[FIC] "Nowhere" - Maryanne MacDonald centric - Rated PG
Title: Nowhere
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Maryanne MacDonald
Rating: PG for use of some bad British terms.
Word Count: 2400-ish.
Notes: Maryanne MacDonald is a briefly mentioned Gryffindor from the time of the Marauders. She tells Lily that Severus is threatening to sleep outside the portrait. I've been digging into her character, and I wanted to explore her home life. This is it.
Summary: She is a muggleborn witch. This is what it's like to be her, for one night. One dinner. Unwanted in both worlds. Belonging nowhere.
||
Trapped in between,
no place to go.
Just me,
my shadow for company.
||
She was a muggleborn Witch.
Her portable Zenith Royal radio crackled merrily through a song as she stared out from her place on the roof. The sun was high and hot, her bell bottoms and her pale green shirt were stifling to her, even in the open air. The breeze that picked up around her smelled like laundry out to dry and Sunday dinners cooking on the stove. She could hear the distant laughter and calls of younger children playing throughout the neighborhood. The sounds of life echoed all around her.
She didn't have anyone to impress when she was on the roof. She didn't have anyone to fit in with, or any standards to conform to. She could just be Maryanne MacDonald. Mary. Mare. Mac. All names she answered to. All different facets of her personality. She was Mary with the girls; giggly, teen-aged. A typical sixteen year old girl with dreams of white dresses and the pitter-patter of children's feet through a home of her own. Mary drank Butterbear and ate strawberry tart. She read Witch Weekly and took its fashion and makeup tips to heart.
Mare was easy and casual. She slipped into lazy conversations with old friends, sprawled on plush rugs in front of warm fires. She talked into the early hours about the future, and about saving the world. She talked about fighting for those who could not fight; ending the prejudice and hate that so permeated the earth.
Mac liked to hang out with the boys. She was mischievous, an adventurer and a troublemaker. Daring to go where none had dared go before her.
Maryanne MacDonald was all these people.
Maryanne MacDonald was trapped and alone.
Her name sounded off somewhere; distant, sounding as though it traveled from another world to reach her. Her movements were slow, hesitant. One hand scooped up the radio, turning it off and silencing the voice of Kay Starr as she sang the chorus lines to Wheel of Fortune, the other hand gripped the roof tiles as her worn sneakers slid down them. The descent was an easy set of motions, perfected during the many summer nights she'd spent escaping from the worlds in which she didn't belong. She crawled through her bedroom window, reaching up to run a hand through her messy hair, the long blond strands sticking out this way and that from the wind.
Her name sounded again, from downstairs. The voice, feminine but rough, was impatient and aggravated.
"I'm coming," she muttered, then louder, "I'm coming!"
She tossed her radio onto her bed as she passed it, speed walking down the hall and jogging down the stairs.
Her mother hurried around the kitchen, a shorter, plump woman, with hair the same pale blond as Mary's. Her face was heavily lined, wrinkled before its time by experience. Her frown made the wrinkles more prominent. She was wearing an apron, with oven mitts covering her hands.
"Tend the potatoes, would you?" she asked, but it was more of an order than a request.
Mary moved to the stove, adjusting the burners so that the potatoes didn't boil over.
"Derrick will be here any minute and dinner isn't ready," her mother fretted, moving Mary aside to peak into the oven and check the roast. The kitchen was thick with the smell of cooking meat, the aroma of spice and butter permeating the air. "Oh, I am so proud of him. He'll be running the plant by next year at this rate. Two promotions in as many months! And with Deborah pregnant again!"
Mary grimaced, picking up a spoon and stirring the potatoes. Her movements were jerky, and boiling water spilled over the edge of the pan, dousing half the burner and making a terrible hissing noise.
"Careful, Maryanne!" her mother scolded, taking the spoon from her. "What good are you if all you do is make a mess while I cook? Go set the table."
Mary breathed through her nose and did as she was asked, getting out dishes they used on special occasions and setting them neatly on the table. She didn't make a mess. In Potions class her hands were as steady as the professor's, and her brews were never short of perfect. She heard an impatient sigh and turned to see her mother regarding her through the kitchen door.
