September 14th, 1893 — London
Mabel Brighton

Dragons.

There were bloody dragons in London.

Dory swore for the umpteenth time as he hid behind a collapsed wall. He'd been tasked with guiding the terrorized people on the streets towards the triage areas and the evacuation points, but had thus far been mainly dodging the lethal attacks of a determined dragon. The dragon had spotted him while he was transfiguring a makeshift crutch for a muggle with a broken leg (someone would be wiping their memories later, he prayed) and had followed him down two blocks now.

What sort of spell did one use on a dragon? He couldn't stun it, not by himself and certainly not with the typical dueling spells. After all, Expelliarmus certainly wouldn't cut it here. Instead, Dory had begun attempting to collapse buildings upon the bloody thing. Aiming bombardment spells on what looked like strong points of whatever building and praying for the best. Thus far, his manufactured chaos hadn't worked. All his actions had done was cause an insane amount of obstacles to cross and force the dragon into an even more frenzied state.

Bloody hell.

Dory took another steadying breath against the wall as the dragon roared in fury. He had seconds to either shield himself here or try and find shelter elsewhere. Seconds to strategize his next move.

And then he saw her.

Mabel.

All thoughts of strategy and his own personal safety evaporated from his mind as he sprinted towards her position, barreling into her only a split second before the scorching fire blazed down the street. "Are you insane?!" He shouted at her above the roaring flames. What was she doing here?! Why was she not in triage or somewhere else?! "There isn't anyone on this street, you need to go. Now." There was no room for arguing in his tone. Only further demands that she consider her own personal safety above those lost souls still trapped elsewhere.

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