A/N; I don't own Charmed or any of the characters from the show. Only Noah.
Melinda had been eight when she first saw Noah walking down Prescott Street.
At that age Melinda had a head full of bouncy, golden curls, framing a face with round cheek bones and a prominent chin. A pair of bushy, but fine haired eyebrows rested over a pair of almond shaped jade green eyes. Standing in front of the mirror Melinda would always poke at the little bump on the bridge of her nose, wishing it to just go away. At the age of thirteen she tried to magic it away, only to end up with an eggplant shaped nose.
It was early on a Monday evening, in the midst of October and Melinda was sitting at one of the couches in the living room, a book opened in her lap. She wasn't particularly fond of reading, her dyslexia made it quite confusing and tiring, but she enjoyed the illustrated pictures. She'd been leafing through it for a while, before throwing a sideways glance at her father, who was seated next to her, reading his newspaper.
"So, Dad," she started and Leo bend the top of his paper to look at her.
"So, Mel?" he prompted when she didn't continue. Melinda's fingers played with the corner on the top of the page.
"You were a doctor, weren't you? Before..." she trailed off, not certain how to finish her sentence. Leo folded his newspaper, lying it down on the couch and focusing all his attention to his eight year old.
"I was, yes. Why are you asking?"
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Melinda dropped her gaze to her lap. The book was still lying there, but every time she tried to read one of the words, the letters jumped and blurred and changed places. The girl let a small frustrated sigh, snapping the book shut.
"Melinda, what's wrong?" her father asked, scooting closer to her. Melinda bit on her lip. "Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right?" he coaxed, putting a finger underneath her chin and lifting her face.
"Well, it's just that, we were talking about jobs at school today and Mrs. Sargeant said that everyone has a true calling and how important is to find it and then Lowell jumped up and said his true calling in life was to be a surgeon and Mrs. Sargeant was so impressed!" Melinda's eyes opened wide for emphasis. She was a little out of breath, having said everything in less than thirty seconds.
"Okay," Leo said slowly, waiting for her to continue.
"Well I... I thought that, I... Maybe I could," Melinda had a little trouble putting her thoughts in order to make sense.
"Breathe, honey," Leo instructed. Melinda drew in a deep breath, holding it in for a couple of seconds and letting it out in loud whoosh.
"Maybe I want to be a doctor," she said, looking him square in the eye. Leo raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, you do?" he questioned and Melinda gave a small shrug, "That's great, sweetheart."
"You think I can?" At this Leo frowned.
"Of course I think you can," he said earnestly and Melinda flashed him a smile, but it soon faltered. "Why are you asking me that?"
"Because... My grades are not, they are not good and I can't... I can't even read," Melinda whispered in confession. She could feel the back of her eyes burning and she blinked her eyes stubbornly, wanting to keep the tears at bay.
Melinda despised crying. She despised it ever since she was a baby. Out of all three of his children Melinda had been the one to never wake him up at ungodly hours wailing her lungs out. Leo could practically count the times he'd seen his little girl crying in the fingers of his hands. He wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders, pulling her onto his lap and tucking her head under his chin.
"Listen to me," he said, taking on the tone he used on the girl's mother years ago, when she doubted herself; "You can do anything you set your mind to."
"But my grades..." Melinda said miserably and Leo had to swallow a chuckle.
"Honey, you are still only eight years old," he said, running his fingers through her traces. "There's plenty of time to improve your grades, trust me. And I will help you, in any way that I can."
"Really?" she asked, looking up at him and he smiled.
"Really," he reassured her.
"Dad! Dad!"
"Dad!"
The two disembodied voices travelled into the living room and were soon followed by Melinda's two older brothers, as they came running into the living room. Unlike the two boys, Melinda was not part-whitelighter and since it upset her greatly that they could orb and she couldn't, Chris and Wyatt had made a pact to refrain from orbing when they were home. Instead they'd opted running around the place, which aggravated their mother to no end, but they couldn't please everyone.
As if on cue their Piper's voice rung from the kitchen, where she was preparing dinner, "Chris, Wyatt what did I tell you about running in the house?" she reprimanded them and at least Wyatt had the decency to blush. Chris simply rolled his eyes.
"Sorry, mom," Wyatt yelled towards the kitchen, "But we are going to be late for lacrosse practice," he added, looking at his father.