"Glasses, Maryanne!" she said, "You forgot glasses! How are they supposed to drink? Out of their hands?"
Mary shot an angry glare at her mother's back.
Never good enough. There was always some grievous error in everything she did. She suppressed the childish urge to stomp as she made her way back into the kitchen and selected five of their nicer glasses. She chose a sixth, plastic cup for Derrick's two year old son. It was his favorite, bright yellow with little purple dinosaurs stamped around it. She set them on the table and slouched into one of the chairs.
"You're getting close to being finished with that school, you know," her mother started congenially. "You should begin thinking about what you'll do after you're finished. Derrick will probably hire you on as a clerk at the plant. Good pay, that."
Mary frowned, picking as a loose thread hanging from the tablecloth. "I've been talking to Professor McGonagall about careers. My OWLs are good for lots of interesting ones. I could be an auror, or a curse breaker, or even a mediwitch."
"The plant would be good work," her mother pressed, bustling around the kitchen. Mary could almost hear her frowning disapprovingly. "Normal work. Work we could talk about with friends. Work to be proud of."
Mary's frown turned into a scowl, and she was ready with a snappy, what's to be proud of, being a secretary? It was fortunate that she was stopped from saying it by the sound of the front door opening, and people entering the house. She was up, quick as a flash, throwing herself at her older brother as though she hadn't seen him in years. He stumbled back a step in surprise, but his shock turned to laughter and lifted her up with his hug, spinning her around before setting her back down.
"Christ, Mare," he said, grinning and mussing her hair, "You've gotten taller since I last saw you."
She batted his hand away and combed her fingers through her hair to smooth it back down. "No I haven't, you buffoon."
She turned a smile on Becky, his wife, and gave her a much calmer hug, stealing their son from her arms and giving him a tight squeeze.
"Hello Davie," she said, kissing his cheeks loudly. He let out a squeal of laughter and tried to push her away.
"Want to sit by Auntie Mare for dinner?" she asked the squirming toddler in her arms. He grinned and nodded his head rapidly. "Good boy. You know who's the best here, don't you?"
"Maryanne! Help me get the food together!" her mother called, her voice hard. It softened to warm and welcoming a second later. "Hello Derrick! Becky, dear! It's so good to have you visiting again."
Mary fought to keep smiling, her lips wanting to fall into a scowl, and handed David back to his mother, bouncing into the kitchen and assisting her mother. Her mother who refused to make eye contact with her and had a disappointed frown firmly in place. Mary picked up the boiled potatoes and steamed carrots, the vegetables arranged in the prettiest serving bowls that her mother owned, and carried them to the dining table. She set them down carefully, then returned to help her mother prepare the gravy and the roast.
"What have you been you been up to all summer, Mare?" Derrick asked as she reentered the dining room, gravy boat in hand.
"Reading, mostly," she admitted, grinning. "Getting a head start on the Potions text."
He looked genuinely interested. "Brewing anything fun once the term starts up? Love potions?"
The word love was accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows, and made her roll her eyes in exasperation. "No, Derrick, no love potions." She grinned wider, her own eyebrows jumping up, "Sleeping Death brew, though. And also Polyjuice."
Her mother came in, picking up on the topic of conversation and quickly changing it. "How are things going at the plant, Derrick?"
He quickly diverted his attention from his sister to their mother, and smiled, standing up and taking the smoking roast from her hands to set it on the table. "Very well. Two of my night supervisors had a row during their last shift though, I have a mountain of paperwork to fill out over it."
"That is unfortunate, dear," their mother said, looking genuinely concerned.
He waved it off, "It's nothing, really. I figure I'll can one of them and promote Simon. He's a good kid. Where's dad?"
Their mother tsked and looked off towards the closed door of the office. "You know how he gets. He doesn't leave the work at the job, he brings it home."
Derrick raised on eyebrow and pushed up from his chair. "Not while I'm here, he doesn't."
He walked over to the door and knocked. Mary heard her father curse on the other side of the door, and then it flew open. "What you want, you bloody woman-?"
