They'd needed to get away from the party without being caught, and they needed to arrive somewhere they wouldn't be caught. It narrowed down the list of places that Lach could think of in the short window of time he'd had, and somehow he'd settled on Inverness—or more specifically, the large field behind a muggle pub—as the best choice. He'd visited the pub in the months after the Quidditch World Cup. The patrons were usually older muggle men who talked about nothing but local politics and their families, which made sitting at the end of the bar by himself an easy task. No one had bothered him except to ask what he was drinking.

The field was wide and deep, and provided some coverage while not being so close that muggles would catch sight of them. Unfortunately it was snowing in Inverness that day, and Lach's shirt was ripped to shreds while the woman (whose name he still did not know) wore a torn dress and his coat. Lachlan stepped away from her as soon as their feet touched the ground, and he rand a hand through his long blond hair.

"I can't believe that just happened," he said, mostly to himself. He wondered what had become of his mother and Tilda with the hostess raging about their so-called "perversions"—and what of the woman's family? He glanced back at her, where she was still on the ground.

"I don't know what happened back there. But she could have - well, we're lucky she didn't scream," he settled on, his breathing his heavy. "What's your name, lass? I suppose I ought to know that while we're here." He motioned to the empty field around them.

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