She never really thought about how long it would take to recover from a dementor encounter. The healers had shown up and gave her some chocolate to eat, some hot tea to drink, and then sent her on her way with instructions to rest until a week had passed.   An auror had helped her home, and made sure that the other person involved in the attack (Margo later found out he was an older gentleman and a squib) also got back to where he lived.  She spent the entire weekend locked into her flat with Lizard, who was much less of a spaz than usual, probably responding to her general lethargy and listlessness. 

She supposed Kurby had booked it as quickly as possible, since he didn’t stick around to be seen by the healers or the aurors.  Margo had to give them the details she knew about the whole thing and that was it.  They said if they knew anything or needed anything else, they’d be in touch.  It was kind of surreal.  While she had relaxed over the weekend, stretching her hip like she’d been taught back when she first got injured when she needed to and otherwise just listening to quidditch coverage on the wireless, she tried not to think too much. 

When Monday rolled around, she figured she had spent the entire weekend holed up with a blanket and needed to leave – so work it was.   She wasn’t allowed to the field yet, but the office was something to keep her mind busy. It was strange, when you had a three day weekend, it was almost a relief to return to work: and that was a big deal for Margo who rarely wanted to be anywhere near the Ministry of Magic.   There was really something in her head worth avoiding.   

At least she had an excuse to take it easy and be comfortable though.  Her leg was still bothering her and she still felt the residual affects of the encounter on her personality: she just wasn’t bubbly and excited.   It’d be good to get back to doing something though, and she did have a lot of notes to write up for the files.  She guessed she could use the time in the office for that.   The eggs and hatchlings weren’t going to write about their own progress (or lack thereof) with any of the attempted treatments. 

It wasn’t like there was really anyone there to distract her either – everyone was in the field, all hands on deck and whatnot because of the epidemic.  There were some interns milling around, but for the most part, Margo was alone and as it neared lunchtime, even the interns disappeared.  When she was fairly certain she had to be the only person in the room (maybe a little bit of an exaggeration – there were definitely some oldies hanging about), she threw her head back, reached up, and put her hands in her hair with a heavy sigh.

Margo reminded herself that this was better than sitting at home with just the wireless like she’d done for the past three days and then sat back up to write about the sickly little welsh dragon that she tended to along with the ironbellies that had hatched since the retrieval that got her back in the field. 

---

Title taken from "Not with Haste" by Mumford & Sons

 The bustle in the Werewolf Capture Unit was as good as a calendar when it came to predicting the time of the month.  With the full moon approaching, the office had been as busy as expected; there were patrols to assign, last minute worries to assuage, and always some political outfall to deal with, as one werewolf or another insisted for one reason or another that they couldn't make it to a Ministry-approved safe house that month.

The strain certainly showed on Kurby Bagnold's face.  This close to the full moon, his perpetual stubble looked like it was closer to the midnight hour than five o'clock; his dark eyes were even more shadowed than usual, and judging by his expression, his temper wasn't far below the surface.  Even in the best of times, most of the witches and wizards on Level Four knew to stay well out of the werewolf hunter's way during the lunar cusp, but after the events of the previous week, he'd been even shorter-tempered than usual.

He hadn't gone to see Amherst over the weekend.  It hadn't been that he didn't care -- well, he didn't care, as he told himself over and over again, but even if he did, he wouldn't have stopped in.  The witch had made it perfectly obvious in the past that she would ask for his help on the rare occasions when she wanted it.  If she hadn't broken into his apartment, shown up at his door at 2 AM, or nagged his sister Rosheen into talking to him, then she was either fine or had found solace in some other quarter.

But even so...the WCU office had emptied more quickly than usual for lunch, mostly because the kids knew not to spend anymore time around him than they had to with a full moon only two days away.  Kurby had decided to stretch his legs -- not because he had to, but just because it was preferable to jamming a quill in his eye, which was what filling out the monthly paperwork normally made him feel like doing.  And if he'd wandered in the direction of the Dragon Research office...and if he'd happened to pause in the doorway just to see who was there...well, it was obviously only a coincidence.

He gave a grunt as he leaned on the door frame.  It was a neat trick to peer inside the office without making any sort of eye contact with the woman inside whatsoever, but somehow Kurby managed it, just as he managed to keep his voice absolutely flat when he spoke.

"You're back."

-and the Ironbellies have shown no weight gain despite the multiple feedings, daily.  As compared to the normal growth rate of Ironbellies, the hatchlings are at the tenth percentile for their week in both weight and length.  No sparks are apparent when they attempt to muster a flame… she lifted the quill to her lips and bit on the tip. 

It was a little gross, but she had always had that habit, even back in school.  Biting on quills was just a thing.  It helped her think.  Her notes were kind of mish-mashed together and there was a bit water stain on one page, which was making it really hard to read, especially because the date was smudged and she couldn’t tell when it had actually come from and that impacted the information she was putting down. 

She should have been more up to date on these things – she knew the dragons had been up and down in their weight, but she didn’t want to put they were down in the most recent reports if this was an old page of notes.  Breathing through her nose, she pushed her chair out from her desk and tried to stretch her legs, hissing as the muscles in her hip strained against her. 

The effects of a long-term injury were never quite as apparent when she wanted to stretch.  Sitting up taller again, she reached down and pressed her palm into the flesh of her hip and whined a little.  What a pain in the ass. 

Of course, she was halfway through digging into a knot the size of an orange (at least it felt like that to her – a gross exaggeration would not be far off), when she heard a voice and looked up, surprised. 

She had to blink, her hands stilling over her sore joint.  “Yea,” she answered hesitantly.  Kurby was like a unicorn sometimes, say anything too loud and he’d either run, or skewer you thorugh the stomach.  Right now, she honestly wasn’t sure what sort of reaction she was going to get – or wanted.  “I’m off the field for the week though. Healer's orders,” she shrugged and started to move her hands again. 

There was no need to be shy or ashamed around Kurby: he’d seen more than enough for long enough that it didn’t matter.  “Full moon coming?” she half-asked, half said.  She knew it was true – any good calendar could tell a person that, and even if she didn’t – he looked like it.  Not that she noticed what he looked like or anything.  Of course that would be ridiculous.