And at once i knew

---Blog for Ellis Macmillan, Healer, Order. Up in Smoke Marauders Era RPG.

[sebaho-deactivated20170605]

hey send me assumptions you have about me and i will confirm/deny

[ellis-macmillan]

ccnqueror‌:

It looks dirty.

With a twist of his lips, Lucius shakily seated himself onto the box. He twisted his lips, reminding himself that his perfect skin was in danger – dirty robes could be burned, but scars were forever. Lucius sneered at the sarcastic comment, refraining against making one of his own. Ellis made it sound so… sinister. Shady. Lucius liked to think of it as a private consultation. In a closet.

Where Lucius really thought to comment on, however, was Ellis’s proposition. You were never here, and I never helped you. Lucius was a businessman through and through – he understood deals when he saw one. They were compromises, a way of two people getting something that they wanted – with consideration on both sides. Sure, Lucius’s main method of consideration was a threat, or maybe a couple hundred galleons, but he delivered on his terms nonetheless. The concept of being a charity case – of someone helping him without benefits – was completely alien. Ellis was clearly looking for something. Blackmail? Information? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good – in Lucius’s experience, people tended to be more forthcoming when they wanted a huge favour.

“Right,” Lucius said slowly. He slipped his hand into the inner linings of his cloak, pulling out a hefty bag of galleons. He liked to carry one with him wherever he went – just in case he spotted something pretty – but frowned upon feeling the weight of it. “There’s probably only fifty galleons in there,” he confessed. “I’ll get the rest to you by tomorrow. How much do you want? Unless,” he hesitated, “you wanted something other than galleons?”

Even amongst the dusty, dark confines of the closet, the other man’s discomfort was as clear as a bright summer’s day. Though he was certain that a good deal of it was a direct result of his deep wound, Ellis got the sense that the entire premise of their interaction was off-putting. For his part, though he’d certainly prefer the airy brightness and useful trappings of the medical wards, he’d gotten used to impromptu healing sessions in unlikely places. Working with the Order, the Healer hadn’t exactly been given his own private suite in which to see injured members - in fact, he’d be lucky to not have other people tripping over him as he tried to mend whatever the injury-du-jour was. Lucius Malfoy was hardly any different; even if he’d disagree, he bled much the same as anyone Ellis had ever mended.

With a final flourish of his wand, the last of the dried blood flaked from the man’s body, a pile of detritus forming on the ground as though he’d just sanded down a rusty bicycle. The young man stood quickly, still appraising the tenuously held wound from a height. His eyes still fixed on the thin white line on the man’s pale skin, Ellis dug deep into the pockets of his robe, finding a small jar of a magical salve that he’d often provide to patients. He tossed it unceremoniously into Malfoy’s lap. “It should hold up. Twice a day though, apply some of the salve - it’ll help with the scarring, basically erase any trace of it within a few days.” He slid his wand neatly back into his robes, satisfied that the man wouldn’t be fainting on the way out of the hospital thanks to his intervention.

Ellis had almost already began to turn to leave the room when the light-featured man replied to his earlier comment. Galleons? The thought of being paid under the table for his work hadn’t even begun to occur to him. Hadn’t his meaning been clear enough? He wasn’t after money. He wasn’t trying to court any favours. He certainly wasn’t seeking some future clemency that he knew he’d never received. Instead, Ellis wanted silence. He wanted the man to keep his lips sealed tightly, never revealing that the former Ravenclaw had been the one to take the time to patch up someone he knew he could easily be standing opposite of one day. The notion that he could have simply walked away, or even better actively dispatched someone that could so easily be a thorn in their side would not sit well with most of the Order members. He wasn’t blind to the realities of war, and he certainly wasn’t under the impression the Lucius Malfoy would grant him any mercy. Still, the thought of ignoring or taking advantage of someone’s pain didn’t sit well with the blonde man, so much so that a half-delirious Death Eater was even worth saving.

