PORCELAIN IVORY STEEL

DATE: 15 July, 1979 TIME: 1:49 AM SETTING: The Burrow STATUS: closed ( @goldenmvry​ )

It’s with great reluctance that Arthur leaves his wife at St Mungo’s, a splash of fiery red among the bone-white cleanness of the rest of the hospital. But Mary — bless her heart — is still at home with the boys, and he knows better than to ask too much of the poor girl, who probably wants nothing more than to take off her heels and collapse at her flat. A godsend, really. Arthur decides he’s going to make it up to her one day. 

Arthur’s surprised that she’s still awake when he apparates back to the Burrow, since if it were him, he’d be passed out on the couch. “Thank you so much for looking after them, Mary. I hope the boys weren’t too much of a headache. I’m so sorry for troubling you.” Arthur smiles kindly, rubbing a sore spot at the crick of his neck. Merlin. He’s getting old. If he were less tired, he would’ve thought the sight of Mary, draped in her prink frothy dress and shimmering jewels, in the midst of the mess and mundane living room a rather jarring sight. But as it is, his mind is fixed on other things. “It’s late and you’re probably exhausted,” he adds. “If you want, you can sleep here for the night. You can take our room, and I’m sure that Molly won’t mind if you borrow a few of her things to sleep in. It’s the least I can do after asking you to stay so late.”

It had been quite a time getting the boys into bed; no matter what Mary had done to set them all at ease, to comfort them, to assure them that all was well, they were as intuitive as children came. The absence of their mother and father was a palpable weight, and their usual babysitter offered no solace, though she had done her best. A batch of sandwiches made, a haphazard story told, and a whirlwind of pajamas and bedsheets, and Mary was spent, her tattered dress hanging off drooping shoulders like burnt drapes. 

If there was one thing to be said for the fire, it was that the flame and cinder had erased all evidence of Alecto’s cruel attack. The dress had been ruined one way or another; it would do no good to have to explain to Arthur when he returned that it was not the fire that had ruined her dress. 

She had just barely plopped onto the sofa, in the quiet of solitude, when Arthur appeared; leaping to her feet and nearly knocking her knees into the table before her. “Merlin, it’s no trouble at all -” she insisted, “They’re all asleep, all fed; don’t think they’re too impressed with my sandwich-making skills, but they ate, at least.” With chagrin, she forced a smile which wilted about the edges, tugging absently at the tattered tulle about her waist. At his words, she made a point to straighten (though she was forced to quickly stifle a yawn), remiss to allow Arthur to think that her presence here had exhausted her in the slightest. She’d have done anything for the Weasleys; they were the closest family of which she knew. 

“I’ll take the couch -” she insisted, shaking her head and firmly plopping back down upon the worn cushion, “- I appreciate the offer, but - but you need the good night’s rest more than I.” She paused, and then, meekly, as if the question were an inappropriate one: “Is Molly okay?”

It seemed that Evan’s proclamation to Barty earlier in the evening was coming back to haunt him. Indeed, he hated ironies and yet, the further the night progressed, the more they met him around every corner. Thus far, the most twisted one was the auction as a whole—his mere attendance was an irony in and of itself. After all, he had had an active role in the scheme that ultimately led to Dorcas and Fabian’s deaths despite the fact that his involvement with the hostages had only extended to torture and interrogation. And so, it was only natural that he found morbid amusement in the fact that he was not only a guest of honor but a potential participant in the event when it was meant to honor the memory of the fallen and lend support to their mourning families. Evan indulged in the amusement for a while—after all, how couldn’t he?—but it eventually waned in the face of his exasperation when he ended up coming across an equally, if not more, twisted irony. It came in the form of a tearful Mary MacDonald, arms wrapped around herself, her fingers clenched around what appeared to be tattered fabric.

Evan only needed a moment to conclude what had happened.

He hovered at the edge of the scene for the longest time; the trails of his calculations clashing and colliding, effectively clouding his mind and preventing him from deciding the best course of action. One of his feet moved unbidden, the sole of his shoe skidding against the rough carpet in a half-hearted step backwards which rather than initiate his exit, only announced his presence.

He maintained his relaxed stance but his shoulders tensed in preparation for a battle that would never come. Evan came to that conclusion as he silently observed her; gazing at what appeared to be an angel clutching a broken halo rather than the threat he had come to expect from her.