Derrick tried to look insulted, "Who are you calling a woman, old man?"
Their father's expression quickly turned to a grin and he reached out to clap Derrick on the shoulder. "My boy! Is it that time already? Where's Becky? Ah, there she is. Looking as beautiful as ever, sweetheart."
Becky, who had been sitting awkwardly in one of the dining room chairs, Davie on her lap, flushed. "Thank you, sir."
"No need to be so formal, Becky," their father said, moving into the dinging room and stealing Davie from her. "And how's my boy, Davie? Getting big, isn't he?"
He quickly handed the child back to his mother, and took a seat at the head of the table. He wasn't to pay too much attention to his grandchild; just enough to ensure the boy was healthy enough to carry on the family name. Mary was quick to step up and take Davie back, grinning at Becky before moving around the table and settling down. Davie make happy toddler talk and played with her fork. She almost felt guilty for snagging Davie again, as Becky fiddled with a napkin, at a loss for what to do. Poor girl had never warmed up to their mother or father the way she had to Derrick and Mary. Though, Mary would be the first to admit, their parents were a bit overwhelming, even after growing up with them.
Derrick sat beside Becky, and Mary could swear they were holding hands beneath the table. She smiled. They radiated unconditional love.
"Alright, kids," her mother said, cutting into her observation, "Tuck in."
Dinner lasted all of two hours. Two hours during which any mention of her schooling or her plans for after school were quickly overwhelmed with conversation about the plant, and it's employees, and how Derrick would own it soon. It was hard not to pull her hair out and scream. She ate quickly, lingered at the table while Davie ate in her lap, and then handed him back to Becky while she helped clean up. Derrick helped gather up dishes while their father retired back into his office to smoke and go over more paperwork.
Mary was up to her elbows in soapy water, scrubbing the plates, when her mother began to speak cheerfully.
"Oh, Derrick dear," she said, scrubbing down the stove to clean up any spilled gravy, "I was telling Maryanne that you might be able to get her a job working at the factory after she's finished at that school of hers."
Mary froze, her muscles tensing.
"Good work," her mother continued, "Good pay, and benefits. And she'll be working with the family."
Derrick looked wary. "That what you want, Mare?"
Mary let the plate she was scrubbing fall into the sink and spun around, her eyes blazing. She shook from fury. "No it is not what bloody want. I keep trying to tell her what I want, but she won't bloody listen!"
"Language!" her mother chastised, looking horrified.
"Sod your language!" Mary shouted. "I can't take it anymore! I'm not working in the bloody factory!"
Her mother's look of horror morphed into one of anger. "You'd just forget about us? Leave us? Abandon the world you were raised in?"
"I'm not abandoning anything!" Mary argued, water and soap bubbles dripping from her arms and making loud plop noises as they hit the tiled floor. "When I turned eleven and got my letter I was no longer a part of this world! I'm not a muggle! I can't go to school for seven years to learn how to control my magic, to learn skills for careers in the magical world, and then come back and forget about it!"
Her mother's nostrils flared as she breathed deeply through her nose. "That's all we are, Maryanne? Muggles? Where is your sense of duty? You have a duty to us. We are you family. Those people aren't your family!"
"Some of them seem a lot more like family than you," Mary spat angrily, and her mother froze up, looking torn between being hurt and enraged. "I'm not a part of this world. I'm not wanted in that one. Both because of what I am. But I would rather be hated in that world and be able to express myself, then be welcomed in this one at the cost of denying something that's woven into my very core."
Without another word she fled the kitchen, tears threatening to spill over, and raced up to her room. The window was still open, and she crawled out it, scrambling up the roof. When she sat down her heart was beating and she was short of breath. Her face was flushed, and she felt nauseous. She wiped at her eyes angrily, sniffing loudly. How idiotic the entire argument was. She stared out over the neighborhood, her vision distorted from the tears. The sun was setting, bright orange streaking the sky. The kids had all gone in, leaving it very quiet. Mary could hear her brother clambering up from her window, and closed her eyes, willing the tears to vanish.
||
Here I am.
