The forest glows blue in the settling darkness. It won't be long now before it's completely dark, Scabior muses, and he suggests they suspend their snatching for the evening in favour of a bottle of whiskey and a fire. The others, Greyback, Michael and Floris agree readily, and they wander about some more until they find an open spot between a few large trees, which will protect their fire from the gale wintry winds.
"Reckon there'll be snow tonight?" Floris asks, as Greyback conjures up a fire and they gather round it, blowing on their frozen fingers and wiggling their nipped toes in their boots.
"I hope not," says Michael worriedly. "I've not got a thicker jumper 'n this one and I'm already bleedin' freezing." His comment is met with derisive laughter. Scabior brandishes a bottle of Firewhiskey and pops it open.
"Afraid of a wee bit of snow?" he says, bringing the bottle to his lips, "We should be so lucky. Snow muffles yer footsteps and makes others' easier to track."
And sure enough, with the bottle empty and the fire reduced to embers, the first specks of snow start to dance in the breeze, settling on their coats and in their hair. Floris tries to suppress a yawn, and the others have trouble fighting off the drowsiness brought by the warmth of the fire as well.
Scabior gets to his feet. "I'm going for a piss," he announces, to no response. He strolls through the forest for a minute or so, picks a tree at random and relieves himself. Snow is falling thickly and heavily now, and he lets his gaze wander over the already snow-coated forest, the glistening trees and the dappled moonlight on the forest floor.
Suddenly, a blue light pops up in the distance, flickering as it seems to – yes, it's becoming bigger. Scabior zips up and hides behind the tree, watching as the light gets closer and closer, appearing and disappearing. His fingers close around his wand.
Eventually he can distinguish a human figure behind the light, and sees how the light briefly disappears whenever they pass a tree. He squints, the figure moving closer still. With but a few yards between them he sees that it's a girl, her face eerily illuminated by the blue flames she's carrying in a jar. She stops in her tracks, looks about her, he can read the trepidation on her face. She stops in her tracks and looks about her. The moment her back is to him, he steps out from behind the tree.
"Lost, are we?" She spins on her heel and abruptly drops the jar, which shatters on a rock, the flames quickly dying in the snow. Her hand goes for her wand but he is much quicker – "Silencio!" - and swiftly casts a body-binding curse. He walks towards her, heaves her over his shoulder and picks up her wand. "Hush, love," he sings as he picks his way among the trees back to the camp, her hanging limply over his shoulder as though she were dead.
When he enters the camp eyebrows are raised in unison.
"A little lamb lost," Scabior says, giving a pat on the back of her legs. Greyback jerks his head towards the tent. "We'll deal wiv 'er tomorrow." Scabior nods and makes for the tent in which they keep their captives. He waves his wand, lighting the lamps, and puts her down on a chair, then takes a seat opposite her. For the first time, he sees her face, and she's quite lovely, with her fiery eyes burning into his.
He lets out a low whistle. "Well. What were you doing out there all alone, beautiful?" She squints at him and he laughs, slapping his forehead.
"Oh, of course! Be much nicer if you could talk back to me, eh?" He lifts the silencing charm and she instantly opens her mouth to scream, but stops short as he holds up his wand.
"Ah, ah, ah... wouldn't do that if I were you, love..." He grins. "My mates out there won't hesitate in silencing you, and besides, who's gunna hear you, eh?" She closes her mouth and adopts what she evidently sees as a dignified silence.
He smiles. "That's better. Now, why don't you do me the pleasure of telling me your name?" When she doesn't respond, he sighs. "Go on, don't make me force it out of you." She remains silent, though the corners of her mouth tremble. He stands up from his chair, walks towards her and grips her long hair, forcing her head backward. She gasps in pain, her terrified eyes staring into his as he smiles down at her.
"Now then, my lovely." He strokes her cheek with the tip of his wand. "What do they call you?"
She gulps, and says weakly, "Penelope Clearwater." He doesn't let go.
"Bloodstatus?"
"Half-blood."
"Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" He relinquishes his hold on her and returns to his seat.
"It's not very polite to try and ignore me like that, especially since your fate is in my hands now."
"B-but you wouldn't do anything to half-bloods, would you?" Her voice is shaking. He crosses his legs and cocks his head to the side.
"If it turns out you're actually a half-blood, then no... if it turns out you haven't been completely honest with us... well." He smiles, inwardly hoping he's scaring her with this talk. She's so lovely when she's this scared; her lips parted in fright, her eyes large with shock.
"No need to worry, love, we won't decide what to do with you until tomorrow. And I do hope you're telling the truth," he adds, "it would be such a shame to turn the likes of you in for a meagre five Galleons..."