"Yeah, and you know, if he doesn't make it to practice in time, how can he cheer for the team from the bench," Chris said with a small smirk, earning a punch on his shoulder.
"How doesn't that big head of yours drag you to the bottom of the pool, I'll never understand," Wyatt fired back, causing Chris to narrow his eyes.
"Boys," Leo warned the two of them. Chris gave another roll of his eyes, and moved his weight from one foot to the other, putting some distance between them. Wyatt fixed the strap of his duffel bag and crossed his arms over his chest. Leo shook his head; he really needed to find a way to dispute the rivalry between his sons or else he'd have his hands full for the next five years. And that was not a happy thought. He dropped a kiss on Melinda's forehead and then lifted her off him and back to the couch. He said, "We can continue our talk later?"
"Sure," she said just as he stood up.
"I'm calling shotgun!" Wyatt yelled, heading for the door. But Chris' hand snatching on his duffel had him stumbling and almost falling down.
"You can't call shotgun" he said, looking at his big brother appalled.
"I just did, Chrissy," Wyatt said, wiggling his eyebrows. Chris cocked his head on the side, regarding him for a long second.
"I'll race you for it."The boys stared at each other for a second and then both sped for the door. Leo who was shrugging on his coat sighed. He heard Melinda's soft laugh.
"You're my last hope," he said to the girl, who laughed again, before following after the two boys.
The talk with her dad had been brief, but Melinda felt much better afterwards. She wasn't usually one to crave reassurance, being a pretty confident and independent child, but when she did her father was her go-to guy. Either him or her Aunt Paige; she always knew just what to say to make everything seem better.
She could hear her mother humming in the kitchen. Her mother didn't like to sing in front of people, but when she was alone cooking, she would always hum under her breath. It made Melinda all warm inside. Piper was making lasagnes, Wyatt's favourite, and it had already started smelling deliciously. Melinda was about to join her in the kitchen and pretend to help, but then something caught her eye.
Waking up that morning Melinda had noticed the grey clouds hanging low on the sky, she'd noticed how they looked heavy with promise for downpour. And now it was raining and Melinda loved to watch the rain as it fell down. There were no cars driving up and down Prescott Street, only the occasional yellow and orange leaves blew down the road. A lightning tore the sky apart and Melinda lifted her eyes, gazing in awe as another and then another shredded the sky in pieces. When she returned her eyes on ground, she saw him.
Him, was a boy, barely older than her. He was quickly walking up the road, trying to cover his head and face with his arms. The coat he was wearing looked a little too big on him and so did his jeans, hanging way too low on his waist. His black hair was plastered on his skull and he kept pushing a pair of glass with rectangular lenses, higher on the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be heading towards the ending of the row of houses on the left side of the road. Melinda had never seen him before and she knew almost everyone living in Prescott Street.
The boy had just walked past the manor, when he abruptly halted. He swiftly turned around and his eyes landed on hers; amber on green. Startled, Melinda jumped backwards, letting go of the curtain. Embarrassment bubbled up in the pit of her stomach at being caught spying, but her curiosity was greater. So once again she pulled the curtain and peered out, half expecting to not find him there.
He hadn't moved an inch. He was standing by the pavement, with the rain falling unforgivingly down on him, drenching his clothes, but he didn't seem to care. Melinda's eyes took him in, cataloguing every little detail; from the bright neon-green colour of his shoelaces, to the way his nose was turning reddish, and how despite all the rain his hair refused to go down at some places. From his position on the road, he seemed to be studying her to.
"Melinda, honey, could you please come help mommy with something?" her mother's voice requested sweetly, but Melinda knew her well enough, to know it was no request. She didn't have much of a choice on the matter.
"Um, sure," she said back, without actually making any attempt of moving away from the window. She didn't know why, but she had the impulse to go out and talk to this boy. Which could end up being very dangerous, considering her last name and how talking to strangers was never safe when you were a Halliwell.
"Some time in the next century would be great." Her mother's sarcasm was almost as bad as Chris'. Melinda let a small sigh; she really didn't want to walk away from that window. She also didn't want to test her mother's patience. So with one last look and the corners of her lips almost curling, she let the curtain fall.
"I'm coming!" she yelled, heading towards the kitchen.
Melinda had been eight when she first saw Noah walking down Prescott Street.