0400 hours, Canna. A small Isle just south of Broadford.


It was dark still when Balfour Spectre apparated in the middle of a desolate, rocky plain. A low mist prevailed across the sparse grass and seemed to dissipate as he made his way through it. He pulled his scarf up around his face and then, hands in pockets, climbed  sprightly up a steep mound.

At its top the ground levelled out and a small stone cottage was spied, sat peacefully underneath the cover of cloud; smoke drifted continuously from a chimney. It looked a strong fire.

The shifts must have just changed hands.

"Good morning, morning!" Balfour ducked into the structure hurriedly, slamming the old door behind him to keep cold out. He squinted at the space - it was dim and about ten by fifteen, the size of a wee bothy. The double greeting was characteristic of him at this hour. "Throw on another log, eh?" This as he drew close to the already blazing fire.  A familiar cacophony of gulps, wheezes and growls emanated from the area.

Their source was two especially grumpy baby dragons nestled messily in beds of straw (damp towels on the edges, of course). Lovely Longhorns.

Balfour tugged his scarf down, grinning at the little bastards first and then at the face watching over them. Ghastly. He hadn't stopped by the fourth floor to check on the roster but this wasn't bad; she was always a good sort of surprise.

"Don't the three of you look just cozy," the wizard remarked and made himself comfortable on the floor in front of the makeshift hearth. His cheeks were red, stinging with cold. "Have you got the brandy out yet? I brought chicken's blood."

The wee hours of the morning were usually a quiet time. Most of the sane people were nuzzled in bed and even the party animals had tired themselves out by this hour. Then again no one had ever accused Ghastly of being sane, in fact she had practically leapt at the chance to babysit the young dragons, even if it meant twelve hour or longer shifts that had her feeding them ever half hour. She didn't mind one bit, she loved taking care of them, baby dragons were much easier for her to understand than baby people were anyways.

As the cottage door opened a gust of bitter cold wind followed. Compared to the almost stifling heat of the inside, it sent a shiver down Ghastly's spine. She had been comfortably dressed in a tight fitting long sleeved top with equally tight leather pants. When dealing with dragons even the smaller ones it did a handler well to dress for the occasion even if the heat suggested otherwise. You didn't want to be caught wearing something loose a set of claws could dig into or leave exposed skin some teeth could sink into. After doing this for years Ghastly was rather adapted to the heat.

She nodded to the newcomer as he entered. They were on two man alternating shifts. Her previous partner had left only minutes before her new one arrived and she would be due to leave before his shift was over. A light smile crossed her lips as she recognized her new partner. The history between them was long, happy and a fond memory but these days it was really nothing more than that. They were still close and Ghastly counted him amoungst the closest of her friends if not within her family but the romantic adoration and attraction she had held for him for almost a decade had gently and welcomingly turned into a treasured friendship.

"Aye," She shook a bottle that looked more like a mini barrel of brandy, "Thankfully the pups don't mind sharing." She took a small swig before pouring the remainder into a cauldron sized bowl for the dragons. She ran her fingers over the spined spikes along the bigger of the two before rubbing him under his chin. She petted the youngster as if he were a family pet, seemingly unaware or unconcerned about the small stream of smoke trailing from his nostrils or the proximity of her hands to a set of razor sharp teeth.

"How was the trip?" Ghastly had come in on broom herself, she found it hard to apparate even on a good day. She wasn't very good at focusing on where she needed to go. Most of her injuries at work were due to splinching herself rather than the actual dragons.

A leather skin bag was retrieved from the wizard's  courier bag, stoppered with a tight cork. You could not risk spilling chicken's blood.

Balfour tugged on his gloves as his colleague revealed their source of brandy, and he laughed as she partook. Another division head might have protested but it was cold and bleak, and he saw no reason as to why the Dragon Keepers could not warm themselves on their insides just as well as their skins. Handling the bairns was significantly less demanding than an adult.

"I apparated right in from Diagon," he replied before pulling himself closer to gently stroke the other child dragon. "It was quiet. Rain in the city, when you get back, by the by." That drizzle fell down south and not here this morrow was, they knew, irregular. Not that Ghastly would mind a little water.

The dragon squinted through scaly lids up at its carers, wheezing with lungs not yet ready to breathe flame. It was a weak, pathetic sound that made him reach for the chicken's blood.

