A/N: Fair warning, this chapter references the Port Arthur Massacre(i.e. the real world event). Nothing graphic, but if mass shootings are a trigger for you, I'm more than happy to send you a version of this chapter that cuts out the bit where Zinnnia talks about it, no questions asked.
Chapter 7
After the night of the cumquat brandy sampling, it was a few days before Zinnia saw any more Weasleys. She did return from shopping down in the village to discover that her wheelbarrow load of thistles had disappeared, but that minor mystery was cleared up by the bottle of Blishen's Fire Cinnamon Flavoured Whisky, the box of Honeydukes chocolate and a large bag of fresh-picked apples that she found on her doorstep, along with a note saying that Angelina had suggested that this was a reasonable trade, but that George had also spotted a very healthy Alihotsy plant, and would it be alright for him to take a few cuttings?
Zinnia shook her head bemusedly. She wasn't quite sure what on earth George would want thistles and Alihotsy (whatever that plant was) cuttings for, but from some of the more outrageous products he had casually mentioned selling at his joke store (love potions? Really? And what the hell were puffskeins supposed to be?) she got the impression that he was a bit of a shyster and a rogue.
He certainly seemed to take more than a little pride in playing and facilitating pranks, although from some off-hand comments that Charlie had made, he had grown up quite a bit in the last few years and had started focussing on "more deserving targets".
Zinnia did wonder though what it was that had made George and his twin brother create a line of defensive "prank" items though that sounded suspiciously like things from the mind of a special ops team on LSD. Did this have something to do with the terrorists that had been causing so much trouble for the last year before they suddenly seemingly all disappeared into thin air after their leader was killed?
Zinnia was starting to get pretty suspicious about all of these references to this "war" that the Weasleys kept referencing.
If she didn't know any better, she would think that there must have been some great battle for the very existence of the UK right on homeground.
But that was nuts, right?
Surely the general public would know if the terror attacks had been part of something that bad, right?
On the one hand, this so-called war was allegedly over, but Zinnia was really starting to get a bad feeling about all of this.
The weirdest thing was that the Weasleys kept talking in a way that meant that they thought she was read in on whatever had been going on. They made casual reference to "You Know Who", (the terrorist leader, she gathered,) and about other people as though this would all make sense to her.
She wished that Aunty Rose was still alive so Zinnia could take her aside and ask what the hell was going on, because there were a number of things that weren't making sense, and the way they didn't make sense was very similar to the way that now that Zinnia had had a few days to settle in properly, it was increasingly clear that Aunty Rose's home made no sense.
Originally Zinnia had been joking about the pantry being bigger on the inside than the outside. A little more investigation implied that the inside of the pantry was at least five paces deeper than the wall outside it.
The strange jar of green powder kept by the fireplace was nearly empty, suggesting that whatever the substance in it was, Aunty Rose had felt the need to use it regularly. It smelled like nothing Zinnia could identify.
Although the hallway was a little dusty, the rug was mysteriously not.
There were mushrooms growing in the cellar that were obviously cultivated, including a few brightly coloured varieties that Zinnia recognised as being very poisonous indeed (she quickly decided to not touch anything in the cellar until she had had a chance to find some sort of fungi expert to tell her if any of it was safe for human consumption, though she had her doubts).
And most suspiciously, after doing a more thorough stocktake of the various cupboards in the kitchen, Zinnia found a bag labelled "owl treats".
The collection of crystals and antique reproductions that seemed to be all through Aunty Rose's house could have been put down to her great aunt's taste, and the slightly odd-smelling books with titles like Ruminations on Runes, or Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them could have just been an indication that Aunty Rose was hard-core into mythology, but…
Zinnia was not one to jump to conclusions, but the more she looked around with an open mind, the more she was noticing puzzle pieces, and she was starting to get the sinking feeling that when she put enough together to figure out the picture, she was going to be in over her head.
It was only the fact that the Weasleys had yet to set off any of her carefully honed instincts that stopped Zinnia from running for the hills.
Though honestly, she knew that she often took her cues from Ichabod, who had been entirely disdainful of Zinnia's ex-boyfriend (who had turned out to be a creep), and who had scratched the supposed friend of hers who Zinnia had one-day found rifling through her jewellery.
And Ichabod… really liked the Weasleys. Zinnia had yet to see him actually let any of them pet him, but she was starting to think that it might only be a matter of time.
