Her father was dead, and nobody had written to her—not Julius, not her mother, not even Araminta. It was not the news of her father's passing that bothered her, but the fact that no one had cared enough to inform her, even if she was estranged from the family. Part of her wanted to believe her mother was behind it—that her mother had forbade them from penning a simple letter—but Bella knew better. Julius had gone against their father's wishes to protect her before; surely he wouldn't mind going against their mother's wishes to pen a single note.

Anger aside, she had risen in the morning to news of her father's passing in the Daily Prophet. It was a short, objective account of the events that had led to his death, but still: no visit, no letter, nothing.

Rather than attend to her usual Saturday activities, Bella had taken to the fields... which, out of routine, had directed her to Jamie's home at the edge of the woods. Even from a distance she could make out his large figure lumbering around the front of the shack, but she wasn't too bothered by what he might think by her presence.

As she approached him, she threw down her pouch—which, with the help of an undetectable extension charm, contained mostly her research books. "What? No dragons today?" she grumbled as she leaned against the nearest tree, her arms crossed grumpily over her chest.

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