June 18th, 1894 — Padmore Park, Hogsmeade

It was an act of desperation that saw Dory take to his broom when he ought to have been sleeping. The evening out was enjoyable enough, but he missed the thrill of dancing, of seeing a woman's face flush with his quietly murmured flirtatious comments. There were too few opportunities to flirt around the refreshment tables and even fewer opportunities to flirt whilst limping around the edges of the ballroom. How was he to even entertain the idea of finding a wife when he couldn't adequately participate in all of society's events?

Which saw him hovering less than six feet above the shoreline as he flew the perimeter of the lake. His leg screamed with the tension of maintaining balance, but at least here he could do something, he could find enjoyment in a past time again. The dragon had taken so much more than a bite of his leg — Winnie, his confidence, his ability to walk without a cane — that he refused to give it this, too. Even if the very act would see him biting back groans of pain later when he soaked in his bath.

After his third lap around, Dory landed in a familiar clearing and collapsed heavily onto the damp sand. Five minutes. He'd rest for five minutes and then he'd fly home.

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