I know it's been an awful long time since I updated this story. But I've decided to give it another try, at least long enough to finish my Roald Dahl's Witches-related plotline. I originally put it on hiatus because of lack of reviews, so if you have an interest in this story at all, please do not hesitate to review.
The first day, Alma Dal said it with curiosity:
"Michael, talk to me."
On the second day, she said it with mild annoyance:
"Michael, talk to me!"
On the third day, she said it pleadingly:
"Michael, my boy, please talk to me!"
Without turning to face her, he said:
"I will talk to you on one condition" he said darkly. "Admit that you've been lying to me. Admit it right now!"
"Lying about what?"
No response.
"All right, I admit it. I've been lying to you! Now will you please tell me what I've been lying to you about?"
"You know that very well, grandmamma! I spoke to Lucrezia Spear…"
"Who"
"To one of the surviving witches you told me to kill. You've spent a lifetime hunting down those witches, and you haven't bothered remembering any of their names? I bet you don't even know the name of the Grand High Witch!"
"Maleficia. It was Maleficia."
"And why did you never even bother to tell me that?"
"You didn't need to know."
"I guess there were a lot of things I didn't need to know."
Alma didn't respond immediately. Michael got up form his chair and walked towards her.
"But Lucrezia told me a lot of things…"
"Michael, don't tell me that you are going to trust a witch! She would have told you anything at the time, just to try and talk you out of killing her…"
"I could hear her heartbeat. It was calm and steady, and she was looking right at me. That's not how a liar behaves. You, on the other hand…" Michael walked in circles around her. "Your hearting is beating faster by the minute, you're looking away, and you're sweating!"
Alma Dal grabbed a cigar and fumbled with the lighter.
"No cigars!" he snapped as he yanked it out of his shocked grandmother's hand. Michael otherwise never even commented on her smoking, let alone tried to stop it. "They are clogging my senses"
He didn't add: And that's what you're trying to do isn't it?, but Alma could tell from the look in his eyes that that's probably what he was thinking.
"Grandmamma…." He began, looking her straight into the eyes, "Have you told me the whole truth?"
For a minute, none of the two figures said anything at all. Then Alma looked down, and slowly, as slowly as you could possibly say a two-letter word, she replied:
"No…"
Michael sighed. "Grandmamma, what are you really?"
"If you must know, I'm a Squib."
"A what?"
"A witch without powers. Some people are born as witches without the ability to do magic. I was born into a family where everyone but I could do magic. Now imagine how that –"
"You were born into a family of witches?"
Alma Dal looked down.
"Yes. Ironic, isn't it?"
"That doesn't even begin to describe it. Lucrezia told me that witches and wizards live in their own communities, not so different from that of normal people."
"She did, did she…" Alma said in a non-committal voice.
"Did you grow up in a community like that?"
"Yes", she admitted. "But my father was a muggle…"
"A what?"
"Sorry, I forgot to tell you. That's the wizard term for normal, non-magical people. But we lived in a dark age. The Grand High Witch and her followers allied themselves with Lord Voldemort, the only sorcerer who might possibly have been even more dangerous than the Grand High Witch herself. Together, they hunted down families who were not pureblooded. Because of my father's background, we became a target. The Grand High Witch' followers killed my family, Michael."
"And that's why you dedicated your life to hunting down witches."
"Well, only the witches who were part of the pureblood movement."
"Why didn't you tell me that part before?"
"I didn't want to complicate matters too much, I just wanted you to have a normal life. For a while, I was hoping I would never even have to tell you about witches at all. I wanted to protect you. Because I was born as a Squib, I was treated as a freak. I didn't want the same thing to happen to you…"
"A freak?" The human mouse-hybrid got up. Michael had grown rapidly over the last few years, and he now had the same height and build as a normal human being of his age. But it didn't matter. He would still stand out from a mile.
"Look at me, Grandmamma! Look at me! I have no choice but to be treated like a freak! I can't even live like a mouse any more, I don't fit in anywhere!" he suppressed a sob. "You told me that as a mouse-being I could only hope to live for another ten years", he muttered. "For about as long as you."
"I know, dear. I know I said that. And now it's been ten years, and…well, it looks like I might be wrong, doesn't it?"
"It doesn't feel like I'm dying of old age, if that's what you mean." Michael said sardonically. "Why didn't you tell me what would really happen to me?"
"Because I didn't know that this would happen to you Michael, I really didn't think the potion would work that way! That part wasn't a lie!!"
"Ah, so the rest was?"
"Don't twist my words!"
"Why, because you've already twisted them enough? We've been living on a lie, Grandmamma!"
Alma gritted her teeth. "We've done important things, good things, even if they were…partly based on lies. Can I please light a cigar now? I really need it to calm my nerves."
Michael hesitated, but eventually nodded.
"Anyway", she continued while she lit a cigar. "The Wizarding authorities have been after me for years. I'm wanted for taking the law into my own hands. We're wanted actually. They probably know about you too, by now."
"Then let's report ourselves to them. You're too old and sick to manage on your own, and I don't want to live like this anymore."
Alma hung her head.
"I can't let you do that, Michael."
"Why not?"
"Because I already reported myself to the Wizarding authorities, two hours ago."
The door bell rang. Michael, who didn't even know that they had a door bell, jumped. It wasn't like anyone ever came to visit them.
"That would be them now. I knew it would take them some time to find this place. After all, I had it floo powder-proofed ages ago."
She got up, and her grandson followed right behind.
Standing in the doorway was a fairly young Auror cadet with black, rugged hair, glasses and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. He would have been instantly recognizable by almost anyone in the magical community. Even Alma, after all her years in isolation, had a faint suspicion of who it was.
"Alma Dal?", he asked.
"That is me."
The Auror held up a badge. "Harry Potter, National Auror Corps. You are under arrest, suspected of vigilante activities involving mass murder of criminal witches."
The old woman raised her hands in the air.
"I know, young sir, and I won't make any trouble. But please allow my grandson to come with us."
Michael looked at the man who, for some reason, didn't seem very surprised at the sight of a human mouse-hybrid.
"Of course he will come with us, ma'am." The young man replied. "He is under arrest also."
Alma gasped. "But sir, I told the Auror captain on the phone that I have been working alone…"
"I know, ma'am. But we have reason to suspect otherwise."
To be continued.