She felt eyes upon her, eyes shooting upward at the lingering sound of tapping footsteps, hanging in the air and punctuating the pitiful sound of her watery breathing. Heat bloomed, unbidden, telling, in her cheeks as her gaze locked upon him, her fingers tightening white-knuckled upon the tulle of her skirt; perhaps if she stared hard enough he would disappear in a cloud of illusionary vapor, for this particular brand of embarrassment could certainly only be a cruel trick of her imagination. 

“I’m not crying -” she blurted, wiping clumsily at her cheeks with the heel of her hands, paying no mind to the smearing of rouge which now colored her palms. Mary dropped her gaze to her lap once more, blinking furiously as Evan refused to disappear, proving to be all too real, and all too intrusive upon this moment of unwelcome weakness. She inhaled deeply, giving a great sniff and clearing her throat as she went; even now, she could see the telling drops of tears upon the ripped bodice of her gown - as if he could not already tell that she was distraught. She cleared her throat again, trembling fingers fluttering anxiously about her smeared face, her misplaced curls. Even now, she felt the need to wither, to disappear into the ground to escape the judgement of his gaze. 

Entirely too intimate. Like peering into an open window, or perhaps into a broken looking glass. Last time, it had been Mary finding him - weakness looked a much uglier shade of grey upon her, than it did upon him. 

Fumbling, clumsy, blinking furiously against the watery tell of her eyes, she scrambled against the torn tulle of her skirt to reach for her shoes, where she had discarded them just moments before. “Just had to -” she sniffed, casting a furtive glance upward from beneath damp eyelashes as she rose onto her knees, reaching for the abandoned heels, “- take off my shoes for a minute. Had to sit down.” She had no reason to feel as if she was an intruder here, as if his solitude had been breached by her presence, and yet Evan was a sudden and painful reminder of Alecto’s truth - she was the intruder, and she did not belong. Surely he thought the same; surely the mudblood falling to pieces on the floor, alone, ever so small in the dreary dark, was nothing but an inconvenience. 

flowerais‌:

types of people

2am - city lights from a high rise, dusty book piles, tired eyes, writing stories, indie concerts, procrastination, denim jackets, classic movies, writing in a diary, impulse shopping, plants on the window ledge

5am - evening drives, dark circles under eyes, neon lights, vivid dreams, broken handwriting, 90s music, leather jackets, tousled hair, late night phone calls, silver necklaces, flannel around their waist

10am - soft blankets, lover of routine, acoustic songs, good grades, bullet journals, pastels and plants, sweet coffee, freshly baked bread, cat washi tape, cozy apartment, long winter coats over turtle neck jumpers, tote bags

1pm - yellow socks, doodles, doc martens, strawberries in the garden, sunflower daydreams, pictures of clouds and best friends, a handful of flowers, peach slices, paint smears on clothes

5pm - gold sunlight, peach ice tea, whispered secrets, swimming in the lake, roses on the wall, french pastries, learning foreign words, soft voices, bike rides and summer picnics, wax stamped envelopes

7pm - dreamy sunsets, evening laughter, cursive handwriting, glossy makeup, soft lighting, photo booths, cherry ice cream, sparkling ocean waves, vintage mirrors, sweet tangerines on a balcony, flowers in a bath

MARY GOT : HESTIA.

She’d flown from the room in a flurry of tattered tulle and stained golden leaves. Frayed pink flew out from behind her as if she were a bird shedding feathers - and perhaps she was. A bird mauled by a predator who wore words, smiles, unforgiving talons as her weapons, who surely laughed as Mary fled the ballroom with her skirt in one hand and the other clutching the torn and drooping neck of her gown. There was no hiding the tears, of embarrassment, of horror, of hopeful levity dashed, as she fled, bursting through the double doors and stumbling down an ornate hall, up a flight of stairs, and into a dark corridor where she collapsed, falling to pieces, upon the floor. With tears dripping, streaking the rouge upon her cheeks, she slid back against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her hands; this was the height of the truly pathetic, and she had never been happier to be alone. 

