It was much harder than I thought it would be, training through the long hours of sunlight and the thick blackness of night. He kept us going every day, no matter what the weather was like. Running through forests, through towns, across wind-swept moors, startling rabbits as we went. And when we weren't running, we were dueling. Paired up with more experianced snatchers, a different one every time, sending curses at us as we tried to counter them. I kept my eye on Scabior throughout hese training sessions as they grew rougher, determained to prove everything that I was to him. And I'm sure that at one point, he stared right back.
It was the same as before. We were mesmorised by each other, and I could feel my heart speed up. My grip on my wand slackened, and there was a flash of red, but I hardly noticed my now tap-dancing feet until I was hit with another curse and I relalitated, my face flushed a merry marroon colour.
I'd ruined everything. Everything in that one moment. I'dbe kicked out, or worse, killed for my moment of unfocus. I'd never have the chance again.
He continued advancing around the well-trodden clearing, eyes carefully studying each new snatcher in their small duels, assessing them as he went. I tried desperately to focus, but my mind had different plans, and kept drifting. So I slapped myself mentally, and a sigh of relief shook through my body when he announced we were done for the day with that task. It felt like something was lifted from me and I hastily followed as we retreated to the tents and wolfed down the small meal that we were only allowed every day, the energy returning to me.
Then we proceeded to re-enter the forest to try and increase our stamina. Days of hard, cruel training was already having it's effect on my body. Before, I was a fast sprinter, like a cheetah. Now I was becoming a runner, easily keeping up for a longer amount of time. Whenever we ran, he did seem to hold some respect for me, which was the only good thing so far to come out of this predicament.
It was late into the night when we finally returned to the camp. As new recruits, we never had tent to ourselves, but shared a large one, with a different snatcher every night to keep an eye on us, but it was always right in the center, as if to protect us. Not that we needed it. Snatchers were feared in Britain. Every witch or wizard that was a Mudblood or Blood-Traitor was scared out of their wits of us, and it was best to keep it that way.