#mandmdrabbles

[alastairphoenix-blog]

☩ a dream my muse has about your muse

Alastair wasn’t sure what time it was when he slowly peeled open eye to peek down at the brunette clung to his side. The room was still shrouded in darkness, so it couldn’t have been too early, but the full moon casted just enough light in for him to see the heavy creases lining her trouble face. He’d just barely heard her fretting over something, unsure if it was his own imagination or not, but now that he was half conscious, he could see she was having a nightmare. “Hey, Mars.” He probed gently, his voice still thick with sleep. “Mary.” Alastair didn’t want to wake her, but he knew it would be better to free her from whatever horror was plaguing her dreams. It took a small shake for the brunettes eye lids to flutter open in surprise, her gaze moving wildly around the room before landing on the sleep heavy boy next to her. Almost immediately her face shifted from one of fear to comfort, the realization dawning that it had been a dream. “What were you dreaming about?” He crooned softly as he brought his lips to her temple, leaving a soft trail of kisses down to her jawline. “I uh- you were Mr. Darcy and I was Elizabeth and you were -” She paused and looked down at her fingers with a guilty expression. “ We’d just found one another and then you were taken from me. It was awful.” Alastair nodded in response, his heart heavy for the girl lying in his arms. This wasn’t the first dream she had like that and he knew how much they scared her.“I’m right here though. I told you I wasn’t going anywhere and I meant it.”  He enveloped her in a tight embrace, resting his head atop hers as he settled himself back into a sleepy daze. “Go back to sleep, babe, It’s okay.”

[itsmissmarymac]

(Totally sending you some double jeopardy! XD ) ☠

☠: Your muse has died, this is how mine reacts. 

She heard it on the Wizarding Wireless Network, just as she heard about all deaths these days. It was strange, hearing it almost nonchalantly as part of an entire list of names, read by the same somber voice that crackled along with the static. She felt as if someone had punched her in the gut, her breath hitching and the rest of the names read slurring into background noise. She and Severus had never gotten along. Sure, she had hoped at times that she could forgive him, but never really regretted her insistence upon not doing so. She couldn’t explain the tears that began to well up in her eyes. Perhaps it was because she imagined how Lily must be feeling, how Severus’ family must be grieving. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew him, and now he was dead, and even if she wanted to forgive him, she couldn’t.

[itsmissmarymac]

☠: YOUR MUSE HAS DIED, THIS IS HOW MINE REACTS.

She knew that the Order had been on a mission that night, so when she heard the screaming all the way from the Spell Damage ward, Mary’s mind flew straight to the worst. She had too many friends in the Order not to be scared every time there was some mention of Death Eater skirmishes, every time there was news of someone being admitted for injuries won in battle. Patients of the closed Janus Thickey ward began to lift their heads from their cots as the shouting pierced the silence, but Mary didn’t notice. Her mind was flooded with images of her friends, their laughs and their smiles and the realization that there was a possibility she could never see one of them again. Dropping the tray of whirring silver instruments, she tore through the door and down the hall, following the shouts to the Emergency Confine. She shouts were cut off abruptly by the slam of a heavy door, and Mary cursed herself for not reacting sooner. After the door was closed, they would not let anyone else in. She skidded to a halt outside the door, wildly pounding her fists against it, hoping that they would allow her in just this once. Mary had to know, and the silence was deafening. After what seemed like ages, her fist flew forward into open air. The door had flown forward. For a second, she thought that she had gone hard of hearing…surely, if a patient’s life was on the line, there would be a bit more heightened sense of urgency. Then again, they had time to open the door. Mary walked forward slowly, passing the mediwitches and mediwizards and their solemn expressions, just far enough to see the ruffled red hair of the man who lay very still on the gurney, his thick rimmed glasses hanging askew from his nose. Mary let out a strangled sob, something pained and unintelligible. Arthur Weasley, his young face ashen and spattered in scarlet. She sank to the ground slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t accept it - wouldn’t accept it. Her bottom lip was pressed so hard between her teeth that she drew blood, and silent tears began to fall down her cheeks. She sat there, crying for a long while, even after all her fellow healers had trickled out of the room.

[itsmissmarymac]

♤: Our muses are playing a game, which kind and who is winning?

They sat by the bank of the Black Lake, legs crossed and facing each other, Mary with a mischievous glint in her eyes and Alffie looking slightly more tolerant than usual of her antics. For this, as he would explain to many people throughout the rest of the day, was certainly Mary’s idea and Mary’s idea alone.

“You just say it.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Alffie.”

“Fine,” he muttered exasperatedly, averting his gaze from her eyes to nowhere in particular. He let out a sigh. “Penis.”

“Oh come on, it’s like you want me to win.”

“Mary, it’s hardly -”

“Penis,” she said almost conversationally, not loud enough to draw glances but with enough volume that Alffie’s cheeks tinged pink, even for the slightest of moments. She cocked an eyebrow. There was nothing like watching the boy battle internally between his desire to win and his desire to retain his pride. Alffie coughed, sitting up a bit straighter. 

“Penis!” A passing gaggle of first years looked quizzically in their direction, and Mary snorted at the keen grin on Alffie’s face. “Slightly less pathetic,” she noted, Alffie’s narrowing eyebrows only causing her grin to widen. She sided a glance at an oncoming group of cloaked individuals. It was Professor Flitwick, dressed in robes of emerald green and tottering along slightly in front of three other wizards; unfamiliar to Mary, they had a golden M emblazoned on their robes of deep navy. Alffie followed her gaze, only to whip his head back around, his expression threatening. Happily, Mary rested an elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. Waiting.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he warned in a low voice. Mary smirked silently. Flitwick and the Ministry workers paced closer, engrossed in conversation. 