With disdain etched on his face, Ellis reached for the satchel of coins and pulled them slowly away from the man’s outstretched hand. “I can restock my personal stores with this,” he admitted, feeling the weight of the coins in his palm as he tucked the bag inside his robes. “But let’s get one thing clear: I’m not taking your money as a payment - I’m doing it to make sure more people don’t die. And I don’t want a bloody thing more from you, Lucius. I thought I was clear. Keep your mouth shut about it and we’ll both be better off. D’you get that?”

[ellis-macmillan]

themollyprewettweasley‌:

Having kids was always commonplace for bruises and cuts and not only was she notorious for being clumsy, she was also notorious for passing down her genes of being clumsy to her children. So that meant that with the added problem of being clumsy, she also had kids who were amazing at giving adults injuries they weren’t ever anticipating to get. What she hadn’t been anticipating, however, was to be kicked in the face, at three am, nonetheless, by one of her youngest sons and procuring a broken nose.

Molly laughed at Ellis’ wariness of asking what happened. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she wanted people to know she had a broken nose because her child had kicked her in the face at three in the morning. “I’ve been through childbirth five times,” she said as she laughed. “I think I can handle a little pitch.”

His friend’s gentle admonishment caused Ellis to chuckle. Her nose, while it certainly looked uncomfortable, bore no resemblance to the imagined pains of childbirth - let alone five instances of it. He nodded with a grin and pointed his wand at the woman’s face. “Of course - what’s a broken nose then, hey? Two seconds,” he indicated, silently thinking of the word Episkey, only to have Molly’s nose readjust itself with a stiff crack.

The sound was always enough to make Ellis wince, regardless of how many bones large and small he’d set. He wrinkled his own, unbroken nose in response, looking apologetically at his friend. “Good as new - I hope.” Ellis tucked his wand away, handing Molly a few tissues that he’d kept stuffed in his back pocket. The light-haired man took a seat next to his friend, his eyes sweeping the room briefly and chuckling at the preposterous situation that the pair found themselves in. “Now, you’ve got to fill me in - what in the world brought you here? You know, I’m sure it’ll set tongues wagging, me dipping into a closet with a married woman with children,” he said with a wink.

[ellis-macmillan]

camillafawley‌:

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother,” Camilla said softly, putting her hand on her leg as if to hold it steady. The gash on her thigh was almost difficult to spot amidst the blood smeared on her leg and the layers of her skirts– even her white gloves, removed and clenched in one fist, and the sleeves of her cardigan hadn’t been spared the damage. She thought she really ought to start billing the Ministry for each ruined outfit– although her actual work clothing could take much more abuse. “They just showed up when I was walking home; I wanted to make sure it wasn’t.. not-work related before I bothered with all of the paperwork.”

Camilla definitely didn’t make a habit of shoving men into closets, in fact finding this whole exchange rather less than proper, but she knew that her boss would be notified if she actually checked into St. Mugo’s. The last thing she needed was more questions about what exactly she did on the weekends– being part of the Order was probably a fireable offense when one’s job mostly consisted of arresting people who did that sort of thing. “That’s fine– but is it really deep enough to require that?”

“A bother,” Ellis repeated from his position kneeling beside his friend and fellow Order member, his face a mixture of amusement and surprise at her apology. “You’re not a bother,” he corrected, his bright eyes almost paternally meeting the girl’s dark ones for a moment before glancing back down at the reason they were both tucked into a closet. “You are seemingly always needing repairs though. I mean, Godric Camilla - you’re not even wincing! And this one’s deep,” he added, trying to keep the edge of admiration out of his voice as he admonished the younger woman. After all, patching up Order members was second nature - but Camilla seemed to earn more than her fair share of damage. How she gritted her teeth and wore the pain like a badge of honour was both slightly concerning and immensely admirable and Ellis’ opinion seemed to vacillate between the two with each new injury.