Belonging nowhere.
||
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Maryanne MacDonald
Rating: PG for use of some bad British terms.
Word Count: 2400-ish.
Notes: Maryanne MacDonald is a briefly mentioned Gryffindor from the time of the Marauders. She tells Lily that Severus is threatening to sleep outside the portrait. I've been digging into her character, and I wanted to explore her home life. This is it.
Summary: She is a muggleborn witch. This is what it's like to be her, for one night. One dinner. Unwanted in both worlds. Belonging nowhere.
||
Trapped in between,
no place to go.
Just me,
my shadow for company.
||
She was a muggleborn Witch.
Her portable Zenith Royal radio crackled merrily through a song as she stared out from her place on the roof. The sun was high and hot, her bell bottoms and her pale green shirt were stifling to her, even in the open air. The breeze that picked up around her smelled like laundry out to dry and Sunday dinners cooking on the stove. She could hear the distant laughter and calls of younger children playing throughout the neighborhood. The sounds of life echoed all around her.
She didn't have anyone to impress when she was on the roof. She didn't have anyone to fit in with, or any standards to conform to. She could just be Maryanne MacDonald. Mary. Mare. Mac. All names she answered to. All different facets of her personality. She was Mary with the girls; giggly, teen-aged. A typical sixteen year old girl with dreams of white dresses and the pitter-patter of children's feet through a home of her own. Mary drank Butterbear and ate strawberry tart. She read Witch Weekly and took its fashion and makeup tips to heart.
Mare was easy and casual. She slipped into lazy conversations with old friends, sprawled on plush rugs in front of warm fires. She talked into the early hours about the future, and about saving the world. She talked about fighting for those who could not fight; ending the prejudice and hate that so permeated the earth.
Mac liked to hang out with the boys. She was mischievous, an adventurer and a troublemaker. Daring to go where none had dared go before her.
Maryanne MacDonald was all these people.
Maryanne MacDonald was trapped and alone.
Her name sounded off somewhere; distant, sounding as though it traveled from another world to reach her. Her movements were slow, hesitant. One hand scooped up the radio, turning it off and silencing the voice of Kay Starr as she sang the chorus lines to Wheel of Fortune, the other hand gripped the roof tiles as her worn sneakers slid down them. The descent was an easy set of motions, perfected during the many summer nights she'd spent escaping from the worlds in which she didn't belong. She crawled through her bedroom window, reaching up to run a hand through her messy hair, the long blond strands sticking out this way and that from the wind.
Her name sounded again, from downstairs. The voice, feminine but rough, was impatient and aggravated.
"I'm coming," she muttered, then louder, "I'm coming!"
She tossed her radio onto her bed as she passed it, speed walking down the hall and jogging down the stairs.
Her mother hurried around the kitchen, a shorter, plump woman, with hair the same pale blond as Mary's. Her face was heavily lined, wrinkled before its time by experience. Her frown made the wrinkles more prominent. She was wearing an apron, with oven mitts covering her hands.
"Tend the potatoes, would you?" she asked, but it was more of an order than a request.
Mary moved to the stove, adjusting the burners so that the potatoes didn't boil over.
"Derrick will be here any minute and dinner isn't ready," her mother fretted, moving Mary aside to peak into the oven and check the roast. The kitchen was thick with the smell of cooking meat, the aroma of spice and butter permeating the air. "Oh, I am so proud of him. He'll be running the plant by next year at this rate. Two promotions in as many months! And with Deborah pregnant again!"
Mary grimaced, picking up a spoon and stirring the potatoes. Her movements were jerky, and boiling water spilled over the edge of the pan, dousing half the burner and making a terrible hissing noise.
"Careful, Maryanne!" her mother scolded, taking the spoon from her. "What good are you if all you do is make a mess while I cook? Go set the table."
Mary breathed through her nose and did as she was asked, getting out dishes they used on special occasions and setting them neatly on the table. She didn't make a mess. In Potions class her hands were as steady as the professor's, and her brews were never short of perfect. She heard an impatient sigh and turned to see her mother regarding her through the kitchen door.
