Post by maggie on Jul 11, 2010 17:11:18 GMT 1
Nickname: Swishy
How You Found Us: Affiliate-hopping
Contact Via: PM
How You Found Us: Affiliate-hopping
Contact Via: PM
What can be found in a name:
Margaret (Maggie) Grayson
When the day I was born:
21/06/1959
The Angels screamed:
Father – Kenneth Grayson, 45, unemployed
Mother – Unknown, missing (presumed dead)
Brother – Ethan Grayson, 19, Auror
And Hell shut its doors:
A female tawny owl Maggie calls ‘Fluffy’. Though Maggie would like to have other animals around her, she contents herself with the various creatures on the school grounds, knowing that a combination of her father’s drunkenness and Hogwarts’ one-pet rule would make her ideal menagerie impossible.
While creatures retreated:
Pureblood
To depths unknown:
Gryffindor
I hide from them:
Maggie likes to socialise, and can often be found in the Gryffindor common room with a friend. Sometimes, though, she feels like getting away, and heads down to Hagrid’s hut on the grounds. She loves to visit Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, and to be introduced to the gamekeeper’s latest ‘project’.
Be who they want to see:
Maggie is slightly above average height, slim – though broadly built – and cares little for her appearance. Her jaw is square and her skin is pale, in spite of the amount of time she spends outdoors. Freckles are her complexion’s only concession to her activities. Maggie’s hair is a nondescript brown; she wears it long enough to tie back for Potions but rarely bothers to style it – it hangs straight around her face most days.
But that leaves no one:
To discover that inside:
Maggie is stubborn, dedicated, and brave. She enjoys having a ‘cause’ to promote – at eleven, it was the inclusion of Muggle Studies as a required course for wizard-raised students, at thirteen, the inclusion of ‘Wizard Studies’ for the muggle-raised, and at fifteen she began campaigning for equal rights for werewolves through letters to the Daily Prophet which, oddly, were never published. Her current crusade is to set up safe houses for those affected by Death Eater attacks, and her net is rapidly widening to include hideouts for those He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named targets to join him against their wills. Maggie is outspoken about her beliefs, a trait which can set her against her peers, but she prides herself on never backing down from a confrontation. She despises bigotry in all forms.
Although she is clever and highly aware of social injustice, Maggie sometimes lacks empathy; she is unable to see her brother’s point of view as anything but cowardice, and often fails to comprehend others’ fear of the unknown. Maggie is a warrior at heart, though her war is largely fought on the cerebral plain.
Maggie is not a restful person to be around; her energy seems to be limitless and her passion for life never wanes. She goes to bed late, wakes early, and fills every hour with activity.
This soulless being:
*Animals
*History
*Having a ‘cause’
*Food/cooking
*Her brother
Is just as lost:
*Dark Arts
*Her father
*Cowardice
*Divination
*Bigotry
As everyone else:
*Her convictions
*Her bravery
*Care of Magical Creatures
*Her enthusiasm
*Abstract thought
In a world that knows only hate:
*Her father
*Her brother
*Transfiguration
*A tendency to mouth-off
*Her lack of empathy
And causes pain for the soulless like me:
Her brother is a Death Eater.
She sneaks into the kitchens at Hogwarts sometimes to bake.
They left me to die:
Unknown – her mother supposedly died after giving birth to her, but Maggie and Ethan have received numerous anonymous gifts and postcards over the years which seem to indicate she is alive somewhere.
On a bed of roses:
Of her father’s family, everyone bar him is – allegedly – deceased.
Blood seeping through:
Her father and Ethan are both involved with Lord Voldemort.
The satin sheets of fame:
Rich
What a bitter story of love:
Born to a mother who ‘died’ when she was only a few hours old, Maggie’s only family has been her father – a raging, jobless alcoholic with a penchant for the Dark Arts – and her older brother, Ethan. Her father’s drunkenness left him aggressive when awake and comatose when asleep, so the majority of Maggie’s upbringing came from her brother. Though only two years older than her, Ethan was a beacon of light in Maggie’s rather dark world. He saved her from her father’s rage more times than Maggie can count; her smart mouth was her bane from an early age, and Ethan was the only barrier between her and the beatings she deserved.
Maggie idolised Ethan, following in his footsteps as best she could. When he left for Hogwarts, Maggie knew that her childhood was on hiatus for the next two years. Without Ethan to protect her, her father became even more aggressive. Though her constant letters to Ethan – now in Ravenclaw house, and apparently doing well away from their father’s influence – told of her latest readings and her resolution to change the world, they said nothing of the bruises that littered her arms and legs, or the residue of Dark magic around her mind that bled into her dreams at night. What Ethan didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. It was her turn to protect her brother.
