow. It must have happened slowly, because he could see no outward signs of it. At least not until a few months before when he'd been sent off on assignment for a month, and he'd found himself missing her.

Miles drew in a deep breath in the corridor outside the sitting room. Though he was still dressed in his Auror best, he was rumpled from an evening spent on the roof. His nose was pink from the cold, and if he hadn't come inside the write in his journal, there might have been icicles hanging from the ends of his hair. He gave a timid knock (what the hell?) and moved so that Daphne could see him from her perch.

Daphne looked up from where she had been doodling on the cover of her journal, nearly jumping out of shock or nerves or something else she knew she ought not be feeling. She gave the smallest of nods before looking back down at the corner of her journal she had scribbled completely black with ink and releasing a long sigh. She was not looking forward the the coming conversation in the least for a whole slew of reasons, least of all because she knew full well it wasn't going to be a comfortable one.

When the marriage between Miles and Daphne first was discussed, she had known what to expect. While she remembered very little of her parents' marriage before her father died, she had learned everything she knew about marriages from her mother. All of it was relatively simple and she was quite all right with the marriage for status and convenience. She did not expect there to be whispers of sweet nothings and muttered declarations of their love for one another. That was not what was to be for Daphne Greengrass and she was quite content with that.

Everything, however, got muddled when she realized she actually was coming to have real, true feelings for the man whose name she had taken and she didn't know how to handle it. It was forcing her to feel all sorts of things she hadn't expected to feel and it was so very new.

Clearing her throat once, Daphne set the journal aside to keep temptation away and folded her hands daintily in her lap. Looking up at Miles, she tried to give him a smile of encouragement or something, but she couldn't do it. "Hello," she finally said, then cringed at the defeated tone in her voice.

"Hello." A flash of irritation crossed Miles's thoughts; she'd known he was coming down, and if there was one thing she should know about him, it was that he never shied away from confrontation. Unlike most Slytherins he knew, he jumped into the fray headfirst. It would likely surprise her that the Sorting Hat had asked Miles if he wanted to go to Gryffindor.

It seemed remarkable to him that she seemed so tiny and frail sitting on that enormous chair, her hands folded like tiny white pebbles he'd marveled at on Makarska Riviera. He wondered, and not for the first time, how he had never noticed how beautiful his wife was. Then again, he wondered if he would have agreed to marry her if she looked more like Millicent Bulstrode.

Miles felt rude for standing, something you never did when a woman was seated unless you were trying to feel superior over her. A few months ago, he wouldn't have bothered; he would have stood over her, trying to make her feel rotten for putting him in this situation. He sank into the chair opposite her and leaned forward, his elbows on the tops of his knees. He glanced up to her face, catching her gaze and holding it. "I realise that apologies can only go so far, Daphne, but for what it's worth, I am sorry."

He didn't feel the need to spell it out. He'd never been ashamed of his indiscretions. Until now.

The part of Daphne that was her mother told her to tell him that it was all right, he had done nothing wrong, there was no issue. She ought to just stand up with a pleasant smile and walk across the room to get him a drink. She was to be a dutiful, well-behaved, agreeable wife. But, frankly, Daphne was sick of that and she couldn't do it anymore.

"It's - I know - I - " Daphne tried to grasp for the correct words, then stopped because she couldn't think of the words she ought to be saying. For once she didn't want to put up the front she was so accustomed to. She wanted him to know exactly how he had made her feel, but not actually have him feel guilty and not because he was her wife and she shouldn't make him feel bad, but because she cared about him. She cared about him, but he had hurt her so badly.

Biting on her lower lip, she had to break his gaze and look down at her hands in her lap because her eyes started to swim with tears. The moment she realized it, one of her hands popped to her mouth to muffle a quiet sob and she screwed her eyes shut. Daphne didn't cry, but here she was.. crying. The night was full of surprises, it seemed.

Miles's initial reaction was hard to read. Shock was evident, but there was a strange crease in his brow when he realised that he was not alone. Somehow he'd gotten under her skin, too. He didn't know what to make of that. Some part of him was relieved, but another part knew it wasn't good. At least not in the old Miles Bletchley sense of good.

Some tiny part of him wanted to smack her, to shake her and tell her that she wanted this marriage, that he'd never wanted part of it. And what could he really say? That he didn't mean to make her cry? He had, hadn't he? He wanted her to feel as ridiculous as he'd felt when he'd realised there might be more to his feelings, but he never thought in a million years that Miles Bletchley would see (or be the cause of) Daphne cry.

