The wand pointed at her face did make her snort in derision. What could he possibly do with that to harm her. "Going to kill me, perhaps?" she retorted.
Miles seemed to go white as a sheet (not a ghost - ghosts weren't white - she'd had that argument one time too many with the grey lady) and he honesty looked ill at her words.
She recognised signs of guilt, and from the reaction to the loss of Millicent's baby, she honestly could see remorse on Miles' face. He was suffering, and there was regret there.
She stared at him for a moment, watching him more closely than she had in a very long time. Every move - the way he sat down suddenly and ran a hand over his hair - he was genuinely in shock. His words were truly heartfelt.
Deep down, Miles Bletchley actually did have a care for someone other than himself. The pang of sympathy that went out to him lasted but a brief second. Guilt was a powerful emotion, and she could feel it emanating from him in waves.
"Everyone has to live with the consequences of their actions, Miles," she said in a voice far softer than she'd spoken to him in years. "Don't you think I could take back getting involved with Rodolphus Lestrange if I could?" Hell, that was a given, but if she'd never let herself get involved, she'd be alive today and Miles a distant memory.
"I would have thought that at least would have convinced you to keep away from them."