Mary MacDonald

When people say, 'She's got everything', I've got one answer - I haven't had tomorrow.  [closed rp account]

[fykatgraham]

[x]

[fykatgraham]

[marykathleenmac]

Mary’s drinking face.

[fykatgraham]

♡

[eatsleepraverrepeat]

Eat Sleep Rave Repeat

[efush123]

[x]

[viconfessions]

“Mary should stay away from Macnair! He’s bad news!”

[katgraham-news]

This Bitch. ✈️ .

[harrypotterhousequotes]

[damonishome]

[marykathleenmac]

❄ - headcanon about winter

When Mary was a child--about six years old--her cousin Finn told her that snowflakes were actually angels’ dandruff. When she got a bit of snow on her shoulder, she promptly freaked out, and tried to run away. At that point, already having his bit of fun, Finn explained that he’d only been joking. Mary immediately smacked him in the face with a snowball, but she still didn’t quite believe Finn.

To this day, Finn and Mary still call snowflakes ‘dandruff’. 

[marykathleenmac]

C’mon, Live A Little || Mary, Priss & Atticus

[besnatched]

He could see where this was going as soon as the talk turned to someone knowledgeable in curses, and honestly, Atticus had to bite on his tongue to keep from offering himself. After all, he was just a Hogwarts graduate, it wouldn’t do to show himself too knowledgeable in this field in which he supposedly only had a collector’s interest.

The actual job offer, though, that still took him by surprise. His jaw dropped, keeping him from giving an answer until Priss’ lovingly sorted and stacked heap of paper burst right back into a state which made more of a mess than there had been before. His eyebrows shot up, impressed in spite of himself, and all offense such a chaos spell caused his delicate sensibilities. “I can see that,” he said wryly. He caught himself, feeling a pang of guilt as he saw Priss’s dismay, and added, “none of this is your fault, Miss Burgess, it’s just… Well. I’d say this is some powerful magic. Or very insidious magic, at least. I see now what you were saying, that no amount of hard work can make sense of this mess.”

He had been hard-pressed to imagine such a thing before. Sheer willpower and determination should be enough to enforce your will upon any messy room. Hell, Evan took it to new lengths. He resolved never to speak to Evan of this room. It would give his poor brother nightmares.

Atticus cleared his throat, absently placing his hand on top of his own stack so it wouldn’t even dare think of pulling the same stunt. If it tried, he would find out if paper could feel pain… “Yes, well, anyway…” He looked from Priscilla to MacDonald and back again, then let his gaze wander through the room. “I don’t really have anything to do until September,” he admitted, voice of tone pensive. “And earning some money of my own while I’m doing something I enjoy…”

Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t even hesitate, yet he kept chewing on his bottom lip. There was the risk he would give away too much. But the lure of money… of like-minded company… 

“Okay!” he said firmly before could come up with more concerns, “count me in! If you can convince your editor to pay me, then I’ll help you. I’ve got till September 1st, when I’m planning to start my Healer apprenticeship.”

[marykathleenmac]

The imaginable happened when Atticus accepted the offer: Priscilla--proper, prim Priss--clapped her hands like a little girl that had just learned it was Christmas morning. Mary blinked, and in that split-second, Priss’s enthusiasm contained itself into a small but brilliant smile. “I’m so thankful, you have no idea!” The younger witch said. “I promise you, Master Scabior, I’ll speak to the Editor myself and make sure that we can pay you a fair wage.” 

Mary, however, had noted Atticus’s slight hesitation, and for a moment, she wondered why the young man had paused. He’s probably realizing just how much he’ll have to work, Mary reasoned. To prove her point, the stack of papers nearby shuffled again, accompanied by a low, wet sound: slip-splash. The parchment’s words shifted, growing larger and larger, and the ink began to bleed from the very center of the piece. Instead of ad, the chaos left behind a square of solid black ink. 

“We’d best keep looking for your ad, Atticus,” Mary said, inclining her head towards the ink blob. “I think the more we fuddle around in this room, the more it reacts. I don’t care to find myself covered in ink.” 

In answer, the ink-stained parchment rose in the air, kicking up other pieces of parchment, and settled at Priscilla’s feet. The witch frowned, daintily stepping away from the offending mess.

The intern turned to Atticus, her brows furrowing. “Master Scabior, do you have any ideas about outmaneuvering this curse? I keep trying to remember any incantations from any of my manuscripts, but I seem to keep coming up short.” 