"Last nip before it's their porridge~" Balfour echoed the witch by having a taste of the cheap eau de vie- then, pulling off his jacket, he began the simple task of mixing brandy with blood. "I've been to see their mater last evening," his smile lost its lustre and for a wee while the bothy was filled with nothing but the sound of sloshing liquid.

Silence, the pouch stoppered again and the barrel pushed across for Ghastly to blend. It glimmered red.

"We think she's ill-" he disclosed quietly, as if though the bairns might hear. "- similar to the others. I've already arranged for her to be moved but she's in even worse temper than the Horntails." Balfour brought his legs up, leaning forward to rest on his knees pensively.

Then he looked down at the pair of newly hatched dragons. "They might be ill too."

With a smile still on her face Ghastly started to stir the chicken blood in with the brandy. There was a bit of technique she had developed for it. She preferred stirring it by hand with a wooden spoon that had been scorched. It was better than trying to stir it with a wand, somehow it never seemed to mix right when you didn't do it physically. Not that she had ever tried it herself, but the younglings seemed to prefer her method over others.

She lifted her caramel eyes to Balfour with a smile. Of course he would have apparated in but she did appreciate the weather update, "Sounds great, I love flying in the rain." For anyone else that statement might have been delivered reeking of sarcasm but Ghastly was rather genuine with it. She loved the feel of light cool rain on her skin as she soared through the air, helped her feel alive.

A solemn look took over her features. She hated when her charges were sick. On one hand there was nothing quite like dealing with an irate dragon that had the sniffles. On the other hand they were these great big powerful magical creatures that just thinking of something making them vulnerable was scary and it happened so rarely that it was always cause for concern. However what had been happening lately, entire tribes of dragons getting sick. It was more than just a cause for concern.

She looked to the babies, "They haven't shown any sign of the illness we've been seeing in the horntails." She kept her hands to herself despite her urge to touch them. She had learned early in her career not to go near a feeding dragon, "Though if Momma's sick," She looked at them concerned again before turning sad eyes to Balfour, "Any word on what this could be? I've never seen anything spread like this, not to mention passing through different breeds."

She fell silent for a moment, "How worried should I be Balfy?" As her superior, not to mention the head of the whole Department Balfour was likely to have more information on the situation than she did. She didn't like it but that was just the way the world worked. When it came to her dragons, she needed to know everything and this illness, it had her completely in the dark.

The bairns began their feeding - it was easy to avoid touching them, their jaws gaping upwards as they poured the foul mixture down the young and wheezing throats. A consolingly healthy nuance of red. He could hear the concern in Ghastly's voice as they spoke. It resonated with his own.

"No. Nothing official." Balfour answered once they had split the drink into another tankard and he'd begun to feed the child dragon closer to him. "None of the Magizoologists have been able to diagnose them. It's absurdly contagious, much more than we realized."

He risked glancing up from his charge to lock gazes with Ghastly. They both knew that dragons - even in tribes - required substantial personal space apart from one another. And yet the disease was spreading in spite of the expanse. How? Was it them, were the Keepers somehow carriers? Was it the animals, or the water? The wizard looked down at the bairn, lowering his tankard to give it time.

The fire in the hearth crackled and Balfour lowered his knees, legs locked underneath. He leaned forward while rubbing his temples worriedly. It was alright to worry here- here so far away from the Ministry, the others, with only Ghastly. She knew how attached he was to the beasts.

"We... we're not very far from calling it an epidemic-" he admitted. "- days, a week or two. The prophet is going to catch on." His voice hissed with derision in mentioning the Daily Prophet. "And the division is going to get the brunt of it. I am, anyway." It was obvious from the tone that he knew this was well deserved.

Here he was not even three months into the job and already an epidemic. Balfour smiled grimly at the fireplace. "We should keep these two apart, in another bothy, when they can be separated."

Ghastly's brow furrowed with worry. She didn't like what she was hearing, not just the words but the immense amount of concern and blame in his voice. She wasn't going to listen to it, she wouldn't let Balfy blame himself for something he had absolutely no control over. If she hadn't been feeding the baby she would have reached out for him, let him know that she was here for him come what may, "well it's not an epidemic yet and we can at least take precautions, stall, prolong the story from hitting the front page. I might have some friends that could help us out there. I'm not letting you go down for this. Not while I can do something about it."

