A tall, sickeningly thin man, wearing a matted silver coat dragged himself through masses of swirling snow. He certainly had no idea if he'd traveled a mile, or simply a few meager feet, unable to see beyond the blanket of white encompassing his current location in every direction. Running a gloved hand over his ice encrusted beard the man attempted yet another step, his weakened knees now buckling beneath him, as he landed unflatteringly face-first on the cold snow-covered ground. How very attractive. He snorted to himself, unable to lift his head from its icy position. The wind howled so fervently that he never heard the footsteps approaching.
"Wotcher, Igor, need some help?"
He recognized the woman's voice immediately and thought this to be one of the more embarrassing ways he'd envisioned his life potentially ending.
"Please," he muttered into the snow.
"What was that? I didn't quite hear you!" she yelled toward him, a hint of amusement twinkling through her young voice.
"You heard me!" the man grumbled, his face seemingly frozen to the spot.
"No, no I didn't quite catch it!" she teased. "Really Igor, for an educated man such as yourself you do an awful lot of mumbling!"
"Please, would you mind helping me out of this bloody snow!" he screamed out of mere frustration.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" she chuckled, grabbing him by the back of his scruffy coat and heaving him to his feet. He stood there swaying precariously for a moment, trying to regain his balance. Tonks gave him a once over, finally able to get a good look at him from the front. Pangs of guilt washed over her as she realized just how ill he seemed. "Can you walk?" she asked, softening only slightly.
"Why? So you can walk me straight to my death?" Igor questioned, his eyes narrowing.
"If I wanted you dead, you would be already," Tonks snorted. "Now come on," she demanded, tugging him by the sleeve. "There's a cabin up ahead."
And with that he was dragged briskly on through the mid-winter storm.