Notes: This is for Amber (Cheeky Slytherin Lass) for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza (TWELVE OUT OF TWELVE, BITCHEZ.)

Amber: I know you're a drabble fan. The original plan was to make two drabbles for you, but I kind of got carried away with Blaise and Daphne and all the possibilities, but I still tried to keep it short and (bitter)sweet. I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Beta'd by Jess (autumn midnights.)

Purely Theoretical

Daphne's love for Blaise was love from afar. It wasn't love for who he was, but what he provided. It was you're probably the best, but stay away from me. Daphne's love for him was purely theoretical. It seemed like enough.

He wanted to be upset about it, but he couldn't. In spite of himself, he understood. Daphne was as close to his equal as anyone could be, so she knew everything that was there not to love about him. That's why their marriage worked, after all, even though it had seemed like an arranged affair in which he was after her good name and she was after his good fortune. Only they knew that they'd both been after the perfect companion, and, judging by the state of affairs, they'd both found it.

So when Daphne burst into his home office with her composure hanging by a thread, Blaise realized something was terribly wrong.

"If she says another word, just one more word…" It was then that he remembered that his mother was on one of her frequent extended visits, and it suddenly made sense.

"What about my mother, now?"

Daphne sighed at his defensive tone. He could see the energy being drained out of her, and he was glad she was able to close the door gently and speak rationally.

"I would love nothing more than to get along with her," she said. "You have to understand that it is a little bit difficult when she comes over every opportunity she has and accuses me of wanting you for your money." She looked around, evidently searching for a spare chair. There were none, so she just stood in the middle of the room. She was so stunning, so imposing, and when she looked at Blaise straight in the eye, was difficult for him not to look away. "I'm so fed up, Blaise. I can't do this anymore."

"What do you propose, then?" It wasn't a question, but a demand.

"I'm not leaving you, if that's what you're wondering. I just wish…"

Whatever she wished was left for him to guess, but it wasn't a difficult guess. Daphne probably wished their marriage was as simple as just getting along, without his mother's constant presence and harassment. She surely wished he was more supportive about it – and he wished he could be, as well. The woman was his own mother, after all, and the only blood relative he had left in the world. He couldn't stand up to her, and he didn't know if it was fear, apathy, or a twisted sense of loyalty.

He also wished he could explain to his mother that his trust for Daphne went as far as knowing that she was incapable of murder. Daphne had faced torture over refusing to perform an Imperius curse on a first year. The sole idea of suffering was enough to make her shudder; she even fainted at the sight of blood. Just like a proper lady should.

Not that she would even think of murdering him, the only man that could even begin to understand the way her mind worked. To the world she was beautiful Daphne, haughty Daphne. To him, she was just Daphne, and her name had always been synonymous with everything that he was looking for. Not just beauty, brains, pride, and nobility, but a quietness and subtleness that often went unnoticed.

Daphne was like a spring breeze, changing everything she touched and elevating it without even trying. Daphne was the only person in the world that could make him feel unworthy, and, at the same time, make him want to be worthy. She was too aware of her many charms and virtues, and uncaring and unapologetic about her flaws. Blaise never thought he would be one to admire Daphne's sort of cold kindness, the oddly gentle heart that hid beneath the masterpiece that was her façade. Not after growing up with a ruthless woman like his mother.

Then again, being the opposite of his mother was nothing Daphne should ever be ashamed of, but that was a thought he'd never voice out loud.

"I know you won't hurt me, Daphne," he told her. "But I can understand her worries, and I think you can, as well." His defense of his mother was half-hearted. Daphne was clever enough to tell.

"No, I can't understand." Her voice was shaken with emotion, and it was obvious that she was trying to keep it under control. "Do you want me to understand that she believes every woman is like… like her? Do you want me to understand that she believes I don't like you – you, my very best friend…!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He didn't even bother denying the accusations he knew to be true, so he interrupted her with the hope she'd calm down.

He had no luck.

"Well, then, what did you mean? Because I can't understand that she believes her own son could be disposable to someone. Does she think you're dull? Does she think that killing you would be more bearable than keeping you?"

"So you've thought about it." He'd managed to amuse himself, but he regretted it when Daphne narrowed her eyes and turned her back. It wasn't fair, really – the heated way she was talking about him made him feel an odd sort of warmness inside, one he didn't want to let go.

"Now you're making it really tempting," she said, and again, he appreciated the humor. His smile was the gesture Daphne saw once she looked at him again. If he'd angered her, he couldn't tell. She was smiling softly as well – but, as much as he wanted to read her like an open book, she rarely made it easy.

"Again, I know you won't hurt me and I wish that was enough."

"It's enough for me, but apparently not for her. Will you please tell her to let it go?"

He huffed. "She wouldn't listen."

"You're probably right, but you could at least try."

She took his lack of response as the end of the conversation, and headed for the door. There was something about such a development that made Blaise feel like he'd gone wrong somehow. He was used to being the absolute best at everything he did, and marriage was no exception. Daphne being disgruntled didn't really equal to him being the best though, and he wanted to fix that. But he didn't know how.

"Look at me, Daphne," he asked. When their eyes met, he realized that every trace of emotion had disappeared and been replaced with her usual stoic self. "You know that I love you, right?"

"Then show it."

His gaze stayed glued to the door minutes after she had closed it; his mind recalled the way she simply rolled her eyes and decided the conversation was over. Showing love was something he hadn't been taught and it was something he'd never wondered about. But her request was clear, and he respected her enough to want to comply.

For the first time, Blaise wondered why he put up with his mother harassing his wife. As much as he disliked the whole situation, it was indeed easier not to do anything, not to get involved. She would see the light eventually, Blaise reasoned, even if it took until he grew old next to his wife.

However, he knew he didn't have to wait that long. Just as she was his mother, he was her son. Surely effective communication was all that was needed for her to trust his judgment. She definitely wanted the best for him, so why was he so adamant to let her see that Daphne was indeed the best? What held him back from trying to make Daphne happy?

Blaise sighed as the realization came to him, and he didn't quite know what to do with it. At the end of the day, his love knew limits – and it was to be expected. Years of knowing a woman like his mother had led him to handpick the perfect wife. And perfect she was, or so it seemed. He'd learned the hard way that any awe-inspiring illusion could be a lie.

His love for Daphne wasn't any different. It wasn't love for who she was, but the promises she represented. It was you're probably the best, but I'm afraid to find out. Blaise's love for Daphne was purely theoretical, and he wanted to believe it was enough.