When her darling Kendall had written to her that a certain boy would not leave her alone and thus needed to be reminded of his place, pleading for her mother’s help, Melissa knew exactly what to do to aid her daughter; in the end, mother always knew best. During her school days, Melissa herself had attracted the attention of a decent share of unworthy suitors, and it was certainly not unusual for her own daughter, who naturally inherited all her exquisite looks, to face the same issue. But Hogwarts was different now, and so was Kendall; her daughter had no older brother to put unworthy boys in their place and, as such, required Melissa’s help. The witch decided on placing an order on a poisonous potion; nothing too bad, in the end, they were little boys. But sometimes one needed a good case of their skin turning a horrendous shade of sea-foam green each time they gazed at her daughter with impure thoughts to realise that they were unworthy.
As all matters involving the well-being of her daughter were personally handled by Melissa herself, the journalist had made her way to Knockturn Alley that late afternoon. She’d visited the establishment of her most trust-worthy Potioneer; a middle-aged wizard who deeply enjoy exuberant experiments and highly valued privacy, particularly considering the vast amounts of galleons Melissa had invested in his business throughout the years. She’d placed the order, and the man specified it would take two weeks for the potion to brew; the English was disappointed with the vast amount of time her darling Kendall still had to endure unwarranted attention from teenage boys she did not fancy, nonetheless, she could survive it; she was her mother’s daughter, in the end. And they have survived far worse.
Leaving the wizard’s establishment, Melissa ran a hand through her honey tresses, her long hair elegantly shining in the sun’s light as she made her way through the alley. It had been a while since she’d last visited the area but, as always, there was a certain charm to it. For a woman of the influential class like Melissa, who spent her time mostly attending social events of high-class, as well as a large variety of cultural affairs, the danger and degradation which Knockturn Alley offered was somewhat thrilling. It reminded her of the good days, when her own kind was in charge. Sounds of a duel could be heard, and her investigative self had slowed down the pace, wondering whom exactly had offended whom. In the end, such a story could be an exclusive for the Prophet; not that they needed especially sensational articles after her interview with Gaius; that had made their profits triple overnight.
She suddenly recalled that with Rita away on business, Melissa had been tasked with another interview; with a muggleborn, out of all things. She sighed at the thought, deciding that it was for the best not to dwell on the matter; she was a professional after all, and wanted nothing more but to have the paper her family founded to sell. If she had to fawn over a mudblood celebrity, then so be it. Her gaze however still focused on the source of the sound, the feeling of curiosity not leaving her; she wondered whom would die that day as a result of the ongoing duel. And as her thoughts were in another place, she had collided with someone.
Melissa instantly made two steps back, her left hand trailing along her
dress' outline, as to make sure her outer appearance was still as flawless as usual. “Not at all, I was also — “ Melissa had started, her nude sand brown lips revealing a polite smile. It had soon faded, as her voice also was unable to further escape her, upon Melissa taking in the person she had ran into. Her porcelain pale skin had turned whiter than usual, the witch gaining the appearance of almost the man in front of her — a ghost. Supposedly. The initial shock had overwhelmed her, but Melissa was a calculated individual. Her strong sense of will had managed to help her recollect herself within moments; she exhaled deeply, as if remembering how to breathe again.
“Old friend.” She let out in a soft tone, as if to reveal affection; Melissa however was finding herself feeling a bit of gratitude, so her demeanour was not completely dishonest. Many of their own, Death Eaters, had done their best to escape persecution following the end of the war, and it was not unusual for many to have faked their own deaths. Presumably, how Kevan Taite had done. Still, she found herself rather bitter; while not especially close, they had worked together before, and Melissa did feel a bit betrayed he had fallen into the shadows, hiding the fact that he was alive for so long. He would not escape her, not now when their own kind was even rarer than before. And Kevan was valuable indeed, a veteran among their ranks.
Melissa delicately placed her hand on his arm, revealing her intentions of not allowing him to further escape her. Her angelic smile was sweet and innocent, but she was certain Kevan knew better; for, in the end, he knew her rather well, despite the years they had unfortunately lost touch. “Fancy running into you here.” Her eyes momentarily glanced at the shop he’d been in; firewhiskey — unlike his coming back from the dead, that was definitely not a surprise. “It’s been far too long, my darling…” She added, her blue-grey eyes turning towards him again, revealing the inner iciness resting within her, as the witch waited for him to fill in the blank. In the end, it would be very correct to presume he was Kevan no longer.
“How about we catch up for a bit?” Melissa drew closer, wrapping her arm around his. “Firewhiskey? At that one pub we both enjoy, just around the corner.”