With Alecto’s words, her condemnations, her threats ringing in the hollow of her mind, Mary pulled her shoes from her feet and tossed them aside. Pulling her knees to her chest once more, leaving her heels abandoned in the dim light of the sconce above, she curled her toes, bit down upon her tongue, and did her best to swallow the scream of pure vexation - and utter disappointment - that danced lithely behind her teeth. She could not have fought back, and she certainly didn’t; it would have been an embarrassment to defy Alecto, to attempt to stop her from belittling her before all her peers, loudly, unabashedly. She could only imagine how many of them had heard, had agreed, were now jeering with triumphant laughter at the sight of the muggleborn’s dress ruined. She could only imagine the bits of pink fabric left upon the floor, at Alecto’s feet; would anyone collect them? Would anyone care? 

Her mother had written just that morning, had demanded proudly to know the details of Mary’s dress, of her peers’ reactions, of how like a princess she was sure to feel. She had seemed so proud, so thoroughly satisfied at her daughter’s success, at her place within the world she knew so little of.

A princess or a pauper? A pretender? 

Mary pressed her forehead to her knees, fingers clutching desperately at the tattered tulle around her ankles; she could not stop the audible flow of tears which emerged now, for she was alone with her shame, her fear. It would do her no good to hear of the triumph at the outsider’s defeat. Once the tears had stopped, there would be nothing left to do but to disappear once more. To disappear - and to leave the shreds of her sanguine hopes behind. All she needed now was to be alone.

The sheer pleasure of the way she greeted him made his smile stretch wider. He didn’t think he would ever get used to this; being able to tell so easily that someone was genuinely happy to see him. It surprised him every single time but then Mary was the kindest person he knew. He wasn’t sure if he would see her there, after all Purebloods weren’t the most welcoming sort and what Mary had suffered filled him with anger every time he thought of it. He wasn’t unaware of how hypocritical that was considering his allegiance but his friendship with Mary wasn’t tied to reason. Barty loved how Mary was like her old self when she was with him, it felt like a part of her that only a few knew and sometimes, he could even stand the person he was with her.

“I love it,” he grinned easily. “And it paid off. You outdid every single person in this room.” He paused before winking at her, “Apart from me of course.” He took a long sip of his drink before laughing, “They probably do. What’s the point of having lots of socks if they don’t even come in weird colors.” He shrugged, “It’s better than I thought it would. I bet on the weekend aaand the alcohol basket-” he grinned because that was an obvious choice to anyone who knew him, “And the new Skeeter book too just because it would annoy her if I won.” 

She had toiled long and hard over the decision to come tonight; she was a wallflower at best when once upon a time she would have been happy to be the life of the party. Once, she had loved to dance, to laugh, to mill about with people she did and didn’t quite belong amongst - she would have loved the opportunity to strut about in a dress she’d made herself, with companions from all walks of life. Would. She certainly did not now. Nights spent toiling over her dress, which she’d done stitch by stitch, the way her mother taught her, now felt like nights wasted, for she looked quite the sore thumb amongst the diamond-studded crowd, all dressed in finery the likes of which would always be unattainable. But Barty was here now - and he always had a way of making her spine a bit straighter, her voice a bit more boisterous. The buried self reemerged at the sight of him, and for a moment she felt quite in place. 

And, as such, she laughed - loud and genuine - at his words; he had the particular talent of seeming quite apart from his contemporaries with merely a word. “Of course - no one can quite top you,” she grinned, “Even think you might pull off the pink tulle. Not many men can pull off this shade of pink, you know - but I simply have that much faith in you.” Her cheeks ached from smiling; this was his power. Mary raised her champagne flute, already tinted pink on the rim in the pattern of her lips. “I hope you’re going to share that alcohol basket when you win,” one brow raised, with a playful prod on the arm; and suddenly the old Mary stood before him in full force, “I’ll trade a pair of socks for a bottle of wine. Hell, even the cheapest one in the bunch - I’m not picky, you know.”

date: 14th july 1979 time: 6:45 pm location: zabini estate status: closed for @goldenmvry​

After having seen Mary and Barty talk - and it didn’t exactly look like just polite small talk but rather as if they were really friends. Merlin, the thought alone sent shivers down her spine. You know, that was one of the many problems with events like this one. People from different worlds, from different levels of society really, got a chance to interact and friendships, that should have definitely stayed behind closed doors, became public knowledge. Well, of course, she wouldn’t have liked those two beings friends either way. But if she didn’t know about it, she’d have been able to ignore it. However, after seen those two in broad daylight now (in the figurative sense, obviously, as the sun was slowly setting), she just couldn’t ignore it. It wasn’t possible. 

