December 26th, 1887
Bella had been working as a welcome witch for three months and there hadn't come a point where she was pleased with her new so-called "career". She knew it wouldn't last; she had plans to enroll in a healing internship come the end of the next Hogwarts year. Her greatest worries involved how the staff at St. Mungo's would take to having a "disowned debutante" on their team of healers, but she still held onto hope.@'Emmeline Woodcroft'/@'Fletcher Peverell'
While Bella was expected to stand at the entrance of the hospital for most of the day, she did have some time to sit down in the tearoom for a break. It just so happened that on that day, a familiar face walked in that made her heart jump in her chest. It was Fletcher Peverell, the assistant head of the healing department she wished to work for.
Her anxiety towards speaking with him didn't only exist because he was in a position of power—no, he was also an older man and all the lecturing she'd gotten from her mother on the topic of "men of marriageable age" had caused her to somewhat fear speaking with them. Today, however, the draft from the cool outdoor air had tired her and lowered her inhibitions, freeing her from that silly fear.
"Good morning, Healer Peverell," she greeted, wondering if he even knew her name. She wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but she had greeted him on more than one occasion, name tag stuck to her dress, as he entered the building. "I hope the workday hasn't been too hard on you so far?"
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