“Not a terrible idea,” Ellis conceded, his eyes falling back downwards to inspect the damage more carefully. “If you’d come in as a patient, there’s a shiteload of paperwork to fill out. As far as how serious it is,” he continued, gently touching the area around the would to get a better sense of the severity. The cut looked deep, but the margins were clean - typical of magical wounds. It made the work of binding easier, and would certainly remove the risk of a scar. “It’s definitely going to need some attention.”

Ellis began to work quickly, practiced wand motions efficiently binding the wound tightly. Within a few minutes, a practiced observer would have difficulty locating the wound - save for the large amounts of dried blood. “Tergeo,” he said softly, his small wand movements effectively sweeping away the dried debris and leaving the girl’s thigh with only a thin line over it. Ellis slid his wand back into his robes and stood, rising from the floor quietly with a satisfied expression on his face. “Should be right, now. I’m nervous to ask, Camilla, but...did you get a look at who did this?”

[ellis-macmillan]

30 Days of Character Development

Day 2 - Looks and Perceptions

How do they usually dress?

As a Healer, Ellis is seen most frequently in his green robes, usually with one substance or another caked on. This sort of utilitarian need for simple dress has seeped into his wardrobe choices outside of work as well. He’s quite understated in his dress and doesn’t bother to follow either muggle or wizarding fashion trends too closely. Instead, he chooses simply colored shirts with denim, or a simply lined jacked to sport around. Essentially, his dress is distinctly unremarkable. 

What do they wear to sleep?

Ellis generally doesn’t wear much to sleep, unless it’s a particularly chilly night in the castle. Most nights he’d simply wear his underwear or a pair of athletic shorts to bed as he prefers to be able to move around easily. If it were cold, he has a few pairs of flannel pyjama pants that he’d wear.

Do they wear jewelry?

A simple watch with a brown leather strap and a silver face is all the jewelry Ellis owns, and he wears it frequently. Otherwise, anything shiny is omitted from his wardrobe.

Is there anything about their appearance they wish they could change?

At a young age, Ellis’ appearance was constantly compared to his forefathers. Did he have his grandfather’s nose? His second cousin’s chin? His father’s left eyebrow? At the time, he wanted to be a spitting image of the Macmillan clan, broad and blonde with a proud chest and strong chin. Instead, he’s found himself happy with being slightly more slender, his mother’s more delicate features having been inherited. The further away he is from his family’s common traits, the better.

How would they look as the opposite sex?

If Ellis (Ellie?) were a she, she would still have dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. She would probably keep her hair somewhat shorter, likely no longer than shoulder-length. She would be taller than average and sleight of build, with a more slim physique and minimal curves. The nearest female Face Claim I can think of to match female-Ellis would be Saoirse Ronan.

What do they smell like? Why (do they wear the scent or does it occur naturally)?

Working in a scent-free environment tends to ensure that one doesn’t wear fragrances. Occasionally, Ellis will dabble on a touch of piney aftershave, but those occasions are few and far between.

Do they have an accurate mental picture of their appearance (how they see themselves versus how the world sees them)?

As mentioned before, Ellis is quite content with his physical appearance and thus also has a fairly accurate mental image. He is aware that he’s a fairly average young man, and if anything thinks that he’s a little more plain than he actually is. Other than that, the image of himself that he sees in his head is consistent with what the world sees.

[ellis-macmillan]

ccnqueror‌:

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold off a visit to St Mungos. The injury, messily covered, was starting to become more than just a bother. He found himself cringing every time he took a shower, dreading the thought of peeling back his bandages to reveal whatever abomination was lurking beneath. Lucius was loathe to send for help, however – he had no idea how to explain hiding a week-old injury, especially one inflicted at around the same time as a Death Eater attack.

