The room was cold, of that she was sure. Not because of any outside indicators- there was no numbing or tingling feeling in her fingertips, no goose bumps on her flesh, her breath wasn't really coming out in smoke-like puffs- but because logic dictated it. It was early December and the entire room consisted of stone walls which just bounced the cold air around the room and had no insulation to keep the chill out or warm up the air already inside. But she had been lucky enough to have her coat and her gloves so her hands were warm enough that she could actually feel them as she tried to pry open the only window in the room which seemed to be frozen in place.
She couldn't remember how she had gotten there for the life of her and that frightened her more than anything. Never before had she been so unaware of how she ended up somewhere, not even because she had been sick. In all honesty the last thing she remembered was arguing with her brother which wasn't that rare of an occurrence. Siblings did, after all, tend to fight but being twins and having been stuck together since the womb it seemed that they fought worse tan normal siblings. And to be honest it was generally about quite ridiculous things. For example the last fight before she got into the situation she as currently in had been over her brother's ridiculous and incessant need to be overprotective, usually being even more protective than their own father was. And while she could handle it decently when they were young she had become increasingly annoyed but it since they reached adulthood, feeling that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
In retrospect, however, this probably could have been a good time to skip fighting over it, a good time to not go storming out without her want. If she had done that instead of continuing her pattern of being overly tough and self-sufficient then perhaps she wouldn't have ended up completely and totally alone in a cold stone room with a heavy locked door. Wandless magic wasn't an art she was skilled in so without that seemingly pathetic little wooden stick was out of luck magically speaking.
Lorcan Scamander blew on her hands and rubbed them together knowing that the only reason that they didn't feel numb to her at the moment was because adrenaline was making it so, the desire to get out of there driving her on. The room was too cold for then not to be numb and she was uncertain as to how long she had been in there. If she didn't remember how she had gotten there it was impossible to remember when she got there. For all she knew she could have been there for hours; for all she knew she could have been there for over a day. The fact of the matter is that she had absolutely no way of knowing for sure which only served to make the situation that much more intimidating.
Taking a slow, deep breath she placed her hands on the bottom of the window, the window that was open just a crack. She wasn't sure why the window was left partially open. She could hear people outside of the room, talking to each other and while she couldn't really heart what they were saying the voices were distinctly male. But if people were there, if as she had suspected they had brought her there, she couldn't understand why they would leave the window open even the slightest bit. She could only reason that they either didn't think she would even attempt to open the window after checking the door and finding it locked or they hadn't expected her to wake up yet. But if it was the first one then that was asinine. Anyone in her position would try to get out the window if the door were locked.
Gripping the window tightly in her hands she froze for a moment when she heard the sound of someone moving around outside the room, taking a slow and deep breath and then holding it because it wouldn't have done her any favors to have whoever is out there to hear her fooling around with the window. It would only serve the purpose of having them come in there and she didn't even want to begin to think about what could possibly happen to her were they to do that. But after a moment whoever was out there walked away from the door and once their footsteps faded away she turned her attention back to the window, gripping it tightly in her hands, so tightly that she had grit her teeth and pushed it up, watching the window very slowly move up until the opening was just wide enough for her to squeeze through.
Glancing back towards the door behind her she decided that it was now or never and pressed her palms against the windowsill, lifting herself up off of the ground and inching through the space, her torso bent over to the outside, glancing down at the snow-covered ground beneath her and knowing that there was a very good chance that when she landed she'd hurt herself. But that was a risk she was willing to take because all manner of horrible things could have happened to her if she were to stay inside. So she took another slow and deep breath and pushed herself off of the ledge, her body falling to the ground with a barely audible thud, barely able to put her hands out in front of her to brace herself from the impact to make sure that it wasn't her face that made contact with the ground, whimpering softly as her leg caught slightly on a jagged edge and her skin split open.
She didn't let herself think about that pain for long though, merely stayed there long enough to catch her breath and then stood as quickly as she could, brushing herself off and glancing both ways to make sure no one was outside with her and then she pushed herself up off of the ground and ran. She ran as fast as she could, ducking through the wooded area around her, branches scratching at her arms and her face as she tried to bat them away, her skin protesting against the assault as much as her lungs protested about the sharp intake of cold air but her adrenaline was pumping, her survival instinct taking complete and total control of her as she ran through the trees.
Behind her she could hear a heavy door slamming open and a man yelling out in words she can't quite process but she didn't look back. She didn't slow down. She just kept running for her life.
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Lysander Scamander was used to his sister taking his protectiveness badly though that didn't make him anymore amused by the situation- or happy about it for that matter. Sometimes he wound think that that he wasted a lot of time and energy worrying about her when she didn't seem to appreciate it but even if that was the truth he couldn't stop himself from worrying about her. He was her older brother and though he was merely minutes older that still made him the older sibling and as such he felt like it was his duty to ensure that she was alright and sometimes that meant protecting her from herself and her terrible taste in men.
