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Mary barely had time to utter out a no need to thank me before everything went black and her body fell limp on the pavement ; as if she had simply fallen asleep tucked safely away in bed. The reality was much worse.

It was as if she was waking up from a dream, Mary tried to lift an arm to rub her sleep-filled eyes, but the restraints against her arm restricted her, and suddenly she felt more alert. Coming to her senses, she tried to get up - finding herself bound, and panic began to set in. "Where am I?" her voice was raspy and quiet, eyes scouring the room for any familiar bearings. "I think you've got the wrong person, I'm just - I'm just a healer."

Alecto knew exactly who the witch was, not that the other could say the same, which made this even more so delightful. "Thank you so much," a feigned smile on her lips and a faux helplessness to her tone. The second the other knelt down to tend to her ankle, her wand appeared in her hand, making a counterclockwise circle, followed by marking an X-shape within. "Dornröschen," she whispered loud enough for the other to hear, watching slumber slowly fall over them.

A hand reaches out to touch the sleeping witch, the both of them apparating back to her dungeon, more magic used to have the witch float to her usual place on the stone table, securing her arms and ankles in place. It had been too long since she had Mary within the stone walls and she was excited to play with her, waiting for the woman to wake.

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Maybe she was losing her mind - over the last year, Mary lost count of how many times she had waken up with barely the memory of the night before, too scared to admit it to anyone, even herself. What was happening?

Why couldn't she remember certain nights over the last few months? It was agitating her, the unknown, making Mary exhausted, even at work, when she needed to be on her A game. Besides, the only way to fly through the ranks of St Mungos was to be there, be present as a healer. Which she barely was these days, instead deciding to hole herself up in her apartment to try and figure out what she was missing, and why.

Pacing through the small potions shop, eyes skimming over the different labeled bottles, dainty fingers picking up a few with mild interest before putting them back down. All Mary needed were ingredients, then she could scurry back to her flat and lock herself away ; then she could continue stocking up her supply for the Order.

Mary might have only been twenty three, but her resourcefulness proved useful more than once for the Order. Paying for her things with a small smile, she was barely a step out the door when a wand was shoved right in her face, barely registering her own reaction of her wand being drawn - before letting out a sigh. "Fucking hell, you know how to surprise someone," Mary muttered more so to herself; unable to help the curse words flying from her mouth, as she retracted her wand back into her pocket. "You do know it's rather impolite to point your wand at someone, right?" She asks him with a matter-of-fact tone, raising an eyebrow.

Where: Diagon Alley Who: Open to Anyone

Alastor Moody apparated into the alley, appearing with a crack beneath the overhang of a shop. Having not been seen for nearly two weeks, the Auror was not keen on making a scene and letting everyone know he'd returned to the land of the living if he didn't need to. Moody leaned heavily on his right foot, reaching out with his right hand to brace himself against rough brick of the nearby building. The attack had taken his left leg from him, from just above the knee down, and despite all the attempts from St. Mungo's best, none had been able to fix his wounds. In its place, a gnarled wooden leg was attached. Painful, less agile, and heavy, he hated the damn thing. But it would have to do. After regaining his balance, the Auror's hand slipped back beneath his robes, finding the handle of his wand and gripping it tightly. There had been whispers at the hospital, healers speaking behind closed doors when they thought he was asleep. "Should he be allowed to return to work in the state he's in?" One had asked the Head Healer, "He's so on edge. He nearly cursed Healer Jordan when she went in to check on him last night, said he thought she was someone else--"

"Is it shell shock?" Another had asked, "Was his brain injured in the attack?"

A third had retorted, "Can you blame him? After what he went through, it's enough to drive anyone mad--"

Moody closed his eyes, taking a slow, even breath, and his hand relaxed, but did not let go of the wand entirely.

Thought he was losing it, did they? Alastor grimaced at the thought, remembering the ordeal he had just survived. The ambush, the multiple masked death eaters, the Inferius...

