1981 » The Marauders Era

one ; tinworth village

It was a grey, slow morning in Tinworth Village. Both the magical and muggle residents of the picture-postcard dwelling, in Cornwall England, could agree. The typical bitter wind and crisp air was especially harsh on this February day. Even the way of the icy Cornish waves on the shore and the dark gathering clouds, which smothered the morning sun, made it seem like Merlin himself was forewarning the village.

Mary woke up to the bright light emerging from her floral curtains that Mr MacDonald had just opened. He was a small man with a bald head and a thick, black beard which matched the exact colour of Mary's dark locks. He was kind too, another trait which had passed onto his daughter. On the coast of western Cornwall, Mary and her father lived in a small cottage in a half-magical half-muggle desolate village, far from any other sign of human life. It was either the kind of place an old couple would reside in once they retired or the kind of place a family of wizards would live in to disguise their powers. Yet Mary was beginning to be happy again and this was all that Mr MacDonald wanted since Mary's mother, a fragile woman, died when a deadly outbreak of dragonpox swept across England two years prior.

Mary sat up sleepily, and rubbed her eyes as the blinding morning light entered her room. "Morning, sweetheart," Mr MacDonald smiled at his daughter, "I'm off to town to see Professor Dumbledore for an important meeting. Better run though as I'm already late, make sure you get up!" he laughed, knowing Mary could sleep all day if he hadn't already woken her up.
"See you!" Mary managed to shout from her bed, as her father bounced down the stairs and quickly out of the front door.

She got up, dressed into a comfortable beige jumper and blue bell-bottom jeans, and went downstairs for some breakfast- left over pumpkin pasties which Mr MacDonald had baked a few days before. Their house was a hoarder's dream: full of useless collectables and objects. Mr MacDonald had worked at the Department of Magical Artefacts at the Ministry, so he regularly brought home items which he had worked on, and were left unowned for Mary to claim. One look at the living room and you could tell that his latest case was on a shining silver diadem, with a light blue jewel embedded in it. It was probably the most prominent object that Mr MacDonald had gained from his job. Ravenclaw's Diadem.

Nearly every wall in the cottage had a photo of a family of three hung upon it- like nothing had ever happened. Neither Mary nor her father dared to touch the picture frames, and it was easier for them to live that way.

She took a bite of her cold pasty when suddenly a figure outside the kitchen window caught her attention. Marching up the tiny, overgrown pathway leading up to her cottage, Mary saw a cloaked figure. She couldn't make out the face but she could instantly guess what type of wizard this was.

A quick spark of light shot through the kitchen window, just missing Mary by a few centimetres. After ducking immediately, she looked for her wand but remembered it was still on her bedside table. Her breath grew quickly and her mind spiralled out of control. She crawled along the cold tiled floor and attempted to make her way to the front door. Her wand may have been upstairs, but that didn't mean should couldn't try to fight them off. More loud blasts shot through windows from the kitchen and lounge, making Mary scream as each one destroyed her home. As she crawled to the front door she began thinking about her father. Was he safe? Or had he been attacked too, while on his way to town? She couldn't bare to think of him alone in the village, being attacked by deatheaters. But of course, she thought. He was with Dumbledore. Father wasn't alone and couldn't have be in safer hands.

The large, oak door at the front of their house was burst open and in stepped the figure. Wearing a dark cloak and an eerie mask, the figure looked down at Mary as she gasped with tears falling down her rosie cheeks. Each day the news reported of increasing attacks on innocent people up and down the country, but never in a million years did she think that it would ever happen in a place like Tinworth Village. The figure drew their wand to her face and didn't hesitate. Mary looked up to a picture of her, her mother and father before a harrowing, green light's flash reflected against the glass on her once perfect family photo.