Ainsley Jayne-Grey MacAlistar had never taken to the half-blood players on her Quidditch team, let alone anyone who was lesser, and by lesser it was obvious she meant muggleborns. Uphold the honor that was pure-blood wizardry. Being the youngest of the family and the only female, Ainsley had always been compared to the magnificent intellect of Anthony, her eldest brother who worked with their father in the Wizengamot, the charm of Arlington who now found himself in the Ministry working in the Department of Magical Transportation, and the friendly nature that Adrian had, who works in the Department of Magical Catastrophes. Of course, Ainsley had none of these qualities, at least she never saw them in herself. All of her life she wanted to be a professional quidditch player, a chaser for the Pride of Portree to be specific and she was finally living her dream – being a nightmare on the pitch to everyone else. It was clear, Ainsley had all the skill it took to be such a great player, but deep down that’s all she thought about herself, she was nothing but a quidditch player. 

Pulling her hood up and framing her face, Ainsley slipped down an alleyway after a man with a cross-body satchel, what she needed to obtain had nothing to do with him, but certainly, the apothecary down the block was her intended target. Tucking her wand into her cloak, Ainsley kept her eyes down at the ground not wanting to draw attention to herself, she got enough of that if she went out in public – children wanting autographs, people asking for pictures, occasionally she would get harassed by some old hag who shouted she should have been locked up in Azkaban for her actions in school. Surely, she had a temper, it was true but it was mal-aimed curse, and it was not intentional, the Ministry proved that, and that’s why she was sentenced to house arrest for a while. The thought caused the blonde-haired woman to shake her head, trying to banish the intrusive thought from her mind.  

The echo of her footsteps off the damp cobblestone, caused Ainsley to pull the hood around her head a bit tighter. This man in front of her was walking incredibly slow and she had somewhere she needed to be and soon. In an attempt to dodge around him, Ainsley turned sideways and pressed herself against the wall but her sleeve caught on the strap of Ploward’s bag and prevented her from moving in front of him. “Pardon me,” she said softly as she tried to remove her sleeve from the strap, “in a bit of a hurry.” The woman explained, trying to be sympathetic to the cause that she caught herself in, probably giving the man such a fright as he may have thought he was being robbed. 

Finally, after a bit of frustration, Ainsley lifted her head and made eye contact with the man, she blinked once, then once again but didn’t bother to say much of anything else, except she turned on her heel and walked briskly ahead of Ploward and into the nearest apothecary shop. The woman behind the counter smiled kindly at her, “It’s all here, had Jimson make it up last night for you.” The dark haired woman stated and pushed a small wooden box towards Ainsley, who took it in both hands.

“Thank you.” Were the only two words Ainsley managed to say before glancing over her shoulder to see Ploward just coming into view from the long corridor and someone else behind him, someone Ainsley had not noticed was behind her. Knowing she hadn’t done anything wrong, Ainsley tucked the box under her arm, as if it were a quaffle and left the apothecary heading back the way she had just come.