It was starting to affect him though, and badly. Lucius found himself becoming dizzy every time he stood up – and sometimes if he sat down for too long. In fact, even walking the distance from the Floo to the reception desk was going to be a chore. With a groan, the delirious Malfoy simply grabbed the nearest Healer and shoved them both into a broom closet.

He lifted his bicep, gingerly unwrapping the bandages to reveal a semi-deep cut. Lucius cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ve no idea how this happened, either,” he lied. “I was, uh, practicing dueling with Father. Can never be too careful in this day and age. I was going to go to St Mungos, but I didn’t want anyone thinking anything… bad, you know.”

Lucius swallowed. He hated pain. He tensed his arm and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ready.”

Even in the dimly lit surroundings, Ellis could tell that the blonde man opposite him was not faring particularly well with his injury. He appeared unsteady on his feet, so much so that the former Ravenclaw peeled his eyes off the laceration long enough to sweep the floor of the room behind him. Locating a study-looking box, Ellis shoved the makeshift bench across the floor with a low scrape, nodding towards the object. “Sit,” he suggested, taking his own advice and lodging his backside on an upturned bucket near the man’s side.

Once more, Ellis turned his attention back to the reason the two men were tucked away in the dusty confines of the closet. The entire area was tinged red, a carmine hue imbued not only from the residue of dried blood but of a potential infection working it’s way in to the man’s system. He continued to inspect the cut as Lucius spoke, never once raising his eyes to meet the other man’s gaze. “Oh, aye,” he agreed facetiously, shaking his head at the utterly thin veneer of a lie that was being foisted upon him. “Nothing strange or bad at all about this. Just one bloke stitching up another in a closet. Everyday stuff, really.”

In truth, the source of the injury was of little import to the Healer. Though the lies and the clear sense of entitlement that had always seemed to ooze thick from the likes of Lucius Malfoy rankled him, Ellis had a job to do. Besides, he’d always seen the blond man as a sort of sympathetic figure in school - along for the ride, but never quite fully involved. Perhaps it was wishful thinking - that not every pureblooded family sorted into Slytherin house were dreadful, prejudiced people. Still, he had never run afoul of Malfoy himself, and that alone deserved some measure of reciprocation. It wasn’t something most members of the Order would understand, he thought, but it went beyond allegiances. Regardless of which side of the next fight they found themselves, there was a man sitting before him in pain - a pain that he could take away. “Listen, Malfoy - let’s put that mind of yours at ease. You were never here, and I never helped you. Whatever you did to your bloody arm, it up and fixed itself, yeah?”

Receiving confirmation and noting the way the man gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes tightly together, Ellis set about his work. He moved gingerly, each flick from the tip of his wand pulling the edges of the wound tightly against the other, as though the skin was being manipulated by an invisible seamstress. With each further motion the cut became less apparent, moving from a nasty gash to something more resembling a substantial scratch. Once the two edges had been joined, the blonde man began to move his wrist in tight circles, cleaning up the detritus from the skin bit by bit. A few further motions along with some muttered charms and the skin appeared to have a thin, tender layer of protection over the cut, a sort of membrane that both held the wound together and prevented anything further from entering the gash. 

[ellis-macmillan]

pandorakane‌:

Pandora had sent herself out on the tiniest of tiniest  of errands. Already she had managed to get herself lost of time as well as turned around. The moment that an elder wizard approached him, mentions of running low on certain healing potions that could easily be found at almost any apothecary store, Pandora had immediately volunteered her services. After that, however, there were more. More people approaching and they began to blend together. Everyone was grieving after the incidents that occurred at the festival. Everyone in help and in need, everyone having pamphlets that blared in agreement with the Prophet headlines. Her day was not tied down and she felt better making herself available and of assistance. She hated feeling useless, weak. It was hard to ignore any of it and how her heart dropped at thinking about all that occurred. 