[deeplifequotes]

I don’t want to be stuck in one place my whole life, I want to make memories all around the world.

Unknown (via deeplifequotes)

[deeplifequotes]

A couple years from now, everything you’re stressing about won’t even matter. Keep moving forward.

(via deeplifequotes)

[deeplifequotes]

You gotta work hard for what you want, and twice as hard to keep it.

Unknown (via deeplifequotes)

[marykathleenmac]

Cuppa Nonsense || Mary, Finn & Igor

[karkaroff-silvertongue]

Igor paid little attention to the witch as she brushed aside his apology and hastily cleaned up the mess. He was more concerned with his foot. Grimacing, he pulled the shard of china out of it, tossing it over his shoulder and pressing his fingers over the cut. For the amount it was bleeding, the cut itself was pretty small. Like paper cuts, minor injuries like these just always seemed to sting more than they ought to, as if they were compensating for their size.

“Ботушите вече са имали дупки,” he said, nodding absently. “Не се тревожете за това.”

Then he blinked and looked up at the man. It was so rare here that he encountered someone who spoke Bulgarian that he’d replied without thinking. Volkov could speak it, but hated to, and so they always conversed in Russian. The last person he’d held a conversation with in his own language had been Mladen, several months previous.

He eyed the man at the table warily. He wasn’t Bulgarian himself, that was for certain. He had an accent that Igor couldn’t place. Accent aside though, he seemed proficient in the language. Igor made a mental note to mind what he said. He’d grown so accustomed to no one here understanding his native language that he knew he could very well run the risk of unthinkingly saying something not intended for others to hear.

The man continued on, inviting him to stay and have tea with them. Igor considered him and his companion both, hand still pressed over the cut on his foot. He could feel the tackiness of the drying blood beneath his fingertips. On one hand, hanging out with complete strangers wasn’t his idea of fun. On the other hand, it wasn’t everyday he encountered someone who spoke Bulgarian. And it was a gift-wrapped excuse to get out of the crowds for a few minutes. And he could probably get free refreshments out of it. He shook his head slowly in consent. “Благодаря.”

Unfortunately, the man quickly switched to English, citing his companion’s incomprehension as the reason. Igor immediately held it against her. Still, he buried the annoyance when he replied to her offer and introduction, keeping his tone even. “I am Igor. It is nice to meet you. And it is fine, do not worry about it. It is just a small cut.” He pulled his hand away from it. “Already the blood has stopped.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to get someone else to heal a tiny cut like that. It was more than his pride could handle.

Getting to his feet, he stepped gingerly over to a spare chair and sat down again, leaning down to pull his sock and boot back on. As he did so, he glanced over at the other two. They both had the odd lilting accents he’d come to recognize as Irish, which he supposed would account for Finn’s odd accent when speaking Bulgarian. “Where did you learn Bulgarian?” Igor asked him, genuinely curious. Many of the Purebloods here spoke a bit of Russian, but that was usually the closest he could hope for.

[marykathleenmac]

Mary winced at the sight of the blood; not many things cowed the witch, but lately she’d felt uneasy at the merest suggestion of crimson. Some of her dreams filled with the color, and faceless, disfigured children loomed from the shady corners of her mind. The witch shoved the reaction aside, turning her attention to the stranger, plastering a small smile on her lips as she listened to his introduction. 

The waitress from earlier reappeared, tea in hand, as well as a bottle of firewhiskey and accompanying glasses. “Apologies for the accident, sir,” She said, inclining her head towards Igor. “Management sent this for you. Strictly speaking, this is for medical purposes.” Finn grinned, aiming a languid wink at the waitress, and he puckered his lips and sent a kiss through the air. 

“Might have’ta marry you for that one, darlin’,” Finn chuckled. “You’re a saint sent straight from the angels.”  The aforementioned angel blushed prettily before she trotted off, a new spring in her step, and Finn immediately grabbed the bottle and glasses. He made short work of the top, pouring Mary and then Igor a generous amount of liquor. 

Finally turning his attention back to Igor’s question, Finn’s grin widened. “I’ve got a knack for languages. Kissed the Blarney Stone when I was just a lad.” He took a sip of the medicinal offering before continuing. “Although I would think that living in Sofia for seven months may have helped a tad. I wish I could’ve stayed longer, but I had to go back to the real world eventually; I know my accent is terrible, can’t seem to get rid of my mother-tongue’s hooks and barbs. Whereabouts are you from, friend Igor?”