The fact that Ichabod had been an unexpected gift from Aunty Rose, because according to her "eleven was an important birthday" (she had never been forthcoming regarding an explanation for this) did absolutely nothing to dissuade Zinnia from her growing conviction that something very weird was going on here.
Zinnia was interrupted from these thoughts she had been having as she sat on the front step, sipping tea, by the appearance of a tall woman with elaborate braids and skin a little darker than Zinnia's own practically marching up her driveway.
The woman appeared to be on a mission.
Zinnia wondered who on earth she could be.
As the woman got closer, Zinnia got a good look at the shadows around her eyes, and got a sudden gut feeling. Those shadows were starting to look a little familiar. People around town that Zinnia had met whilst shopping didn't have them, but all the Weasleys did. This woman was almost definitely no Weasley by birth (red hair and milk-pale skin didn't tend to be dominant traits in Zinnia's experience,) but if she had to guess…
"Are you Angelina?" Zinnia asked, putting down her teacup as the woman came to a stop a few metres in front of her.
The woman nodded curtly. "Did George say I was coming?"
Somehow, Zinnia got the distinct impression that by 'say', Angelina might have meant 'warn'. Zinnia wondered what boneheaded thing George had said to get his girlfriend stomping up here on the warpath.
"No," said Zinnia, and decided to follow her gut feeling a little further. "But he did mention that his girlfriend was, and I quote 'a gorgeous avenging Angel with a crown of braids', and what do you know," she gestured indicating Angelina's everything. "You do tick all those boxes."
Angelina blinked. "He uh… he said that about me?" she ducked her head slightly, suddenly looking distinctly sheepish.
Zinnia smirked, but not unkindly. "He'd had more than a bit to drink by that point," she admitted, "but he sounded pretty sincere to me."
"Oh," Angelina said, scuffing the ground with one foot. She looked up. "Sorry, I…" she paused.
"…somehow got the impression that I was trying to steal your boyfriend?" Zinnia suggested after the silence had stretched uncomfortably.
Angelina laughed a little uncertainly, but didn't deny it.
Zinnia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He's a bit young for my tastes, and obviously completely gone over you," she said instead, picking her tea back up and taking a sip. "So I have no idea how you got that impression."
Angelina winced.
Zinnia stood up. "Did you want to come inside? I was just about to brew a fresh pot of tea, and I have some apple cake that just came out of the oven. It's not going to be as good as Molly Weasley's, but I flatter myself that it's probably at least edible." She looked Angelina dead in the eyes. "And you can tell me all about whatever is really bothering you."
Angelina took a half-step back. "I'm sorry, this was a mistake, I…"
"Obviously need a decent cuppa and an impartial set of ears to vent your worries to," Zinnia interrupted, opening the door and beckoning Angelina in.
Five minutes later, and Angelina was sitting on the couch, with Ichabod watching her balefully from the shadows, a cup of tea in hand and a plate of cake on the coffee table in front of her.
Zinnia sat across from her, and took a sip of her fresh cup of tea, and took the time to observe her guest properly. The shadows that she had previously noted were definitely present, along with what looked to be a long scar that ran along her hairline and down her neck.
George's missing ear and the old burn scars that she had noted on Charlie's arms suddenly came to mind.
Was it all a fluke? Was it just that the Weasleys and their friends (Zinnia hadn't forgotten the story about Xeno-whatshisface Lovegood) had all completely coincidentally gotten hurt at different times?
Zinnia tried not to make assumptions, but this was definitely starting to get a bit eerie.
"So," Zinnia said after she had taken a sip of her new cup of tea. "What did he say that made you come storming up here like I was about to throw George over my shoulder and ride off into the sunset with him?"
Despite herself, Angelina snickered at the imagery.
She took a sip of tea herself, hummed in surprise at the flavour (orange peel and cinnamon) and then paused, clearly considering her answer.
"It wasn't anything he specifically said…" Angelina slumped suddenly. "I'm such a fool. I'm so sorry. Here I was all ready to curse you for… fuck." Her face scrunched up as though she had just realised something uncomfortable.
"What?" Zinnia insisted. She wanted all of this (whatever the specific problem was) out in the open.
"Making him happy," Angelina sighed unhappily.
Zinnia blinked. "Sorry, run that by me again?" she suggested.
Angelina studied her tea cup, tracing the rim with one finger. "I hadn't really seen George laugh since Fred… well. I imagine you've heard all about that," she shuddered lightly.