Thus her day began an endless rotation of helping, a ripped page from her notebook clutched in her hand with detailed instructions she gathered from others. It was the middle of the afternoon, the bright sun hanging above the streets, and had it been any other time Pandora would appreciate the warmth of the sun. It was strange times, and it was like she was holding her breath when the Prophet seemed to propose the idea of muggleborn registries. Pandora hopped over to a person, her smile bright and welcoming. 

“Excuse me - excuse me, I’m sorry, so so so sorry, but - I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of, erm…,” Pandora squinted her eyes at the parchment in front of her, her hand brushing an errant curl away from her heart shaped face. “Ah!- the um. Polly’s Apothecary? I could have sworn I was close.”

The brilliant fall sunshine outside seemed to be in stark contrast with Ellis’ mood - or, at least, the mood that the vicious headache that accompanied several pints of beer the night before put him in. He languished against the worn brick wall of one of the Diagon Alley shops, soaking up the sun like a lizard basking in midday glow. Despite the large, dark glasses he wore to shield his eyes from the assault of the sun, the young man still squinted behind the lenses, appreciating the way the sun’s rays glinted off the brightly coloured glass of the neighborhood shops. Despite the bright and cheerful weather, a cool breeze seemed to foretell of bitter winter nights and snow-lined streets. For his part, Ellis appreciated the way the cool air buffeted his face. For a moment as his headache abated he could swear that the brisk wind almost relieved his hangover, bringing him sweet reprieve from the regret of the last pint or three. Almost relieved it.

Ellis’ fingers absently traced the bottom lip of paper cup of coffee that he cradled in his hands, his shoulder beginning to numb from the pressure of his body weight. He’d left his flat to liven himself up, grab a bit of caffeine, with the hope that a quick jaunt into the real world would put his hangover to bed before his night shift at the hospital. He took a greedy gulp of the lukewarm liquid, the acrid bitterness of his mouthful a welcome break from the dry mouth. He glanced down, taking a peak at the worn face of his watch that poked out from beneath his sleeve. He still had some time left before he needed to make himself presentable for work - perhaps a nap would be useful.

The young man hard hardly taken three steps back into the street, lurching forward off his perch, before the voice of a young woman stopped him. Internally he sighed at the unexpected intrusion, though his face didn’t bear the same impatience. Instead, a canny smile and a look over the top of his frames as he turned greeted the younger woman. “Certainly. Only because you’re so, so, so sorry though. I’d you’d have only been so sorry I think I’d have passed,” he teased gently, trying to keep the edge of tiredness out of voice. There was something familiar about the girl - a vague memory of a resemblance only, but enough to keep his gaze intently fixed on her face as he jerked his head to his right. “You’re almost there - few shops down there’s an alley, it’s on the right hand side once you’re there. Actually,” he paused, glancing in the direction he’d indicated before continuing. “I’m headed that way myself. I don’t mind showing you. You have to tell me one thing, though - where do I know you from? It’s driving me mad!”

[ellis-macmillan]

@advance-emmeline

“So, he had the nerve to tell me that the Ferula charm wouldn’t work for this bloke. He had a bloody broken leg! What else is it for?!” Ellis exclaimed, eyes wide as his hands gesticulated madly, the fork grasped between his fingers at risk of being tossed haphazardly into the rest of the staff gathered for lunch. The vast - vast - majority of people in his life had become so adept at tuning out the enthusiastic young man that Ellis took every advantage to talk shop with anyone who showed the slightest hint of interest in the medical world. Emmeline had demonstrated herself to not only be a willing victim but an active participant, usually shooting back with her own stories about the ineptitudes of some of their colleagues. 

The young man quickly stuffed a bite or two of his quickly cooling lunch into his mouth, still shaking his head at the memory of the aforementioned patient. As he swallowed the large mouthful, Ellis looked up from his bowl and quirked a brow in his friend’s direction, surprised by the relatively quiet response. “Here’s where you say ‘’s that right? Merlin, Ellis, it’s a wonder you didn’t hex him straight out of the room.’. Just an idea though - I’ll let you decide an appropriate reply.” He paused momentarily, the easy smile that he wore slowly beginning to fade. He dipped his head slightly, trying to catch the girl’s gaze before asking: “You good?”