She turned her eyes to the dragons, "we can't separate them, we simply can't." She didn't even try keeping the pleading out of her voice. She never shied away from her emotions, she always let people know exactly how she felt and Balfy of all people knew how she felt about family, "we don't even know if they're infected. They haven't been showing any signs. Besides even if they are infected we'll just end up putting them under more stress by keeping them apart."

Balfour smiled at his friend, and while it did not reach his eyes - which glimmered suspiciously with emotion - it emanated gratitude. Yes. Ghastly was his friend... and not his only one. Their division was tightly knit, in the way that many were when members were constantly up against mortal danger and media opinion.

"Thank you-" he lowered his gaze, rubbing his eyes in a pretense of tiredness. "- it's quite alright. They won't sack me for this, not so soon after being appointed." The wizard cleared his throat and began to pour a second dram of the mixture down the bairn's throat. After a moment, he shook his head while bitterly muttering: "Politics."

At the worst they would wait until they knew the imminent epidemic could not get any more severe before replacing him, and he suspected that there were very few in the department envious of such a position at this point in time. Certainly not envious enough to accept an untimely promotion.

This was all exaggeration of course. He knew it was coming from dark, paranoid misgivings. The department was mostly reasonable. It was difficult to remember that some days.

"We won't separate them yet," Balfour conceded to the plea, feeling the worry in her voice. "But as soon as their breaths get any smokier, Ghastly, I can't risk it. One of the younger Longhorns is already down with something. One or two lives, it means everything-" he put down the tankard with a loud thud. "- it could mean an entire generation of expired dragons."

His dragon child gurgled its chicken's blood, and then belched loudly.

Ghastly shook her head and blinked back unwonted tears. Though she was an emotional person, with her heart on her sleeves, sadness was not an emotion she courted and one she often rejected. Even her own ruined love life was absent of tears, she found it easier to find that silver lining, that ray of happiness even in the darkest of times.

"We have to stop this, we can't just let them die." She stroked the baby she was feeding. She was drawn to it, the only motherly instincts she had ever really shown. She didn't like the sound of his voice. She didn't like the situation they were in and if she could, she would just make it all blink away. For everything they could do with Magic, there were still things that were impossible and it broke her heart.
 
She composed herself, giggling at the belch the other baby let out, "Have we been in touch with any specialists? Any of the Magizoologists know what we're up against? If we could stop it before it reaches epidemic levels no one will have to worry about you getting sacked." She gave him a wink without really being conscious of doing so. Just like that the worry was lessened in her voice and the sparkle of tears absent from her eyes. Ghastly just didn't do worried and sad.

Balfour breathed out heavily, though it came easy as rolling off a burden. Ghastly's giggle could do that to you - she wasn't conducive to self pity or needless worry. Still, he couldn't say anything about stopping the spread of the disease. You can't reason with something intangible.

"Two or three of them-" the wizard replied to the more immediate query, "- including the division specialist. There's the witch from Salem, and Vadim happens to be in town as well." Experienced hands.

That was fortunate, and Balfour was suddenly grateful for the TetraWizard Tournament. It had brought boons in its wake. He slid the empty tankard back to Ghastly now that their bairns had been fed, and dug out a double-layer dragonhide glove from his coat pocket. It fit snugly around his right hand.

"Don't worry about my job, Ghast." He reached down to the child dragon to test its bite, "I can manage the politicians. Rather fancied myself a smooth talker once, didn't I?" The dragon clammed shut its jaws and Balfour winced pleasantly. "Gods, they don't feel sick yet, the wee bastards."

Ghastly nodded along making note of the names he had mentioned. She knew Vadim but wasn't as familiar with the American though if Balfour thought she could help, there was little the woman would need to do to gain her trust. The important thing was that they were in good experienced hands. Between the Magizoologists and their own handlers she was sure they were going to find out what was wrong and how to cure it before anything irrepairable happened.

She chuckled and gave him a friendly nudge, "Aye, a smooth talker you've always been luv. Let's hope your charms work on more than just love sick school girls." She giggled again briefly recounting their Hogwarts days.

With the younglings fed Ghastly followed suit putting on her own pair of dragon hide gloves and wrangling with her charge - who seemed eager to play tug-o-war with her hand, "Good grip on this one too. If we're lucky, they'll stay this healthy."