This was why Alecto was now approaching her shortly after Mary and Barty had parted ways. Sure, she could have gone to Barty and asked him about it, but that felt a little (read: really) silly to her. To be honest, she didn’t really want him to know that she even cared? Of course, she only cared because she didn’t want that mudblood to drag him down with her and not because she was kind of jealous that he was friends with that girl, obviously. Talking to Mary, on the other hand, was easy. After all, if you didn’t respect a person - which she clearly didn’t and why would she? - it was pretty easy to tell them anything, to treat them the way you felt like without having to bother about being polite. Once she was done with her, Mary would know for certain that she belonged anywhere but here.

At the brunette’s sight, Alecto forced a sweet smile onto her red lips. “Darling, you look lovely today”, she greeted her, stressing the today as if she rather wanted to say ‘for once’ instead of today, “where did you get that dress? It looks rather”, she paused a moment while eyeing her from the bottom to the top scrutinizingly, “unique. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” And despite her smile, her words were clearly not a compliment.

No matter how naive Mary might have been, she was not stupid by any means. She understood the dangerous implications of someone like her mingling at a function with people like them; she was a pigeon amongst swans, swaddled in hand-sewn pink fabric and clinging tightly to it as if it might keep her anchored, brave. But tulle was not a reliable shield, and Mary had hardly ever felt more exposed. It had certainly helped that Barty had been so willing to waltz up to her as if nothing was amiss, as if her presence here was not an anomaly; his presence, his encouragement, had been a blessing, a soothing balm settling the riling and anxious beast in the pit of her stomach. But he could not stay by her side forever, as much as she might have liked it; and so once he had left, she had stood with half-empty champagne glass in hand, stagnant, quiet, and quite alone. 

If he were to be replaced by anyone, she would have hoped it to be anyone but the woman who approached her now, the fiery streak of crimson with which she was all too familiar. Alecto and Amycus plagued her like a stain, an ever-present needle pricked into her side, and so it was only appropriate that she - in all her naive stupidity, it would seem - that would be the one to take the place of comfort at her side, expunging all hints of it. Her voice was a viperous snap, full of mockery and vitriol; it was all Mary could do to keep from collapsing in on herself at the sound. But, by force of habit, she took a step back, bringing her champagne to her lips in defense. She took a nervous sip, far deeper than was socially gracious, and fixed her eyes tentatively upon Alecto’s critical face. 

Mary gave a great, audible gulp. “I made it myself,” she began, voice wavering no matter how desperately she willed it to remain firm, “by hand.” Perhaps this was not something to be proud of in this circle; they all had their gowns made by tailors, with magic, for hefty prices. Alecto did not need to know how many nights she had stayed up with needle and thread, using Lily as a makeshift mannequin. In an attempt at pleasantry, deflection, safety, she countered: “You look lovely, too.” Mary’s, however, was truly a compliment. Fear did not keep her from being pleasant. “So many beautiful dresses - I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many diamonds in one place.” It was a useless observation; clearly Alecto’s mockery cared not for Mary’s limited perspective. And so she took yet another anxious step back, knuckles white about the neck of her champagne flute. 

                                   “       MEGARA: You love the light so much?                                             AMPHITRYION: I do, I love its hopes.      ”

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. 

[sms - sent] EVAN: i hope you’re up and not too hung over, because we’re making waffles![sms - sent] EVAN: and, yes, i mean WE. [sms - sent] EVAN: every respectable adult needs to know how to make a decent chocolate chip waffle. even you! 

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. 

[sms - unsent] EVAN: please don’t let your friends hurt me[sms - unsent] EVAN: i know you’re different, but they’re not like you, they’re not as good as you, and i know they want to hurt me again. please don’t let them, i’m scared, always scared, and 

Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. 

[sms - sent] EVAN: ministry coming, apparate here

Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: lsten you’re a good fudging person ok you need to give yuorself more credit [sms - sent] EVAN: you have a good heart and i know what hearts look like becuase i saw one at work today and it was gross but i don’t think yours would be gross so!!!! [sms - sent] EVAN: and you have a really nice face, like a really nice face, like it’s really symmetrical and your eyes are big[sms - sent] EVAN: eyes are the windows to the house

Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. 