[ellis-macmillan]

49: Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

“Are you having a laugh? Dying? Who isn’t afraid of dying? I swear, anyone who says that they aren’t is either lying or deluded. I’ve heard people say that Death’s a sweet escape, but I think that lot needs to give their head a shake - I’d take the pleasure and pain of living over the great void of death over and over again.”

[ellis-macmillan]

34: Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

“Don’t think I’m really on one end of that or the other, really. I mean, privacy’s nice, to an extent. Don’t need anyone poking around my bin to see how much takeout I’ve been eating lately. But I’m not exactly a closed book - Merlin, I’ve lost count on the number of times I’ve been told to shove off and shut it after asking too many questions. Guess I just don’t go around volunteering information, y’know? Time at the pub excepted, of course. Does that make sense? Feel like you’ve probably lost interest by now. Guess that’s the secret to staying private, eh? Be a right prat who rambles and eventually people bugger off.”

[ellis-macmillan]

9: Makeup?

“D’you…D’you mean to ask if I wear makeup? That muggle lady did say that the cream she was hawking would work wonders on my skin, but I never thought it’d make you lot think I was wearing concealer. Sorry to disappoint, mate, but I’m…what’s the saying…au naturel? Now, if you’re asking about my preferences for other folks, well… ‘s not really any of my business, innit? I mean, I’d say the less the better, but it’s not my face I’m caking up.”

[ellis-macmillan]

☛ GET INSIDE YOUR CHARACTER'S HEAD! aka The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Meme

Ask a question, any question! All inquiries will be answered by the Muse!

1: What does their bedroom look like?

2: Do they have any daily rituals?

3: Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

4: What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

5: Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

6: Eating habits and sample daily menu

7: Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

8: Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

9: Makeup?

10: Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

11: Intellectual pursuits?

12: Favorite book genre?

13: Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

14: Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

15: Biggest and smallest short term goal?

16: Biggest and smallest long term goal?

17: Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

18: Favorite beverage?

19: What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

20: Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

21: Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

23: How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

24: Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

25: How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

26: Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

27: What is their biggest regret?

28: Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

29: Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

30: Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

31: Most prized possession?

32: Thoughts on material possessions in general?

33: Concept of home and family?

34: Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

35: What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

36: What makes them feel guilty?

37: Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

38: What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

39: Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

40: How misanthropic are they?

41: Hobbies?

42: How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

43: Religion?

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?

45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

46: If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

47: How do they express love?

48: If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

49: Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

[ellis-macmillan]

30 Days of Character Development

Day 1: Basics and Cosmetics

Age? 26

Date of Birth? February 10

Hair color? Dirty/Dark Blonde

Eye color? Light Blue/Blue-Gray

Skin color/nationality? Caucasian, English

Accent (if any)? English; Southeast/London.

Height? 6'0" or 1.82m - Could be described as a little lanky.

Weight? 165 lbs or 74 kg

Tattoos? None

Piercings? None

Birthmarks? None

Scars? Has various small scars on his hands and knees from childhood accidents

Do they have any nicknames? Has been called ‘Ell’, or ‘Mac’ by his housemates in the past. None have really tended to stick long enough for them to become part of his identity.

[ellis-macmillan]

“Hold still,” Ellis urged, his low voice echoing off the cozy confines of the darkened room’s walls. In his years as a Healer, treating people’s injuries outside the typical hours on shift was commonplace. Whether patching up innocently acquired scrapes and bruises or repairing the damage received from sinister intentions, not many injuries or situations seemed to faze him any longer. This, though - this was new. He could finally check ‘Being shoved backwards into a supply closet, just before leaving Mungo’s for the evening’ off his list.

