If she hadn't seemed so distraught in the following sentences, Jess would have chuckled at the use of his childhood nickname, a name so very few people actually still called him, outside of family these days. It had been how they'd addressed one another for almost a month however, so he was fine with it, pleased even, that he hadn't magically become Mr. Hatchitt too quickly.

He was still curious who we was, but was more concerned by her insinuation that this was perhaps the work of somebody deliberately trying to hurt her. That did not sit well with him at all. He'd heard her comments on the blankets as well, but had chosen to simply do something about it, instead of reply. He summoned the pitcher on the table across the room and vanished the water within. He then transfigured it into more of a jar and mumbled the incantation for a small bluebell flame to sprout up inside. They were technically a "cold" flame, and the jar itself would remain cool to the touch, but out of the top the typical warmth of fire would flow, and be safe to have near. He set it on the table next to her, a frown still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

'You think somebody sent you there on purpose?" He added after a moment of watching the fire with satisfaction that the charm was working properly.