Chapter 97 097. Father Michael Trollope

After drinking a cup of coffee, Scott tried to explain all his experiences this semester as briefly but clearly as possible.

After listening, Michael's expression looked a little complicated.

He couldn't help but light up another cigarette and take a puff, then looked up at Scott.

Through the rising smoke and reflective glasses, Scott couldn't see clearly what he was looking at.

Michael said softly: "You know, until today, I thought you only looked like me in hair color and eyes, and your personality was more like your mother."

Scott knew what he meant.

Michael looks like an old-fashioned gentleman on the outside, but is actually a gangster on the inside. His education is a high school dropout.

As for Emilia, at least she graduated from a local university - Hastings College on the Sussex coast.

Scott's academic performance was much better than Mike's when he was a child.

Michael puffed out another puff of smoke, "But you're still a Trollope, son!"

He couldn't help laughing.

Scott looked at him with half-lidded eyes, "Is this funny?"

Michael grinned and said: "We are descendants of the Normans, the Normans who followed William I to conquer England in the Middle Ages."

He pointed to the ground.

"The battle happened right here, beneath our feet..."

Scott continued in a deadpan, recitative tone: "The Normans are descendants of Vikings, descendants of pirates."

He looked up at the choked Michael and asked with a smile: "You always go back to the source? Why don't you start from a closer place?"

Michael turned his head and pretended to look at the unchanging scenery outside the window.

But Scott didn't stop.

"My great-great-grandfather was a smuggler, my great-grandfather was a smuggler and intelligence dealer, my grandfather was a smuggler, intelligence dealer and antique shop owner. As for my father..."

He shrugged.

"It's a pity that he couldn't carve out a new career based on his grandfather's foundation, except for being a school dropout when he was young."

"Oh no!" He pretended to react again, "Now he has even lost the two professions of smuggler and intelligence dealer!"

"Hey!"

Michael raised his hand to take off his glasses, turned his head and looked at him dissatisfied.

Scott still kept talking, "My father, Michael Trollope, was just an ordinary antique shop owner."

He spread his hands again and tilted his head.

"It's a pity, isn't it? He is also a descendant of the Vikings. Maybe he can pick up the career of his youth to prove it."

"hiss……"

Michael gasped.

He put his glasses on the table, put the cigarette between his fingers into the ashtray, and lit the ashes.

"It seems that in terms of eloquence, you are still more like Milly." He said funny.

Scott curled his lips, "I will tell my dear mother this comment."

"Let's get back to business."

Michael said seriously.

"I didn't expect the racial discrimination in your college to be so serious, and now your kid is still carrying a human life... As expected of the wizarding world, huh?"

Scott said: "To be honest, I thought... your reaction would be more intense after hearing what I experienced today..."

"What do you think I would do?" Michael said in an exaggerated tone. "Panic like a bitch, or accuse you of being overly defensive? Don't make trouble, I'm your father."

He acted like "I've seen big winds and waves", as if this matter was not worth mentioning to him.

Scott almost believed it, if he hadn't seen that Michael's face was paler than usual, and that the thumb and index finger of his right hand were rubbing together.

But Scott didn't expose him.

"I don't know." Scott shook his head, "Maybe you accepted it too easily, so I feel a little awkward."

"Ha ha ha ha……"

Michael laughed and stood up, spreading his arms.

"Perhaps my young man is still a little scared and needs another comforting hug?"

"..."

Scott refused with his eyes.

"Well, it seems you don't need to."

Michael took his hands back and sat down.

"What do you think?" he asked in a low voice, "Why not just destroy the body and eliminate all traces?"

"No, I can't touch her body. Who knows what clues may be left behind."

Scott shook his head.

"And if it disappears...the more secretive it is, the more attractive it is to explore, isn't it?"

Michael said: "According to you, the girl revealed her purpose of leaving? Whether she is dead or missing, you are suspected."

"No, there is a difference."

Scott explained.

"In the current state, in the eyes of wizards, the most likely cause of the girl's death was the failure of her servant to disapparate."

He emphasized, "Of course, this is also a fact. I think this fact must be put on the record."

He continued his analysis.

"If the body is destroyed and no traces are left, I, as the target of her outing this time, will most likely become the number one suspect in her disappearance, and will be the focus of the Aurors' investigation."

After talking to Michael and watching his father try to comfort himself in alternative ways, Scott's mood has improved a lot.

"It's better to make a fuss like this and cause some trouble to the Ministry of Magic during the Christmas season." He said softly, "so that they won't focus on me."

Michael threw away the cigarette butt, took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his glasses, and put them on again.

He muttered, "Maybe you're a genius at crime too, Scott."

After looking his son up and down, he leaned closer and asked quietly: "Are you sure this is your first time doing this kind of thing?"

"What?" Scott looked at him confused.

"I mean...David." Michael said quietly, "David Ward, who disappeared eight years ago. I remember that boy had a fight with you before he disappeared."

"..."

Scott stared at Michael again with half-lidded eyes.

"Did you throw him off the cliff into the sea?" Michael asked again.

Scott said angrily: "Eight years ago, I was only six years old, Mike."

"It's nothing." Michael said nonchalantly, "When I was seven years old, I also planned to throw the old boy Thomas across from me into the sea."

Scott rolled his eyes, "But you are 37 years old, and Thomas is still alive and kicking."

Before Michael could speak again, he added: "If your memory is correct, you should know that eight years ago, David sneaked onto a neighbor's fishing boat and disappeared. He came back with the fishing boat three days later. "

"I know, I thought you used magic to create a fake David." Michael quibbled.

He looked at Rimbaud who was resting on Scott's shoulder, "Just like you made this bird."

"..."

Scott was simply shocked by his imagination.

"Magic can't create humans!" He said with emphasis, "And I didn't know magic at that time. Even now, I can't do it. I'm not Merlin!"

"Okay, joke over."

Michael put on a serious expression.

"I want to say, Scott, are you sure you want to stay in the wizarding world?"

he asked, looking into Scott's eyes.

"It doesn't seem friendly or even peaceful right now."

His inquiry at this moment was undoubtedly very serious.

"There you will lack free choices, your origin is destined to stand against certain people, and you can't even be sure what kind of person you will become in the future."

"Yes, Dad."

Scott also said seriously.

"The magic world is indeed not as beautiful as fairy tales, and my future is also full of uncertainty, but..."

He smiled.

"There's magic there, and I'm a wizard, and that's enough."

…

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