While his mind replayed the encounter, his hands reached tentatively forward to further inspect the damage. Ellis’ crystalline eyes narrowed slowly, his gaze honed in on the wound with a careful wariness that had become second nature. “Godric, what...nevermind. I don’t want to know how you got this,” he sighed, extracting his wand from his thigh pocket with a shake of the head. He mused that when he’d wished for something to make his shift more interesting, that he hadn’t imagined this as a possibility. With a wry smirk, he lifted his wand slowly aloft and met his closet-mate’s gaze. “This might pinch a little - gather you expected that, though. Ready?”

[smokehqs-a]

ELLIS MACMILLAN

Occupation: Healer Age: 26 Blood status: Pureblood Allegiance: Order FC: Patrick J Adams

BIOGRAPHY:

“From eight generations of witches and Warlocks!”

He’d heard it proclaimed loudly on a variety of occasions. Family gatherings, unsurprisingly. Times of difficulty, with certainty. Weekday breakfasts, occasionally. The words had been repeated so many times, a family mantra espoused whenever convenient, that the words themselves had nearly lost their meaning. Nearly, save for the obvious intention behind his father’s not-so-humble facade: You’ve got a long line of Macmillans waiting on you, Ellis - time to kick on and do something worth writing home about.

The weight of the family name was not unique to the Macmillan clan though Ellis, an only child, felt its burden more acutely than most. A lad with a constant chip on his shoulder with no desire greater than to hear his father crow about one of his accomplishments instead of the gift of the name he’d had bestowed upon him, Ellis became the first of his family in two centuries to be sorted somewhere other than Hufflepuff house. Was he not hard-working enough? Did he lack the genial, puffed-up charm of his predecessors that led most to politely regard the Macmillans as ‘fine’? It played on his faculties constantly, the mere sight of blue and bronze wringing his neck enough to wrack his mind with painful comparisons. Worst of it all was the criminal fact that he enjoyed his surroundings more than he’d ever believed possible, the free-flowing wit and incredible curiosity of his housemates spurring him on to ravenously devour information. After seven years spent feasting on the pleasures of Hogwarts with his housemates, only the challenge of a never-broached field within the Macmillan family would slake the thirst of finally proving himself - Healing.

His father thought him mad; Why would someone willingly deal with wix that had gotten themselves in all sorts of nasty situations? Why would his son choose to languish in the figurative trenches, away from the public eye, doing yeoman’s work instead of basking in the joys of being a pureblood? For Ellis, the reason seemed simple enough - being a Macmillan had never been enough. It clearly hadn’t been enough for his father; the constant sermonizing about the honours of the family name made that abundantly clear. And it certainly wasn’t enough for him, to rest upon the laurels of something outside of his control. Better to put himself to use, to dig in his heels and prove why he deserved a place at the table.

Long hours spent under the bright lights in the operating theatres in St. Mungo’s, hundreds of pairs of bottle-green robes that Scourgify couldn’t cleanse, only served to further highlight his drive. He could help - he could solve the problems facing his patients. Still, more of the clients that came across his watch bore the unmistakable marks left behind by dark magic, the scars of a twisted malice that sought to cleanse the world of those it deemed unworthy. Of those who didn’t belong. It stunk to high heaven of entitlement, of the same sort of shite that he’d so often found himself caught under. But he’d earned his place, through blood, sweat, and tears. He’d put his entire life into ensuring that when his name was spoken aloud with reverence, it was for his deeds, not the ones of his long-dead ancestors. He would be damned if he’d stand by and watch as witches and wizards like him, those that had fought every second for the respect they’d deserved, be herded up like cattle for the slaughter.

He’d join the Order. He’d stitch up their fighters. He’d sabotage their enemies. And everywhere he went, he’d make each and every person he came across know that the Macmillans were more than eight generations of wizards and witches.

INTERESTED IN ELLIS? HE IS AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER. HE IS PLAYED BY ROB.