Zinnia leant back in her chair. "Less than you'd probably think," she said lightly. "All I know is that he was George's twin, they were probably unhealthily co-dependent, and then Fred died and George is trying really hard to figure out who the hell he is without his brother. Which is not a thing made easier by the fact that most people who knew the both of them seem to have lumped them in together as one unit, as though they were indistinguishable from one another."
"But that's such bullshit!" Angelina snapped, slamming her teacup onto the coffee table hard enough that Zinnia was half-concerned that it would crack. "Fred had a slightly meaner sense of humour for one, and he was more of a leap first, look second kind of person – completely type A Gryffindor, and everyone who knew the twins properly knew that. George on the other hand was always the one who was a bit kinder, twice as protective, and more careful, and was the only reason why they weren't caught all the time rather than about a third of the time! Ugh!" she exclaimed. "Fred was the one who asked me out for Yule Ball, but George was the one who made sure that I got plenty of dances in. Fred was the one who suggested that they make a break for it when Umbridge was threatening to have them whipped, and George was the one that backed him up and had suggested the plan in advance for when she finally went too far!" She glared at Zinnia, as though daring her to disagree with anything Angelina had said. "And when I was in hiding with the two of them and Lee Jordan, running Potterwatch and dodging the Snatchers, it was George I fell for!" She shook her head, making her braids whip from side to side. "I miss Fred, he was my friend, and I'd known him since we were eleven, but I'm terrified for George. I don't want to lose him too!"
Zinnia beamed at her. "Good!
Angelina gaped. "What?"
Zinnia leaned forward and smiled conspiratorially. "Don't you think that George would benefit from hearing all that?" She barrelled onward before Angelina could scrape together an answer. "The fact of the matter is, that George had a good time over here because it was a total distraction. I never met Fred. I've never known George around Fred. There is absolutely no chance that I could accidentally call him the wrong name, because for the entire and very brief," she emphasized, "time that I have known the Weasleys, they have been mourning their son and brother. So yeah, George relaxed a bit around me, and had a good time. Which considering the shit time it seems that you all had, all of you could do with a bit more of the whole good time having."
Zinnia paused, and looked Angelina dead in the eye. "That said, just because he found a bit of escapism drinking with me and his brother, doesn't mean that you have been replaced, or that I could in any way, shape or form, be in a position to usurp your position in his life, even if I had any desire to." She sipped at her tea. "George could become a good friend. He's pretty fun, even though he's in the depths of depression at the moment. He's got a great sense of humour, and Ichabod likes him," Zinnia said, indicating her cat.
Ichabod purred, as if on cue.
"But!" Zinnia raised one finger, ignoring for the moment that her cat was acting suspiciously friendly again, "he's not the hot redhead that I want in my bed."
Angelina burst into startled laughter.
"Oh Merlin," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I am so, so sorry."
Zinnia shrugged and leaned back again. "No worries, darl. You're all dealing with some pretty serious shit at the moment."
Angelina chuckled mirthlessly. "That's a succinct way of putting it." She groaned. "Why is this so much harder than being at war!" she demanded. "When You Know Who was in power, I prayed every day that the war would end, that we would make it out in one piece, that I would be able to see my family again. I was constantly scared of the Death Eaters, constantly training in the hopes that if they caught up to us – and they did, a few times, but we always managed to stay one step ahead, or at least get away, at least until the Battle – But now," she looked pleadingly at Zinnia, begging her with her eyes to understand, "now it's just… I don't know why this is so much harder! Fred's death is part of it, but just… why is peace so hard!?"
Zinnia hummed to herself. "You all sound like some of the vets that used to drink at this bar I used to work at, especially around ANZAC Day, you know?"
Angelina stared.
"Sorry, I don't understand," she said. "What do muggle animal healers have to do with anything?"
Zinnia blinked. "Oh. No, vet as in short for veteran soldier, not veterinarian. Someone who's seen battle," she explained. "ANZAC Day is our day of remembrance for the fallen soldiers. Originally for World War 1, but these days it's all wars."
Angelina nodded, taking a of her tea. "Oh."
"Yeah," said Zinnia. "Now, I'm not going to tell you that it's all going to be okay. You know it's not. You've seen some shit that many people go their entire lives without having to deal with, and now your eyes are open to it, and you're probably going to be alert to it, and find it because you're looking for it."
"Oh," said Angelina, with a tone of realisation. "So you're saying that it's like thestrals."
Zinnia cocked her head. "Sorry, what? I don't think we have those in Australia."
"Oh! Sorry. Thestrals are magical creatures. They're like…" Angelina sketched an indistinct shape in the air with her hands. "Sort of scaly flying horse things. They pull the carriages at Hogwarts, but you can only see them if you've seen death."