While Finn paused for yet another drink (never mind that he went straight for the liquor and ignored the tea), Mary took up the conversation. “How long have you been in England, Igor?” She tried for an engaging question; if journalism had taught her anything, it was that people often felt more comfortable talking about a subject they knew well-- themselves. 

[marykathleenmac]

Blame Game || Someone is Always Listening Prompt|| James and Mary

[folly-of-arrogance]

It had started out as a perfectly normal day.  He’d woken up with his wife and made love to her just as he had before they’d gone to sleep.  They’d had a shower (and more sex in the shower because, well saving water had seemed like a good idea at the time) and then he’d spent the day with his mates.  An Order meeting had seemed like just the thing to end off the day.  Get some actual planning done.  Get things straight on where they were going to go from here.

He’d determined that he wasn’t going to make any waves for awhile.  Although he still felt that they’d gotten some valuable information from taking their Death Eater prisoners, having Professor Mac kidnapped and then the Bones boy had shaken him of the desire to go against Dumbledore’s orders.  It was a crapshoot to see how long it would last, James Potter had never been the most patient of people and Albus Dumbledore was the King of Patience, but he wanted his friends safe and trying to play the game the way the Death Eaters did was not helping the cause, only hurting it.

So he settled back and listened, trying not to let himself get frustrated at the renewed calls for patience, for planning, for persevering.  More patrols.  Added wards.  Added communication between members.  

It made sense.  It was a good plan.  Logical, vigilant… patient…

Which all went right out the window when the first explosion rocked through the floorboards.  James blinked in shock, hazel eyes widening as he turned toward the door, on his feet with his wand in his hand in a single, lithe movement.  

Yeah… this was why the patient, vigilant plan was often a pain in the fucking ass in James Potter’s opinion.  Because the enemy did not play by the same rules… 

He cursed and was racing toward the door in seconds.  He was firing off curses and defensive charms within seconds of exiting the building.  The churning, roiling smoke seemed to seep into his lungs, into his mind and he began to cough spasmodically.  He snarled a curse and tried to get his mind to focus.  Lily.  He needed to find Lily and make sure she was alright.  That was the most important thing…

Come out and fight you piece of shit!

James recognized the voice and moved blindly toward it.  It sounded as though she were in danger.  Moving to Mary’s side, he quickly aimed an offensive spell toward her attacker, though in the blanketing smoke and the confusion it was impossible to tell if he hit anything.  

Coughing hard into his sleeve, he grabbed the edge of his robe and quickly sliced a large section away with his wind, winding it around his face.  “Lily!” he shouted at Mary, “Have you seen Lily?!”

[marykathleenmac]

For a moment, Mary’s body wanted to react before her reason could catch up; she aimed her wand towards the approaching figure, her hand barely shaking as she pointed towards the smokey being. 

But then, a familiar face broke through the haze: James. Mary almost sighed with relief, but she recognized that her troubles weren’t yet over--after all, how could she escape when Death Eaters still lingered around the vicinity?

James’s words reached Mary as hazy and unrecognizable as his figure had moments ago, but she forced herself to pay attention to the wizard’s question. Lily. Of course he’d ask after her first; they were madly in love, after all. Some part of Mary--a small part that wanted to push aside the war and pretend nothing evil happened--wondered what it would be like to love someone so deeply. She quickly pushed the silly notion aside, trying to pay attention to her surroundings. You’ll get yourself killed, Mary. 

“I haven’t seen her,” She answered, holding back a cough. She quickly followed James’ example, tearing a corner of her robe and wrapping it over her nose and mouth. From the pair’s right side, a bright flash of emerald lit up the smoke, and Mary’s heart leapt to her throat. She covered herself and James with a shield charm, her gaze still on the area where she’d noticed the side effects of the offensive spell. 

“We’ll look for her this way,” Mary said, grabbing the corner of James’s sleeve with her free hand and tugging towards the source of the lights. “C’mon, we’ve got to see if they need help over here.” 

Footsteps pounded against the earth, and Mary tensed again as shadows flittered in and out of Mary’s sight. A cloaked figure dashed to her left, and instinctively she sent out a curse, missing by a few inches. “James, this way!” She called out. “Lily might’ve run away from the house!” 

[remusjohnslupin]