Within a millisecond, though, he was on his feet and scooping Daphne into his lap as if she was a doll, rather than the 5'8" woman she was. His arms enveloped her tightly, pinning her to his chest as he pet her hair and rocked her gently. "Shhh." His voice was definitely thicker than it had been a moment before. "Daphne, love... Don't cry. I..."

It took several moments for Daphne to really get hold of herself. The tears were embarrassing to her just by themselves, but shedding them in front of her husband made it all the worse. She didn't show this sort of emotion - she just didn't.

After she was able to take deep breaths and she thought she would be able to actually speak without losing control of herself again, she straightened up but did not back away from Miles. She knew that the Independent Woman sort of thing to do would be to tell him off, jump out of his lap, slap him, anything.. but she didn't want to. She had been hurt, but she couldn't bring herself to make the situation any worse. At least not anymore.

"I'm sorry," she finally said in a quiet voice, just above a murmur. She reached up and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, trying to clear her vision and forgetting completely about her eye makeup she had so meticulously applied that morning. "That doesn't happen very often."

"No, I suspect it doesn't," he answered, his arms still around her warmly. He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. Miles had absolutely no idea where to take the conversation, but her apology for crying struck him oddly. "We're married, Daphne. For better or worse, and so far all I've seen is better. It's nice to know you're human after all."

Sure, the comment had light teasing to it, but the sincerity was there. Thankfully, he'd had years of practice, but this? This was genuine, and it showed.

Daphne gave the smallest of smiles to Miles in return, then let out a sigh and allowed her gaze to drop down to her hands. She began to fiddle with her wedding ring, twisting it around her ring finger just for the sake of having something to do with her hands. She knew that they were at the point where they would actually have to talk about what was going on that had brought them to this place, but it was hard to know where to start - especially since she had so actively spent her life avoiding these sorts of conversations.

"I think we might be in one of those 'for worse' moments as is," she said after a moment, looking up at Miles. The smile was gone and instead she was biting lightly on her lower lip as she tried to figure out what to say next. She was struggling to keep herself from falling into her defense mechanism of being aloof and uncaring, therefore all of this was so new. "I don't know what to say other than for some reason.. it really hurt."

"For some reason? Am I supposed to guess at what that means?" Miles knew that at some point, he was going to have to confess something, but he was a Slytherin at heart, and he was not the type to lay his heart out on the line like that. Not without a reason.

He looked down at her with imploring eyes. "Why did it hurt? If you tell me why, I'll tell you why I did it."

A part of her wanted to ask him why she needed to show emotional honest first, but Daphne figured it was probably best to keep from pushing her luck too far. Instead, she just drew in a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. "Because I care about you and had been fool enough to convince myself you might feel the same way in return."

Normally if she would say something like that it would be a way to toy with him further and perhaps make him feel guilty, but about halfway through the sentence her set jaw fell into an expression that could be described as nothing other than sad. Despite years of being able to pull off the icy facade, she couldn't do it right now. Either that or she didn't want to.

Miles drew in a deep breath, hearing the confirmation made something inside of his squirm. It was all across the spectrum. There was relief, certainly, anguish, and something else he couldn't quite place. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath.

"Would you believe that's why I did it? To prove to myself that I didn't feel the same." Miles's voice was quiet and controlled, but he didn't look at her. He felt as though his voice was raw, naked, and he wasn't sure he liked telling the truth. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Why would you do that, though?" Daphne asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked at him. Her voice was soft and questioning, completely missing the accusatory bite it had a tendency to have in these sorts of situations. "Wouldn't the sensible thing have been to talk about it? Or something?" She knew that she really ought not be the one to talk about being sensible, but she couldn't help it.

Miles's eyebrows shot up, and he looked mildly amused at her suggestion. "In all the years you've known me, have you ever once heard me talk about my feelings before now?"

Daphne wanted so badly to shoot back a rebuttal that all the pride in the world wasn't worth having to walk on eggshells and feel sufficiently awkward as long as they had been, but she controlled herself. She was sick of fighting and even if she was working to actually allow herself to be honest with her thoughts and feelings, she didn't feel like dealing with more.. drama. After a moment, she finally sighed and looked down at her hands. "No."