"Huh," said Zinnia slowly, pulling out the expression she had cultivated for when she had to keep calm in the face of a panicking or otherwise upset patient. Magical horses. Magical flying scaly horses. Magical flying scaly horses that you could only see after you had seen death. Wow. Okay. That was a thought for later, when she could have a good long freak out about how she seemed to have stumbled on either a bunch of people who were either completely troppo or somehow inhabited an alternate dimension that had… magic in it.
Oh Goddess. Oh. Oh, this made so much sense.
But wait, she did not have time to dwell on this, because Angelina was sitting right across from her and watching her with those big brown eyes and Zinnia was going to have to pull her shit together because this was a serious conversation with an (at the least) obviously very traumatised woman.
"Right!" she said maybe a touch too brightly. "Like thestrals. Exactly." Zinnia nodded, warming to the subject. "Anyway, yeah, that's what I meant. You've seen some serious shit, and nothing's going to ever feel the same as it used to be, but," she raised one finger, "that does not mean that it's never going to be good again. It just means that you need to keep at it, and keep looking for the good stuff, even if all that's catching your attention is the bad."
Angelina stared at her. "Have… you been through a war too?" she asked carefully.
Zinnia grimaced. "Am I that transparent? The answer is no, technically," she replied. "Have you ever heard of somewhere called Port Arthur?"
Angelina shook her head.
Zinnia inhaled and then exhaled. "Right. Okay. Well, Port Arthur is a popular tourist spot in Tasmania. You know, the big southern island that looks like a triangle. Anyway, long story short, about two years ago some guy came through and shot almost 60 people there. 35 people died. 24 were injured. I was there."
Angelina leaned forward and touched Zinnia's hand, which was shaking. "You don't have to tell me," she said, when Zinnia looked up.
Zinnia shook her head. "There's not much to tell. We heard gunshots, I was one of the lucky ones who was able to hide in the coaches. I spent half an hour cowering under a bus seat along with the stale chewing gum that some asshole had stuck under there. Some holiday that was," she joked grimly. She shook her head. "It was terrifying, and there was nothing I could do. I jumped every time I heard loud noises for months, and to this day the smell of chewing gum makes me straight-up nauseous. Part of the reason I thought it might be worth coming to London for a bit was to give myself a change of pace, somewhere that I wouldn't accidentally see reminders of the massacre on the news."
Angelina grimaced. "How'd that work out for you?"
Zinnia met Angelina's eyes, and they both laughed sarcastically.
"Yeah," Zinnia snickered. "I worked in a hospital in one of the worst parts of London, my boss was a total prick, and oh, suddenly there were all these terrorist attacks. Tragically I didn't check with a seer before I left Australia, or I might have managed to skip all that fun," she griped.
Angelina snorted. "Divination is mostly a bunch of bunk anyway. You should have seen the old fraud they had teaching at our school."
Zinnia shrugged outwardly, but inwardly started waving her hands about. Just. Divination. A school subject. Sure. Okay. She could totally handle this. Totally absolutely.
Just then, there was a cracking sound, and then suddenly her door was being knocked on.
"Zinnia? You there?"
Huh. Right on time.
Zinnia stood up. "That'll be George. How about the two of you have that long-overdue conversation you need to have about how you're both stupidly in love with each other but recognise that both of you are still healing at the moment, and space is a fine and good thing to ask for if either of you need it, and I'll just be out back gardening. That sound good to you? Awesome!" Zinnia said, already leaving the room.
She walked up the hallway, and opened the door to see George wringing his hands. "Angelina beat you here by about twenty minutes, she's inside and needs a hug, have as much tea and cake as you want, I'm fine, I'll be out back, talk to your girlfriend." She clapped him on the shoulder and kept walking.
Magic. Magic existed. There was some sort of magical society, that had its own school, that lived in the UK under everyone's noses.
A magical society, Zinnia realised as she moved out towards the pumpkin patch, that her Aunty Rose had almost certainly belonged to. Which had been in some sort of conflict that had spilled out into the non-magical world, and oh her goddess, this explained so much about why Aunty Rose had been so upset about Zinnia moving to London, and why she foisted all those keepsakes on her when she visited, and insisted that Zinnia's mother send Ichabod to live with her, even though the poor cat would have to go through quarantine.
Fucking. Magic.
Zinnia shook her head and started pulling weeds.
What the hell. This was going to take some time to absorb.
