As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
The very first thing Mundungus saw when consciousness struck was the scowling ravaged face of one Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. He groaned.
"Nearly got yourself killed there, Dung," that gentleman informed him with altogether too much cheer. "Merritt is not one to leave loose ends."
"Bloody hell! I didn't have a choice, Mad-Eye." The thief quickly regained his composure and scrambled to his feet. "How much..."
"Enough. Constant Vigilance, man! What am I always telling you?" He snorted. "Not that you would have seen me anyway. So what's the story going to be?"
"Ah. Well... Well, Snape took it into his head to erm... go walkies..."
"And?"
"Ah yes! Of course. Well, you know how much I like a good smoke," he ignored Mad-Eye's second derisive snort, "--and so I went out back to enjoy one not realizing the bastard was mobile and when I went back in... erm... The front door was open. I went outside to investigate. Didn't see anything so came back in."
"Never noticing that Snape went missing."
"Quite."
"Didn't bother to go upstairs and see that everything was still in order."
"Well... Fine, yes I did and seeing him missing went out to search for him. Haven't found the blighter yet!" He looked pleased with himself.
Moody was still grim. It was simple. It was not even halfway believable even given that this was Dung and not Moody himself that had been left to keep an eye on things. Maybe halfway believable. But just barely.
"Then you showed up."
"So I did and immediately advised you to contact Dumbledore. I suppose when Snape shows up in custody Merritt can just say they found him wandering. I'll have a talk with him."
"He seems to have it in for Snape even more than you, old man."
"He does."
"Well?"
"None of your business. Besides you have no idea what happened to Snape. Now let's get back and inform Dumbledore that you've lost his precious Slytherin."
--
Raoul and Traverse apparated into the musty darkness of a disused and well dilapidated Muggle warehouse, immediately letting go of the still stupefied wizard. Both men smirked at the satisfyingly painful sounding thud, each sharing the thought that it was too bad their captive was unconscious. Moments later their missing colleagues joined them, a double 'pop' announcing the apparating pair.
"Moody showed up," Merritt announced without preamble. "I think he'll keep Fletcher in line for us and if he doesn't," The Auror shrugged with studied nonchalance, "...thievery is a dangerous occupation."
"I get the feeling he thinks we're taking Snape into custody. He'd not mind at all seeing this dark wizard in Azkaban." Nyssa remarked with wry humor and the others nodded in agreement.
"Let's get this done." Merritt growled, clearly in no mood for insipid conversation. The four Aurors trained their wands on the supine form before them. "Enervate," Merritt ordered in a terse whisper. And a moment later the confused prisoner gaped up at his captors.
"Crucio!" the four called out as one.
The effect was exponential rather than linear. Snape's scream reverberated from wall to wall and spread throughout the half demolished building fading only when the four voiced curse was ended. The man himself continued to twitch and shudder and as soon as he could manage it, he twisted into a foetal position, instinctively presenting as little a target for attack as possible. It made no difference as heavy booted feet began repeatedly and slamming into his body with not a single word from his torturers to tell him why. Again and again until welcome darkness settled and shrouded him from feeling any more of the abuse.
Traverse was the first to notice their victim had lost consciousness. He held up his hand announcing with a gesture the change in their prisoner's condition. He and Raoul nearly had to restrain Merritt, though. "Hold up, man," he hissed urgently "We promised Margaret a living Snake, not a corpse."
Merritt grunted and with effort pulled himself away from the others. "Bind him then. I'll send the owl." With that he left the room, summoning the waiting owl he'd ensconced there earlier. Shortly he had written a terse note and sent the silent raptor on its way.
This owl was small and swift and it flew out of the ancient edifice and over the rooftops of the old city stopping not even a single time to hunt or rest. It soon reached its destination, the half opened window of a modern Muggle apartment building. It squeezed itself inside and gave a short hoot to announce itself.
Margaret Sellinger looked up at the foreign sound. One didn't commonly hear an owl's cry in one's apartment. She let the grin break out on her face, knowing well that this was the news she'd been waiting for. She found the owl in her kitchen, perched on the back of a chair. Upon seeing her, the creature flew up and dropped the parchment onto her table before squeezing back out the same way it had entered. Margaret shrugged. She'd fully intended to reward the bird with a small treat. But it was a ministry owl and they were trained not to take any such things.
She spread open the parchment and read its terse note. An address, penned in a neat and precise hand. The pleasant warmth of triumph surged through her every fiber and she awarded herself a moment to revel in its thrill before schooling her reserve to somberly call the number Preston had given her. In a voice she thought merely businesslike she recited the address. As soon as she closed the connection she gave up all pretense at quelling her merry anticipation and threw herself into packing up her notes, laptop and a few articles of clothing that she planned would see her through several days of intense work.
--
Preston closed the tiny palm sized mobile phone and returned it to his pocket. Despite the woman's assumption to the contrary the agent was very aware of the researcher's jubilance. though it didn't matter to him until and unless he got orders otherwise. He summoned the team he'd already organized for this mission and within a few short minutes he and Lou and two others (chosen for brawn and agility, ruthlessness being a given) were ensconced in a dark unmarked and unremarkable paneled lorry moving slowly through midday traffic.
The warehouse was not that easy to find, tucked as it was among similarly decaying edifices. But find it they did and their quarry within. The man was unconscious but securely bound both at ankles, and with arms pulled stiffly behind him, at elbows and wrists. Not stopping to check on him at all, the four agents spread out to ascertain the security of the building.
They found, not surprisingly to the senior agent, all was in order. The place was deserted.
Preston gave a nod and one of the musclemen stooped and easily hefted the prize over his shoulder like nothing more unwieldy than a duffel of untidy laundry. Preston and Lou went immediately to the front of the lorry and got in. At a solid thud on the wall-like structure between cab and body, Lou started the engine and they took off to retrieve the overeager Dr M. Sellinger.