A feeling of pain shot down his left leg, the feeling of cold, lifeless hands gripping him so tight they would surely break the bones... But the leg was gone. "Phantom pains", the Healers had called it. They had assured him they would pass with time. Alastor took a swig from a flask he'd tucked beneath his robes, the taste of firewhiskey searing his throat and pulling him back into the moment. As he pushed the flask back into an inside pocket, the door opened behind him, and without thinking he spun around, his hand flying back to his wand in anticipation of the curse that was almost certainly coming his way.

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Mary took a few cautious steps towards the hurt woman ; her brain barely registering the familiarity of the face, though Mary couldn't remember meeting her - perhaps walking past each other in the street? Every bone in her body was screaming at her not to move closer, and ignoring the alarm bells going off in Mary's head, she gave the woman an assured smile. "Well let's have a look here, you seem to be in luck tonight, I'm a healer," Mary replied back with a soft lilt in her voice that she used for all patients, her fingers gingerly reaching out to touch the other woman's ankle. "Does this hurt when I apply pressure?"

Mary Macdonald, her toy, and it had been too long since the witch last graced her dungeon and tonight, would be her returning, unbeknownst to the brunette that she was luring out to the alley. All Alecto needed was for her to step a little further and she could bring the woman to a sweet slumber. "My ankle." She calls out, bending down to grab at her ankle. Dark hues glance up, her other hand on her wand. "Can you help me?" A gentle tone to her voice.

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where: late at night on a quiet street who: mary & @alectocarrowx

it was cold, that much mary knew for sure as her loud steps echoed through the almost empty street, save for the straggler or two that were also coming home from late shift, or heading out to start their night. she sighed, almost glad to be home - only a few streets left, and mary could lock herself in her little flat and curl up on the couch with tiberius, her ginger cat. as it always goes, though, there was a scuffling sound in an alleyway near her, near enough that she slowed her steps to listen out for trouble. "Hello?" she called out into the vast darkness, straining her eyes to make out a silhouette. "Are - are you okay? Do you need help?"

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What makes you a normal person? FLEABAG | S02E02

[stvrdsts]

Is that  MARY MACDONALD  stepping out into Diagon Alley? Ministry records tell us that they were born on  12TH JULY 1956  and are a  23  year old,  MUGGLEBORN  who works as a  HEALER.  Some have said that they can be described as being  CHARISMATIC, PROTECTIVE & REALISTIC,  however, they also see themselves as being ISOLATED, CALLOUS & VENGEFUL.  Apparently,  SHE  look(s) a lot like  SARAH PIDGEON,  whoever that is, and if they had to pick a side in the war, they would choose to  JOIN THE ORDER.

god hood is a lot like girlhood ; a begging to be believed.

basic.

Full Name: Mary Estrella Macdonald.

Name Origin: mary; star of the sea, bitterness, beloved. estrella; star. macdonald; world ruler.

Nicknames: mare, m, mack, little lamb ( this is a nickname she definitely hates)

Age: 23

Birthday: 12 july, 1956? did i math that correctly who knows

Gender & Pronouns: cis woman & she/her

Sexuality: bisexual

Relationship Status: single

magic.

Patronus: lynx

Boggart: being locked in a cage

Wand Type: i am going to come back to this

Occupation: Healer for St Mungos, sometimes helps the research department too

Affiliation: the order of the phoenix

Face Claim: Sarah Pidgeon

bio. trigger warning ; mentions of torture. general angst.

LIFE ISN'T FAIR. it was cruel and twisted, filled with bad creatures lurking in the darkest corners of the world. sometimes people who didn't love each other had kids. her father used to call her older brother the calm before the storm, with the storm coming two years later. her mother named her mary. for the first few formative years of mary's life it had been filled with laughter and love - at least that's what she thought, though it wasn't until her random bursts of magic had revealed the truth. her parents barely tolerated each other. that plus a daughter with unknown magic abilities? well.

she was a kid, trying to be the mediating adult between her parents - her brother was off with school friends, intent on never spending any spare time at home, so mary was often left alone with hushed squabbles behind closed doors, before one day her mother packed their things, and as soon as sebastian got home, she had taken the two of them from the only home they've ever known in scotland - travelling all the way to nottingham to stay with their aunt.

