He tapped his pencil gently on his forearm, eyebrows raised in a silent question, but all Morgan said aloud was, "Your dad made different choices than mine, let's leave it at that. Yes?" The conclusion he'd just made could have been incorrect, in which case he expected a fist in the face for insinuating that Michael Bletchley had been a Death Eater, but it wasn't an outrageous claim to make. The Bletchleys were purists of the oldest school, and even his own father, deemed a blood traitor by the rest, hadn't had a high opinion of Muggles. But then, why flee the country when Voldemort had been on the rise?
If he was right, Miles was in for a difficult time. Pureblood and family of ST on top of that. He certainly didn't look like he could afford any of the exorbitant fees the Ministry placed on either group. Assuming the truth came out. There was that. Tricky thing, the truth. "These days, people seem to think that purebloods and purists are synonymous," Morgan explained, shrugging as if to say well, but what can you do. "As you say, in some cases it's not a castle in the air. You'll forgive me for saying so, but... the last time I saw you, you seemed rather approving of Grandfather Bletchley's line of thinking. I'd have expected more censure on behalf of the purebloods, not support of the Ministry." Asking straight out would have been tasteless, but Morgan had less of a problem fishing for answers to an increasing series of questions.