The year that Maggie started Hogwarts came all too slowly, but it did arrive. Maggie was convinced that she would enter Ravenclaw house with Ethan and that they would begin their revolution from the safety of Hogwarts. Then, the Sorting Hat said Gryffindor.
It took two days for Maggie to stop sulking, by which time her fellow first years had formed their own cliques and Ethan had tried to talk to her at least six times. Maggie’s mood change was fast, though, and she soon found herself engaging with her classmates. Her hatred of everything her father stood for – his bigotry, his cruelty and his darkness – made Maggie almost ridiculously open to her yearmates; she made no distinction between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and soon had friends in all the houses. Though she was ‘best friends’ with no one, Maggie was never lonely. Her brother’s company was always welcome, when he sought her out, and the buzz of her own mind was enough if she was alone. For the first time since Ethan had left for his first year of school, Maggie was happy.
In her third year, Maggie chose Care of Magical Creatures as one of her electives, eager to learn more about the animals she loved. She had been visiting Hagrid, the groundskeeper, since mid-way through her first year, and shared his love of ‘interesting’ creatures. Another of her electives was Muggle Studies. Having been raised in a wizarding environment and hating the division that was clear between the muggleborns and purebloods, Maggie dove into the subject with her usual enthusiasm.
Ethan was a godsend during Maggie’s OWLs. Though he was studying for his NEWTs, he always had time for his little sister’s questions and worries. Maggie puts her high grades and continued mental health entirely down to Ethan’s help.
When Ethan graduated from Hogwarts and entered the Ministry as an Auror, Maggie felt like she was flying on the coattails of his success. Ethan’s adulthood was the first step in their independence from their father.
Then her father wrote to her – for the first time, and the last time. Ethan had joined Lord Voldemort, and was working for the Dark.
Maggie didn’t know what to believe. Ethan’s last letter to her had been full of his successes in the field and his potential rise through the Auror ranks. There had been no mention of this betrayal.
Maggie wrote to him, enclosing their father’s letter, certain that it would turn out to be another of his lies to break their bond.
It wasn’t.
Maggie crashed to Earth. None of Ethan’s promises or excuses were enough to rid her of the knowledge that, now, there was no escape. She had relied for so long on her brother’s strength and morality, never dreaming that there might be a time when he would leave her to stand alone against the coming Darkness. It was several days before Maggie could bring herself to respond to his letter, and several more weeks before she could break away from the pit that yawned in her mind.
She didn’t go home for the Christmas holidays that year, or at Easter. She couldn’t face the gloating of her father or the weakness of her brother. Only when Summer began intruding on her consciousness did Maggie straighten her shoulders and resolve to look her solitude in the eye.
That summer, Maggie stared down her father, daring him to invite her into the fold. She avoided Ethan as best she could, after a screaming tirade about his perfidy and weakness that had left them both in tears.
The only thing she couldn’t do was leave him.
Maggie returned to Hogwarts tired, but still determined not to fall into the abyss that seemed to be waiting for her. She is attacking her NEWT subjects with fervour and, in her spare time, lobbies the known neutral and light pureblood families by letter in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will understand the need for safehouses – for victims, for children, for those who are targeted as followers and have nowhere else to hide.
Most days, Maggie receives a letter from Ethan. She reads them alone, tucks them into her dress robes at the bottom of her trunk, and writes him a reply. She rarely sends them.
If Maggie is going to survive this war, she is going to have to learn how to stand alone.
Maggie scowled at the parchment in her hand. Yet another bland refusal from someone who obviously hadn’t even read past the first paragraph of her letter. She glanced at the signature. Griffinsnest. Another light family too afraid to fight for what they believe in.
She smoothed the edge that had become crinkled in her tight grip, folded the letter, and slipped it between the pages of ‘A History of the Norsemen’. She would file it away with the other refusals later.
Returning her attention to her breakfast, Maggie growled under her breath when she realised her toast was cold. Grabbing an apple for later, she swung her rucksack onto her shoulder and headed for the doors, stumbling slightly as she walked.
She looked down. Her left shoelace was making a valiant attempt to knot itself beyond repair, while her right trailed behind her dangerously.
Maggie sighed. It was going to be one of those days.
She smoothed the edge that had become crinkled in her tight grip, folded the letter, and slipped it between the pages of ‘A History of the Norsemen’. She would file it away with the other refusals later.
Returning her attention to her breakfast, Maggie growled under her breath when she realised her toast was cold. Grabbing an apple for later, she swung her rucksack onto her shoulder and headed for the doors, stumbling slightly as she walked.
She looked down. Her left shoelace was making a valiant attempt to knot itself beyond repair, while her right trailed behind her dangerously.
Maggie sighed. It was going to be one of those days.