[sms - sent] EVAN: i can’t fall asleep. it’s too cold in this flat. [sms - sent] EVAN: come over? i’ll leave the door unlocked.

Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: do you think patronuses can make friends?

Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: Stop talking to me like I’m a child. I’m not stupid, okay? I know how the world works. I’ve been through it, as I’m sure your friends like to brag about. You, on the other hand, have no idea how much I’ve been sticking my neck out for you. I’m trying -  so fucking hard. I am doing everything in my power to help you, and though ‘my power’ may not be as flashy as that of the people you call friends, but I’m doing everything I can. So I need you to stop talking to me like I’m a goddamn child.

Send “#” for a RANDOM text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: oh no[sms - sent] EVAN: i just made... the best cookies that have ever been made. this is not a drill. it finally happened. and they’re all yours if you can get here by the time i eat them all!!! 

Send “@” for a SCARED text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: evan please come get me there’s someone outside and i can’t move i’m in the closet and the door is locked and i can’t move i don’t have my wand please evan come get me

Send “&” for a LOVING text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: I’m so glad I know you. I hope you know that you’re just... a really good person. You’re warm, and patient, and understanding. And you really don’t get enough credit for all you do, and everything you’re going through. As long as I’m around you’ll never ever have to do it alone. 

Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: please don’t hate me for asking this, but i just have to know what alecto is like in private[sms - sent] EVAN: does she ever laugh? can she smile? does she melt when touching water? would she eat cookies if i made them and just happened to leave them at your place? important questions. she’s so pretty, i would hate to think she’s just purely horrible underneath all that. 

Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: guess who just got a raise?[sms - sent] EVAN: THIS MACDONALD! [sms - sent] EVAN: so i know you’re a rich-y-pants and everything, but I’M buying you a drink! put on your party pants, because mary macdonald is a big spender tonight! 

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.

[sms - sent] EVAN: but i really think i might actually feel something else for him. i’ve never felt this unafraid with anyone, not like this.[sms - sent] EVAN: i meannnn[sms - sent] EVAN: there’s a cat on my block and he’s just really fat and cute and he makes my heart happy so that’s all i mean. you should see him, evan, he’s bonkers 

Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text. 

Send “&” for a LOVING text.

[sms - sent] BARTY: i know that you just left my flat not more than five minutes ago but i already miss youuuu[sms - sent] BARTY: i feel like my old self when you’re around. it makes the whole ‘getting better’ thing a lot easier. is it weird that even my flat seems to get a little colder when you leave? it misses you, too. so i think you should come back, just to keep the flat appeased, of course[sms - sent] BARTY: but also me. because i love love love love when you’re around. so be around more, please.

Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.

[sms - sent] BARTY: I. GOT. THE. PROMOTION!!! I GOT IT!!! I’M OFFICIALLY ONE STEP CLOSER TO BEING A FULL HEALER! the witch up in administration said that i got the highest marks of all the trainees, can you believe it? thank you SO much for helping me study!![sms - sent] BARTY: you’re the FIRST person i told, so i need you to clear your schedule tonight because we’re celebrating!! 

Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text. 

Send “☎” for a RUSHED text.

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. 

[sms - unsent] DORCAS: i know this isn’t the right time for sappy stuff, since we should be focusing and all, but i just want to thank you for being such a good friend to me. i haven’t been the same since the incident, and i would have understood if it was just too much for you to deal with. i wouldn’t want to deal with me either. but you never treated me any differently, or handled me with kid gloves, and i don’t think i can ever express how much i appreciate that. makes me want to be my old self again. guess if i can be a bit more like you, maybe i can get my head on straight and really be a part of the team again. hell, maybe we can even be partners someday! i know some really great campfire songs, if that’s the kind of thing that goes on out there in the field. but anyway... blaaahhh, what is this message even? this is so sappy, i’m sorry. weird, weird, weird. you’re not ever going to get this message but i love youuuu! 

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. 

[sms -  sent] FRANK: QUICK! chocolate croissant or jelly donut. no arguing. i’m bringing you and alice breakfast. and i’m giving you first pick of the pastries, which is an HONOR so be discreet :)

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.