He was friendly. And foreign. It was a good sign to Bella, who had spent far too much time in the company of people who'd formed an opinion of her before ever meeting her. She took his response as an invitation and moved from the path and deeper into the grassy patch.

"I'm sure you'll get it, eventually. I stopped trying long ago," she answered, pulling out her own wand. It was made of hawthorn wood and had been mended far more than the average witches'; she supposed it had something to do with her habit of throwing it across the room in frustration.

"I've read lots of theories about why patronuses take their specific forms. Some say they represent us. Others say they represent what we need. If that's the case, I suppose mine would be something cautious and timid," she said with a cheeky grin.

"I wouldn't worry about it, though — if you can't cast it, I mean. I has very little practical value unless you're planning on breaking someone out of Azkaban," she offered with a shrug.

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