And then without fail the third month came upon them with driving snow unlike anything that she had ever seen descend upon the Isle. A whiteout through and through, absolutely nothing and nowhere safe enough to wait out the storm in anything approaching comfort. Their heating charms and the thinly enchanted walls of the tent offered them only so much actual protection, and no matter how much wood they managed to bring in from outside the forest, or the speed with which they managed to dry up sopping logs, it was never enough. Never lasting. Their food ran out at just about the same time, leaving them all to become experts at procuring old tubers, dried bits of bark, and the spare leg of a rabbit or two that Harry managed to lure in with magic. They became without fail a couple of experts when it came to stealing from old farmhouses after only just the littlest bit of reconnaissance. Skilful thieves, once three, down to two.