things seemed to be going well for a while ; mary was making friends at the local primary school, sebastian was hitting high marks in his classes, the macdonald family were slowly building a life. she was finally allowed to be a careless kid coming home with scraped knees and a wide smile, until the fateful knock on the door one saturday afternoon which changed their lives - mary was a witch, part of a magical community hidden to their eye. for a good while, she herself didn't believe it despite the facts laid out in front of her. weird things always happening in the vicinity of her, or if she was especially pissed off.

as she came around to the news, her mother had not, refusing to believe any of it was real until mary had to go and pick up her school supplies. her brother was supportive, but he was still a kid. he thought magic was cool. the days leading up to mary's eventual departure her mother had avoided her until the last minute, and it was sebastian that helped her carry her trunk to the platform.

despite the sour farewell, mary was well and truly excited to learn about magic, having poured over her school textbooks the night before, and when the hat was placed on her head it had called out gryffindor. home of the reckless. house of the brave. it was where she had made a home for herself, amongst the jokesters and know-it-all's. over the years mary had grown into a confident and kind girl, always willing to lend a helping hand. her easy going nature had made it easier for mary to make friends, and just as easy to make enemies.

[tw torture] because as kind as mary was, she was still a hot-head, often arguing with people in class, creating grudges bigger than she was. mary wasn't quite prepared for the bully named Mulciber, who had been sneaky with their attack; a facade of friendship until they had sunk their claws into her unexpectedly. a traumatic event at barely sixteen - all signs point to torture of some form, yet the night of the attack Mary's memory still remains blank. without the proof, despite being in the hospital wing for days afterwards, and a scar that kept coming back no matter how many remedies tried, mulciber was able to stay in school. [end tw] mary had reached out to her parents, at least to her mother and brother, but she doubted that her mother would even tell sebastian she had written to him - and after that night, mary stopped picking up a quill and parchment to write them.

it took mary years after the attack until she felt somewhat okay; instead of seeking help she instead buried herself in her school work, staying up until all hours of the morning with her head in her textbooks or drawing in her sketchbook by the window nook in the gryffindor common room. anger never looked good on girls that thrived from being kind to others, so within the new year mary had decided to put that anger to good use by joining the gryffindor quidditch team as a beater, and despite years of arguing that quidditch was a senseless game, mary felt like herself for the first time in years after her first match. she remained on the team until graduation, before being accepted into the trainee healers program.

that same day someone had come to her with a proposition ; one she couldn't refuse. sick of the injustice done to her, done to other muggleborns that weren't strong enough to get back up, mary gladly accepted the order's invitation with a fire in her eyes that no one had seen in years. she was grit. she was teeth. she was a girl who learned how to use her claws and smile while she was stabbing you in the back.

on the eve of her twenty second birthday, mary decided to go home, feeling nostalgic, missing the girl she could've been ; untouched by war, she'd almost be done with university, probably have a boyfriend she'd be planning her future with. instead she was in the middle of a war against her kind, a constant target on her back. what she saw made her stop her knock on the door - a crack through the curtains revealed her mother smiling and happy, with a man she didn't recognize. instead she decided to search for her brother, spending the night getting drunk on his couch and catching up. she might not have had her mother, but at least mary had her brother, promising to keep in touch - and to this day they still write letters back and forth, which has helped ground mary in the wizarding world.

her natural affinity for helping others and extensive knowledge had given mary a boost in her trainee program, and graduated a year earlier than her class, accepting a position at st mungos not long afterwards, while actively helping the order in her spare time; her flat soon becoming a pit-stop to patch up quick wounds if needed. a pillar of courage she's become, even if she's still haunted by her own memories.

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Albert Camus, The Misunderstanding (1943)

[stvrdsts]

dependent muse blog for lumosfm , as ruined by courtney . ( she/her, aest. )

* MARY MACDONALD ; muggleborn. 23. healer. button collector. muse | pinterest | threads | intro