“PE-”

Alffie lunged forward, clapping a hand over Mary’s mouth as they toppled over backwards. The passersby granted them a quick glance before continuing on along the path. Mary lay on her back, shaking with suppressed laughter while Alffie laid beside her on his stomach, hand still clamped over her mouth. Amused, she studied his expression; while his eyes were shooting daggers her way, his mouth was twitching as though he was struggling to keep a completely straight face. Collecting herself with a feigned dignity, she pulled Alffie’s hand from her mouth.

“I think I won.”

“Sod off,” Alffie replied quietly with a roll of his eyes, a grin ghosting across his face as he sat back up.

[itsmissmarymac]

◊: Your muse comes to mine, crying, how does my muse react? // Alastair

Perhaps it was the pile of unfinished Arithmancy homework that sat before her, the continued sleepless nights, or the fact she and Alffie had now gone two weeks without exchanging a single word, but Mary felt tears brimming in her tired eyes. Elbows propped up on the library table, she let her head fall defeated into her hands, breathing in deep, heaving breaths. Silently, she thanked Merlin that the library was eerily empty for a Tuesday night. Alastair would be arriving any minute to help her struggle through arithmancy, and the thought brought her balled up fists to her eyes, hastily wiping the tears with the sleeves of her robes. She didn’t need him to pity her right now, she needed to get through arithmancy. Surely, she could have Lily pick her brain at a more reasonable hour.

Shuffling footsteps alerted her of his presence, and she quickly ducked her head, pretending to rummage in her bag for a quill. 

“Right then,” Alastair’s low voice called as he slumped into the chair next to Mary. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been more ready to spend two hours staring at numbers. Mary?”

Mary mumbled something inaudible in response, head still down with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She’d have to come up sometime, and knowing Alastair he wouldn’t wait for long if he felt something was wrong. 

“Mary?” He repeated her name again, softer in tone. 

She exhaled slowly. Something about the concern in his voice had made the tears come stronger, and she now struggled to stop her lip form trembling. Dejected, Mary pulled herself up to a sitting position, holding her hair from her tearstained cheeks with one hand and tightly clasping the other one into a fist. She hated crying in front of people; it made her feel stupid and powerless and weak. 

Alastair stared for a moment, a bit taken aback, before his features softened. “Are you…?” His voice trailed off as though asking was more of a formality for a situation he had already assessed, but Mary humored him and shook her head anyway. She reached out for him and he obliged, closing the gap between their chairs and pulling her half onto his lap as she snaked her arms around his torso. He didn’t talk and Mary was grateful for it, so they sat in silence bathed in the flickering glow of the fading library lanterns. 

[itsmissmarymac]

❂

❂: My muse is clumsy and crashes into yours. 

Mary MacDonald could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d been late to a class throughout her Hogwarts career, and was set on not adding another tick to the count. She barreled through the corridors, slipping between throngs of students who had began to spill out of classrooms. A quick glance at her watch told her she only had less than two minutes to make it to Charms. In the brief moment she had stolen her gaze from the path, a boy had appeared in front of her, providing her little time to evade him. Shoulder first, she smacked into him, bag catching in the crook of her elbow as she spun. With wide, apologetic eyes she looked up at the boy. Amycus Carrow. She had planned on saying sorry, she really had, but for a moment articulating any sort of sentiment was far beyond her capabilities. She expected to be met with with a dismissive, curt retort, and would have almost preferred it to the dangerous calm that had glazed over his expression, lips tugging into a smirk. “MacDonald,” he said cooly, shifting his weight casually. “Please. Rude, running into people like that. Don’t make it a habit.” Mary averted her gaze, muttered a quick apology, and walked the rest of the way to Charms, not caring whether or not she was late quite so much anymore. 

[itsmissmarymac]

☢: It’s too hot outside, how does my muse suggest our muses cool down?

Sprawled out on the grass were Mary MacDonald and Willow Ollivander, the sun beating down on their bare shoulders after shrugging off their thick school robes. 

“Willow,” Mary started, her eyes closed as the gently swaying leaves made intricate patterns of light and shadow across her skin. “If I die here, right now, on school grounds, would you be so kind as to owl my belongings back to my parents? I think they would appreciate that. And tell Lily that she can keep my knee highs, she’s always looked better in them anyway.”

“Dramatic,” Willow remarked, eyes closed as well. “But sure, why not.”

“You’re a godsend,” Mary sighed, rolling over slightly as the patch of shade they had claimed moved with the sun. “And Willow?”

“If you’re going to tell me I can hang onto those earrings of yours in the event of your death - you know the ones - I think that’d be fair.”

“No. Well, I mean, sure, but no. But with all the teachers inside avoiding the heat, and the Black Lake looking increasingly enticing, you don’t think it’d be a problem if we..you know, maybe dipped our toes in? Surely the prefects will have more important matters to attend to, and in that case, maybe no one would notice if we just…happened to slip all the way in?”

Willow turned to Mary and grinned, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m going to have to surround you with more danger if your imminent death is the only thing that’ll push you to break some rules.”

[itsmissmarymac]

☮: An argument I think my muse would have with yours. // Alastair

“What do you mean that can’t be used to inflict pain? It looks archaic. I refuse to believe you.”

Mary couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the pointed look Alastair was throwing her way. To be fair, this whole discussion was a bit ridiculous, to the point where she had been stifling her giggles throughout the entirety of his animated retorts.

“I…promise…you…” she managed between giggles. Collecting herself, she wrapped her fingers carefully around the handle, winding the device in tight circles. “See?”

“I still don’t buy it. Fingers being severed, left and right. I can see it now.”

“Muggles don’t tend to choose hand whisks as their preferred choice of weaponry, Alastair, that I can assure you of.”