Who: Marek and Melinda What: god knows. Keeping Melinda from going too far off the reservation, hopefully? When: Monday Where: the Isle of Wight Warnings: violence, definitely. Status: Incomplete
It had been, by Marek's estimation, one hell of a day. He'd finished at the apothecary to find Melinda, Chas, and Millicent all in an uproar over the turncoat Death Eaters, raring to go on a hunt. Since it had been suggested that he go, he had gone - and he had never been on a hunt like it. There was Melinda, who had purposefully picked a Muggle who fought back and ended up bleeding on her neck and hands; Chas, who kept turning into an Animagus form she seemed barely able to control; and Millicent, the freakish tall girl with claws and fangs that had always hated Marek for no reason. By the end of it, Marek had just been glad that they were all still in one piece, and that they'd found an outlet for all their emotions.
But that wasn't enough for Melinda, apparently. He'd been trying to be a good brother to her and sit by her side while she cried and scratched at her wounds, had ignored the crying for her sake, had even written to her in his journal rather than speaking to her aloud despite their proximity, since she seemed better able to handle that kind of communication. Then he'd gone to get her a sodding bandage, and returned to find that she'd buggered off to the Isle of Wight to hunt again.
"You're insane," he said when he found her. "Completely, absolutely, bloody, fucking insane." She didn't even know how close he was to throwing up his hands and just letting herself do something reckless enough to get hurt, to learn her lesson. But she was his twin sister. No matter how close he got, when it really mattered, that just wasn't an option.