He didn't understand how it was that she always seemed to find herself drawn to the most undesirable of men, the kinds that he would rather hex into oblivion than see on the arm of his sister. Most of the time she chose the ones that were pretty much useless, either too idiotic to get out of their own way or too dense to realize that he was only talking them to size them up and not to make friends. And whenever he told Lorcan that he doesn't think they were good enough for her she would get rather annoyed, puffing out her cheeks and pursing her lips together, her blue eyes narrowing in on him like she wished she could kill him with her gaze right there. Sometimes it just really did get rather old and yet he did it over and over again, trying to protect his sister from herself and her bad choices in men. It wasn't appreciated, of course. He didn't expect it to be. But he did it all the same.
Once again he and Lorcan had gotten into a rather large fight over his inability to stop from trying to protect her from herself, a large enough fight that Lorcan had gotten mad enough to throw something at his head which he very narrowly was able to avoid. And then, once the item was thrown and she had screamed at him for what seemed to be forever she had stormed out of the house leaving Lysander about ready to pull his own hair out in annoyance, another thing he was very, very used to even though it still frustrated him to almost no end.
And within an hour of that he had been unable to stay inside of the house any longer and had left, finding his way to Lily's home where he normally went whenever he needed to calm down after a rather frustrating encounter with his sister. And, as usual, Lily had simply let him inside and sat there while he continued to rant over his sister and her attitude, the entire time with this almost self-satisfied smile on her face like she was either overly amused by the whole thing or as though she were sympathizing with Lorcan.
After a while he had stopped complaining though and was sitting on her couch, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand, a fire burning in Lily's fireplace. Every once in a while he would swish the liquid around in the glass and lift it up to take a sip out of in, flinching very slightly at the taste and then lowering his arm back down to hang over the arm. And then he'd tilt his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, groaning quietly because the alcohol is getting to his head, making his mind spin a little bit. And he knows that one of two things will happen- one of two things that always happens will happen- which is he'll either stop himself from drinking anymore so he can get himself home after he sobers up a bit or he'll end up passing out right there on the couch and Lily will leave him there for the night and just wake him up in the morning to get him to go home.
A knock at the door made him groan quietly and open his eyes, lifting up his hand to rub at them. The knocking came again, frantic this time and he glanced over his shoulder towards the hall. The sound of the shower had stopped by now but he didn't know how long Lily was going to take in there so he couldn't count on her to answer the door. So, given that fact he groaned again, placing his glass on the coffee table and slowly standing up, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "Coming!" he yelled out towards the door. "Keep your knickers on!"
He made his way slowly towards the door, glancing back behind him once more in case Lily had come out into the hallway only to find that she was still in the bathroom and then reached out, grasping the doorknob in his hand and pulling it open, his blue eyes clearing up almost instantly and widening when he gazed outside. "Lorcan?"
His sister stood there, her dark hair hanging around her face in a dirty mess in almost oily strings. Her arms were wrapped around herself, shivering in the cold air with nothing but her jumper around her torso to keep her warm. On her cheek, just below one of her equally blue eyes there was a huge, dark bruise that took up almost that entire region of her face. She looked like hell warmed over, her teeth chattering, her lips chapped, her eyes wide with a manic, fearful look shimmering deep within them. He could honestly say that he had never seen her look like that before, not even remotely close.
"Bloody hell," he breathed quietly, reaching out and wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and tugging her into the house and out of the cold. He all but slammed the door behind her, turning his head a little bit to look at her, his dark eyebrows furrow and he puts both of his hands on her upper arms, eyes narrowing a bit. "Lorcan? What happened?"
Lily paused in the doorway, watching Lysander handle his sister, watching the girl standing there like she's in shock and then rushed forward, wrapped up tightly in her dressing gown, coming up next to them and shooing Lysander's hands and wrapping one arm around the brunette girl's shoulder, clicking her tongue at Lysander in distaste. "Let the girl sit down," she scolded and steered the girl over to the couch, sitting her down and crouching down in front of her. "I'll see you some tea, shall I?" she suggested mildly, giving her a small smile as she stood back up and glanced at Lysander to try to remind him to be sensitive given that his sister was quite obviously very, very upset.
Lysander almost rolled his eyes at Lily as if to let her know that he was well aware that his sister was upset, to be as sensitive as he could around her. As much as he liked to argue with his sister he wasn't about to be insensitive right now given how upset she seemed to be right now. So, once Lily moved away from the couch he crouched down in front of his sister, reaching out and taking her hands in his. "What happened, Lorcan?" he asks her again. "Are you alright?"
Lily bit down on her bottom lip as she turned to head into the kitchen and make the tea only to freeze when she heard Lorcan reply in such a quiet voice that the actual words couldn't be made out. So rather than actually heading into the kitchen she turned around and stood in the doorway, watching the two of them.
Lysander furrowed his own eyebrows at his sister, shaking his head a bit. "I couldn't make that out."
"I've been followed," Lorcan repeats quietly.
"By who?"
Lorcan lifted her gaze up slowly, meeting her brother's eyes from underneath her hair, holding his gaze for several moments. "Him," she tells him.
"Who would that be?"
She paused for a long moment, her eyes fixed on his so intently that it almost makes his breath catch in his throat. "I don't know," she tells him after a moment. "I don't know who he is."