"'You are a very close questioner.'

'Am I? -I only ask what I want to be told.'"

From Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

Chapter 16: Ouch! The Truth Hurts

Alastor was sitting at the little table in his kitchen skimming through "Wizarding Digest" while he had his tea. Madeline was kneeling on a chair across from him, chopping vegetables for their dinner.

"You know, you could do this quicker than I can," she said.

"Mm hm," he agreed and turned a page without looking up, though his magical eye was trained on her.

"With one wave of your wand," she said, looking up furtively at him.

"I know," he said simply and took a sip of tea.

"Grunt."

He answered to the grunt, "I thought you liked cooking."

"I do, but it'll be easier after I get my wand," she baited.

She chopped furiously chop chop chop, because he was maddeningly unreactive, like an elderly tortoise. She slammed down the knife, inadvertently giving herself a deep cut. She ignored the pain and stared vigorously at him. He slowly put down his tea, shut the magazine, looked up, and steadily met her gaze.

"Give me your hand," he said calmly, picking up his wand.

She hesitated, then thrust out her injured hand. Her brother gently took it in his and examined the cut, then placed the tip of his wand about an inch above it and wordlessly cast a spell that caused the wound to seal back up.

"Thank you," she said grudgingly, taking her hand back.

"Madeline, if you have something you want to ask me, I wish you'd just get on with it before you completely sever something."

"Am I a squib?" she blurted.

He sat back in his chair and rubbed the scruffy beard on his chin. "I'm not sure how to answer that."

"With the truth!" she said crisply.

With indignance he furrowed his brow at her. "You do not talk to me in that tone. I've never lied to you," he barked.

"But you haven't told me everything, have you?" she said challengingly.

"You're just a child!" he snapped. She didn't even flinch. "Ok, you want to know everything?"

She nodded. He looked down at his tea as if it would help him arrange his thoughts. Then he looked back up at his sister, his jaw set with firm resolve. She had to know sooner or later, fine, she'll get the truth. But she was so young and naive, for all her pig-headedness.

He began, "Our parents were not happy with me. You see, I had captured many people they admired and many family members of their friends. I was a disgrace as far as they were concerned."

"Were they Death Eaters?" Madeline asked, wide-eyed.

"Our parents?" He shook his head, "No, not our parents, but they didn't disapprove of them and maybe even sympathized with their goals." Alastor sighed. "So," he continued, his voice full of disdain and becoming more gravelly, "Mother got the idea in her head that they should replace me. I don't think it was so much that they wanted another child as that she wanted to hurt me. They were old; she was past childbearing age. So, she consulted very old witches, spell books, potions books- and eventually decided how she'd go about conceiving a 'perfect' son." He sneered at the word, perfect.

Madeline blinked and wrinkled her nose. "But, I'm a girl."

"Yes, yes," he nodded impatiently. "Now shut yer trap and listen." Evidently, the interruption threw him off track and he had to stare at his tea again before he could continue. "The first few tries were..." He paused. "...unsuccessful." He frowned as if he had a bitter taste in his mouth. "Then one day I had come to see Father who was very weak and bedridden."

Her dark eyes flashed. "I remember him. He was always in bed and I saw him..." Suddenly it dawned on her. Memories of that house had been stored in the back of some remote cupboard of her mind. Now, that cupboard was opening. "I saw him die." Her voice was very faint and her eyes had a faraway look. Her brother nodded slowly.

"Anyway," he sighed. "I had come and Mother wanted me to look to see if she had conceived and to see how the baby looked, for I had the magical eye by then and it was quicker for me to look than for her to use the 'acuminous fetus' spell. I looked. I told her the baby was fine and...," he paused with a pained look on his face, "...and I told her you were a boy."

She looked at him questioningly. "Why?"

"I told her what she wanted to hear." His voice sounded agitated.

"Why?" she repeated.

He frowned at her. "I just did!" he shot back, in that voice that told her that this line of questioning was over.

"So what did she do when I was born and she saw me?"

"She forbade me to step foot in her house again. But I still came when she wasn't there. I came as often as I could." He was talking at his teacup now, his voice, far away. "She figured that if you were the wrong gender, other things may have gone wrong. She was convinced that the baby had no magic, was stupid...weak..." He paused and then spat out the rest, his voice full of scorn. "When Father died it was finally her chance to be rid of the reminder that her last triumph was a complete failure." He caught himself and looked up, startled. But she was already running out of the room.