Hebrides Dragon Sanctuary
Scotland

Not many could say that a day jaunt to Scotland to visit with some sickly dragons was the highlight of his day. But when Balfour had invited him to tour Hebrides with him and inspect some of the newer arrivals that were being quarantined there, Vadim was not about to say no.

What else did the old wizard have to do these days? Organize family shenanigans? Even the darkest wizards needed less tedious fun in their lives. When one could tame dragons, it was hard to get excited for much else on the peripheral.

Upon arriving, Vadim introduced himself to several of the dragon handler as he waited for Balfour to show up. Some of the young wizards eyed him warily, some unsure as to his expertise and others not convinced his age would lend to much ability with handling the enormous beasts.

"So how many sick ones do you have?" The old wizard gruffly barked, his attempt at small talk while they waited.

Wiping her hands on her pants, Margo was happy to be asked to come with the new arrivals to the sanctuary. The babies and eggs were left with another fairly competent individual that Margo had left with pretty explicit directions about how to care for them (she wasn’t taking any chances), and had moved to the meeting location. 

Reaching behind her head, she tied her thick, brown ponytail into a plait and jogged up, dirt streaked across her ruddy and freckled face.  Margo was looking much healthier these days, the outdoors doing wonders for her.  Even if she wasn’t dealing with the most dangerous beasts in their most dangerous stage, she was learning a lot and eggs were actually more interesting than she originally thought. 

Of course, as more people arrived, Margo was just a little surprised when an older looking bloke joined the group.  She didn’t think much of him, maybe he was donating money for that thing Charlotte was working on and wanted to see. Wouldn’t be the first time a pureblood wanted in on something like this.  She shoved her hands in her pockets looking around at the other handlers. 

When he asked a question though, it seemed like he actually knew something – at least he seemed confident like he did.  The others with them looked on with wide eyes, as though they didn’t know and Margo sighed.  She kicked the ground with her boot, pursing her lips.  “A couple of the adults, all the eggs and a hatchling,” Margo answered with certainty. 

“Trying to keep ‘em all quarantined though,” she added with a little shrug, “until we figure this bloody thing out.”

Past the dragon paddocks and hills on the sprawling Scottish archipelago, a huddled mass of stone cottages announced human presence amongst the brambles. It was here that several of the Dragonologists and Tamers lived - often for days at a time - while researching or caring for the infected members of a species.

In reality it has also been Balfour's temporary home and workplace for the last month.

He now left one of those many cottagges, ambling miserably into the brisk but clear weather and dressed in more layers than was necessary. He'd been feeling a cold coming on since early this morning.

"Stay, aye?" Balfour addressed a huddle of black and brown fur nestled snuggly to the side of the porch. Whisky, his German Shepherd, whined softly. "Good boy." He drew his wand - and promptly vanished with a muted pop!

***

He had apparated on the threshold of the quarantined area and walked the rest of the way inland to meet the Tamers. So it was from a distance that Balfour first recognized Vadim's familiar outline, cutting an unusual figure amongst younger frames, and emanating a sense of gravity.

Of course Margo was here too. They needed all the experienced hands and her absent limb was better testament to that than any other. "... until we figure this bloody thing out," she was remarking on his close approach.

"Or until it disappears on its own-" Balfour grimaced, his voice climbing higher from its gravelly tone as the group turned in greeting. "- new theory from a Magizoologist, last night. He proposes that our epidemic is an act of nature and natural selection." A clench of his jaw exhibited great distaste for the theory. "The necessary plague, he calls it."

Balfour had half a mind to pop over to the wizard in question with his own variety of natural selection.

But instead he smiled wearily at their guest of honour. "Vadim. Thank you for taking the time to join us today."

It had been a couple months since the dragon epidemic started, and Al was so ready for it to be over. He was sick and tired of the dragons being sick and tired. Above all, he was worried about the future of their species. He was overworked and under-rested; the dragonzoologist was running on a steady diet of coffee and pastries. But mostly coffee.

Al arrived at the Hebrides Dragon Sanctuary—prepared to check up on yet another infected dragon. And it seemed that there was quite a large group. Good. The sick dragons were unpredictable, and the more handlers they had, less likely it was that someone would get injured. Although they couldn’t breathe fire, they were large, heavy beasts with other natural weapons at their disposal.  He recalled hearing about Pendry a month ago— he was healing fine after being crushed by a dragon, but he wasn’t going to be in the field anytime soon.

"The necessary plague, he calls it."

He grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Necessary? Sounds like someone's looking for an easy way out of finding a cure.” Al replied. He didn’t see anything necessary about it. Alphonse was usually polite and well mannered, but something about that phrase hit him the wrong way. “Nevermind.” He relaxed his shoulders and put on his ‘professional face'.

 "Tell me more about this sick dragon.”

Balfour glanced at his colleague, with the slightest mark of surprise, having almost forgotten how testy the Dragonzoologist was becoming in light of their epidemic. Cynicism and short tempers - almost as contagious amongst human kin. He tried not to let it catch on; at least not personally.

"A six year old Hebridean Black - one of the Keepers calls her Frangag. She's just delivered a clutch of eggs. Possibly also infected..." Balfour paused, turning to face the other direction. In the distance they could easily sea a low wall of stones following the steep arch of the closest hill. Beyond that was Frangag's territory, bordered by wards. "Just to be safe we're keeping the eggs away from her."

Another moment of silence as this sank in. Separating eggs from their mother was unorthodox procedure. Hebridean were a highly aggressive species, prone to even greater aggression when their unhatched offspring are taken away.

"Now she's one of the healthier ones, so be on your guards-" he gestured for the group to follow him, moving to the front with a grimace. "- we have to examine her for symptoms and collect samples. Blood, scale, inner cheek and if possible: a chip off of the spike on her tail, aye?"

The wizard didn't wait for an answer. Once they had reached the low wall - it was only three feet high - he began undoing the wards. The vast landscape beyond the barrier appeared bare and rocky. Somewhere out there, curled and crouched amongst the rocks, there was a very sick, very irritated Hebridean Black.

She was waiting for them.

A Hebridean Black. This dragon breed was prone to aggression in the first place. And territorial, to top that.  Al didn’t want to imagine what she would be like when they separated her from her eggs. Some of the ill dragons were lethargic, and didn’t care.. But others were even more aggressive because they were suffering.

Suddenly, Alphonse felt like they didn’t have enough hands.  “Do we know if she can still produce flame?” He asked, though he had every intention of treating her like she did, regardless of whether or not  she’d lost her fire. Al had his equipment on him—he was more than prepared to get as many samples as he could from her. The one he was most anxious about, however, was the inner cheek. The blood, he’d have to get after a scale sample.  Okay, none of the sample gathering sounded safe. But with him were experienced handlers.

Things would be fine.

He climbed over the wall and followed Balfour,  on hyper-alert. He hoped that he would hear the dragon before they saw her for warning at the very least.

It didn't take long for him to spot something that was reflecting light off the ground. Alphonse quickly, but carefully, made his way over-- and then released a heavy sigh. "She's rejecting her eggs." He said. The shiny object was the crushed remains of a dragon egg.[1]

1.	I imagine the egg shells reflect light well?