Blagden growled under his breath. This man was beyond slippery, and he knocked back his cognac as he rifled thoughts through his brain. His Daphne was nothing like Bellatrix, and she never would be.
"I would do anything for her, but as far as I'm concerned, this has nothing to do with her," he said, tearing his glance away. His head was tingling, and it made his skin crawl.
"That's exactly my point, Mr. Lestrange," he said, running his hand over his head. "I donated to the cause in the hopes that the war would be over and my sons would return to me. Now they're dead and gone, and no amount of gold will bring them back to me, will it?"
Blagden's mouth dropped open at the rather blunt and obvious threat, his face reddening at an alarming speed. The look on the man's face made a shudder pass down his spine even as his temper began to flare. "You would claim such a thing to me? In my house? I have done nothing wrong, nor anything against you and your wife, and yet you've already taken both of my boys from me." He wasn't yelling, but the anger was apparent in his face.
"When will it be enough? When will you be satisfied?"