She sat in silence, watching him cut the trunk and transport the wood into the fireplace. Biting her lip, Tilda looked down at her own wand, wondering why it hadn't worked. Upon further inspection, she saw there was a small but quite noticeable crack at the hilt. She pursed her lips, turning the wand over in her hands again, wondering if she would be able to mend it once they were out of this mess. It dawned on her that now she couldn't use magic, and she looked up to see that Mr. Scamander had managed to light a fire that was now crackling merrily beside her. The stone against her back still felt like ice, but she knew it would warm up.

It didn't seem like it would happen soon enough though. By the time she'd heard him shuffle around in a linen closet, she could feel the fabric of her clothes practically freeze on her body. The fire helped some, but it would take all night for her dress to dry off. Even then, she was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable in it. Sand had gotten in every possible place it could, she was surprised she hadn't brought half the sea into the cottage with them. A movement caught her eye and she looked to see Mr. Scamander doff his jacket and shoes at the door.

Tilda blinked stupidly, her eyes moving from trailing on his turned back to the door. Was she to get undressed? It took a moment for her to process that, although he hadn't told her to do so, it would help if she did. Layers and layers of fabric were hardly going to dry any faster, nor keep her any warmer. She watched as he soon came back with a large number of linens, and she felt relief that they would have something to keep warm. But his suggestion soon saw her freeze as she reached for a blanket, and she stood up quickly bracing herself against the wall, watching him retreat to another room.

She stood there in the room, clutching the blanket and looking around rather helplessly. She would freeze if she stayed in these clothes. Merlin help her. While the MacFusty clan were far from the ideal societal family, the idea of anyone finding out that her first time truly alone with Mr. Scamander had seen her disrobed was truly mortifying. There was truly no other way.

Slowly, Tilda's hands fiddled with the back of her dress, eventually finding the laces and managing to untie them herself. Her eyes flickered occasionally to the other room as she quickly took off the top, moving across the room to lay it flat on the table. Next was the skirt, which was easier than the laces of the top. She'd just managed to get her injured foot out of the hoop of the skirt when a noise at the door made her look up.

It was Mr. Scamander. Back with rags and other supplies to bandage up her leg. With her standing in the middle of the room, bent over and in her undergarmets. Tilda let out a mortified squeak and she seized the corner of a blanket. "Avert your eyes!" She cried, finally tugging the blanket loose and drawing it up to her chest in a feeble attempt to cover herself.

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