"Glasses, Maryanne!" she said, "You forgot glasses! How are they supposed to drink? Out of their hands?"
Mary shot an angry glare at her mother's back.
Never good enough. There was always some grievous error in everything she did. She suppressed the childish urge to stomp as she made her way back into the kitchen and selected five of their nicer glasses. She chose a sixth, plastic cup for Derrick's two year old son. It was his favorite, bright yellow with little purple dinosaurs stamped around it. She set them on the table and slouched into one of the chairs.
"You're getting close to being finished with that school, you know," her mother started congenially. "You should begin thinking about what you'll do after you're finished. Derrick will probably hire you on as a clerk at the plant. Good pay, that."
Mary frowned, picking as a loose thread hanging from the tablecloth. "I've been talking to Professor McGonagall about careers. My OWLs are good for lots of interesting ones. I could be an auror, or a curse breaker, or even a mediwitch."
"The plant would be good work," her mother pressed, bustling around the kitchen. Mary could almost hear her frowning disapprovingly. "Normal work. Work we could talk about with friends. Work to be proud of."
Mary's frown turned into a scowl, and she was ready with a snappy, what's to be proud of, being a secretary? It was fortunate that she was stopped from saying it by the sound of the front door opening, and people entering the house. She was up, quick as a flash, throwing herself at her older brother as though she hadn't seen him in years. He stumbled back a step in surprise, but his shock turned to laughter and lifted her up with his hug, spinning her around before setting her back down.
"Christ, Mare," he said, grinning and mussing her hair, "You've gotten taller since I last saw you."
She batted his hand away and combed her fingers through her hair to smooth it back down. "No I haven't, you buffoon."
She turned a smile on Becky, his wife, and gave her a much calmer hug, stealing their son from her arms and giving him a tight squeeze.
"Hello Davie," she said, kissing his cheeks loudly. He let out a squeal of laughter and tried to push her away.
"Want to sit by Auntie Mare for dinner?" she asked the squirming toddler in her arms. He grinned and nodded his head rapidly. "Good boy. You know who's the best here, don't you?"
"Maryanne! Help me get the food together!" her mother called, her voice hard. It softened to warm and welcoming a second later. "Hello Derrick! Becky, dear! It's so good to have you visiting again."
Mary fought to keep smiling, her lips wanting to fall into a scowl, and handed David back to his mother, bouncing into the kitchen and assisting her mother. Her mother who refused to make eye contact with her and had a disappointed frown firmly in place. Mary picked up the boiled potatoes and steamed carrots, the vegetables arranged in the prettiest serving bowls that her mother owned, and carried them to the dining table. She set them down carefully, then returned to help her mother prepare the gravy and the roast.
"What have you been you been up to all summer, Mare?" Derrick asked as she reentered the dining room, gravy boat in hand.
"Reading, mostly," she admitted, grinning. "Getting a head start on the Potions text."
He looked genuinely interested. "Brewing anything fun once the term starts up? Love potions?"
The word love was accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows, and made her roll her eyes in exasperation. "No, Derrick, no love potions." She grinned wider, her own eyebrows jumping up, "Sleeping Death brew, though. And also Polyjuice."
Her mother came in, picking up on the topic of conversation and quickly changing it. "How are things going at the plant, Derrick?"
He quickly diverted his attention from his sister to their mother, and smiled, standing up and taking the smoking roast from her hands to set it on the table. "Very well. Two of my night supervisors had a row during their last shift though, I have a mountain of paperwork to fill out over it."
"That is unfortunate, dear," their mother said, looking genuinely concerned.
He waved it off, "It's nothing, really. I figure I'll can one of them and promote Simon. He's a good kid. Where's dad?"
Their mother tsked and looked off towards the closed door of the office. "You know how he gets. He doesn't leave the work at the job, he brings it home."
Derrick raised on eyebrow and pushed up from his chair. "Not while I'm here, he doesn't."
He walked over to the door and knocked. Mary heard her father curse on the other side of the door, and then it flew open. "What you want, you bloody woman-?"
