There was something undeniably grounding about working with dragons; one would think that it would be the knowledge of working alongside something much larger, much more powerful, much more ancient and omniscient than humans would ever be that would do the grounding. One would think that it would be humbling to work alongside something so mythical and revered, and that the knowledge alone of its greatness would plant one’s feet firmly in the dirt, where they belonged.
Marlene, undoubtedly, was not as enchanted. She loved her job more than anything, and she knew just how lucky she was, and how humbled she should be to be in the presence of such great beasts --
But a great beast affectionately known as “Puffins” had burned off half of her favorite Holyhead Harpies t-shirt, and for that Marlene was out for blood. She was quite a sight, stalking down the sidewalk in the direction of her flat, half-charred and covered in dirt, cross and grumbling. It would have been far less of a spectacle (she scratched angrily at the spot on the back of her neck) if she’d just been able to apparate, but no. She’d been forced to fly- and then walk all the way home. And it was too damn far to her flat, even now.
Barbecued McKinnon.
She wouldn’t have even noticed anyone else on the same stretch of pavement, for she was entirely consumed with her own profanity-ridden inner monologue; with her head down, Marlene stalked along, the pure picture of unapproachable. Unapproachable... and undeniably comical.