Derrick tried to look insulted, "Who are you calling a woman, old man?"
Their father's expression quickly turned to a grin and he reached out to clap Derrick on the shoulder. "My boy! Is it that time already? Where's Becky? Ah, there she is. Looking as beautiful as ever, sweetheart."
Becky, who had been sitting awkwardly in one of the dining room chairs, Davie on her lap, flushed. "Thank you, sir."
"No need to be so formal, Becky," their father said, moving into the dinging room and stealing Davie from her. "And how's my boy, Davie? Getting big, isn't he?"
He quickly handed the child back to his mother, and took a seat at the head of the table. He wasn't to pay too much attention to his grandchild; just enough to ensure the boy was healthy enough to carry on the family name. Mary was quick to step up and take Davie back, grinning at Becky before moving around the table and settling down. Davie make happy toddler talk and played with her fork. She almost felt guilty for snagging Davie again, as Becky fiddled with a napkin, at a loss for what to do. Poor girl had never warmed up to their mother or father the way she had to Derrick and Mary. Though, Mary would be the first to admit, their parents were a bit overwhelming, even after growing up with them.
Derrick sat beside Becky, and Mary could swear they were holding hands beneath the table. She smiled. They radiated unconditional love.
"Alright, kids," her mother said, cutting into her observation, "Tuck in."
Dinner lasted all of two hours. Two hours during which any mention of her schooling or her plans for after school were quickly overwhelmed with conversation about the plant, and it's employees, and how Derrick would own it soon. It was hard not to pull her hair out and scream. She ate quickly, lingered at the table while Davie ate in her lap, and then handed him back to Becky while she helped clean up. Derrick helped gather up dishes while their father retired back into his office to smoke and go over more paperwork.
Mary was up to her elbows in soapy water, scrubbing the plates, when her mother began to speak cheerfully.
"Oh, Derrick dear," she said, scrubbing down the stove to clean up any spilled gravy, "I was telling Maryanne that you might be able to get her a job working at the factory after she's finished at that school of hers."
Mary froze, her muscles tensing.
"Good work," her mother continued, "Good pay, and benefits. And she'll be working with the family."
Derrick looked wary. "That what you want, Mare?"
Mary let the plate she was scrubbing fall into the sink and spun around, her eyes blazing. She shook from fury. "No it is not what bloody want. I keep trying to tell her what I want, but she won't bloody listen!"
"Language!" her mother chastised, looking horrified.
"Sod your language!" Mary shouted. "I can't take it anymore! I'm not working in the bloody factory!"
Her mother's look of horror morphed into one of anger. "You'd just forget about us? Leave us? Abandon the world you were raised in?"
"I'm not abandoning anything!" Mary argued, water and soap bubbles dripping from her arms and making loud plop noises as they hit the tiled floor. "When I turned eleven and got my letter I was no longer a part of this world! I'm not a muggle! I can't go to school for seven years to learn how to control my magic, to learn skills for careers in the magical world, and then come back and forget about it!"
Her mother's nostrils flared as she breathed deeply through her nose. "That's all we are, Maryanne? Muggles? Where is your sense of duty? You have a duty to us. We are you family. Those people aren't your family!"
"Some of them seem a lot more like family than you," Mary spat angrily, and her mother froze up, looking torn between being hurt and enraged. "I'm not a part of this world. I'm not wanted in that one. Both because of what I am. But I would rather be hated in that world and be able to express myself, then be welcomed in this one at the cost of denying something that's woven into my very core."
Without another word she fled the kitchen, tears threatening to spill over, and raced up to her room. The window was still open, and she crawled out it, scrambling up the roof. When she sat down her heart was beating and she was short of breath. Her face was flushed, and she felt nauseous. She wiped at her eyes angrily, sniffing loudly. How idiotic the entire argument was. She stared out over the neighborhood, her vision distorted from the tears. The sun was setting, bright orange streaking the sky. The kids had all gone in, leaving it very quiet. Mary could hear her brother clambering up from her window, and closed her eyes, willing the tears to vanish.
||
Here I am.
Belonging nowhere.
||