Charlie Weasley was good people, Zinnia decided as she sat on the couch and sipped on her own blend of chamomile and lavender tea that Charlie had pressed into her hands mere moments after she followed him into the house (he had found her 'Calming tea' apparently by smelling the contents of her unlabelled jars until he found the lavender-scented one, which Zinnia thought was a novel way of going about it).

Really, Zinnia mused, all of the Weasleys she had met to date seemed to be good people, even though they were clearly all still grieving the loss of Fred.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're alright," Charlie said, "because obviously this has been a shock, but is there anything I can do? Anyone you want me to Owl for you?"

Zinnia considered how her parents would react to an owl appearing at the house, and nearly burst out laughing. Her Dad would probably think he was getting LSD flashbacks again. Her Mum on the other hand…

Come to think of it, maybe her Mum knew about this magic stuff. Zinnia wouldn't be surprised, really. It would explain a lot about how she had been almost as upset as Auntie Rosie when Zinnia had taken up the job in London.

Zinnia wondered why her mother had kept her reasons to herself, but figured that it probably had something to do with those magical cops. There had to be a reason that magic people stayed under the radar, and Zinnia could make a few guesses regarding that starting with the Spanish Inquisition and ending somewhere around the fact that the killing of suspected witches was still a thing that happened in some of the more troubled areas of the world.

(Zinnia wondered if this was a case of a broken clock being right twice a day, or if the people in those places knew more than any smug 'first worlder' would have given them credit for. It was probably both, and Zinnia was not comfortable with the implications.)

Zinnia realised that Charlie was still waiting for her to answer him about the owl, and shook her head in response. "Save the poor bird the journey," she said. "I'll call Mum next time I'm in the village. Phone will be much faster."

Charlie's brow creased. "Phone… oh!" he said. "Those things muggles use instead of Floo Powder!" he said in about the same tone Zinnia might have had if she'd suddenly had to remember vocabulary from her highschool Bahasa Indonesian language lessons.

Zinnia nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "Faster than an owl flying halfway across the world," she added carefully.

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose it would be. And it's not like Australia is linked to the Ministry of Magic Floo network. Probably just as well," he shuddered lightly. "I flooed Mum and Dad from France once and that was bad enough, I was coughing up soot for days." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "Speaking of Floo," he added, "would you mind if I made a quick call?"

Huh, Zinnia thought. Now wasn't that convenient. She didn't even have to ask him what the hell Floo was, he was just going to go ahead and demonstrate for her.

"Sure, go ahead," she said.

Charlie moved over to the fireplace, and casually pulled out his magic stick. Seconds later, and a fire was merrily burning in the grate.

Zinnia blinked. Well. That was kind of lowkey terrifying, she had to admit. These magic sticks seemed to be pretty versatile in what they could do. The rational part of her wondered what sort of rules they operated under. The rest of her suddenly remembered that Auntie Rose had turned a human being into a scarecrow somehow, (and had herself been murdered with a killing curse!) and Zinnia found herself suddenly wishing for something distinctly stronger in her cup than mere tea.

Fortunately, Charlie had his back to her, and so missed her expression. took a pinch of the green powder that sat in the jar on the mantlepiece that Zinnia had previously noticed. He threw it on the flames, which promptly turned green, as though there were copper salts in the logs. Or perhaps they were in the powder. It was roughly the colour of copper oxide after all. He then knelt on the hearthrug, called out 'the Burrow!' and then stuck his head directly into the flames.

Well, Zinnia thought a little hysterically, somehow managing to not spill her tea all over herself. That explained what that mysterious powder on the mantelpiece was for at least.

She was probably in shock, Zinnia realised, as she numbly watched the completely calm posture of a man with his head in a lit fireplace. If there was pain, then there was no way that he would be kneeling looking so relaxed. If there was pain, Zinnia told herself, then magical people would not use this completely insane way of communicating with one another.

Carefully, she put her mug down on the table, and then buried her face in her hands.

Zinnia prided herself on her ability to roll with the punches, but even she had limits.

"Zinnia? Zinnia? Are you alright?"

Zinnia looked up and saw that Charlie was looking concerned. His face, she was relieved to see, was completely intact, with not even the slightest smell of burning hair to suggest that he had just moments before had his head in a lit fire. There was a slight smudge of soot on one cheek, but otherwise he looked entirely unaltered and unharmed.

Zinnia slowly breathed out. "Yeah, you know what Charlie?" she said, "I think I need a bit of a lie down."

Charlie, if anything, looked even more concerned. He rose from the hearthrug and took a step towards her. "You look like you've seen a Grim," he said. "Did you want me to leave? I just called Mum to let her know you've had a bit of a nasty shock and that maybe a homecooked meal wouldn't go amiss, but if you're not up for company… I could go?" he offered.

"No," said Zinnia, surprising herself. "No, that's not…" she paused. Not what? Not necessary? Not what she wanted? Both of those statements were true enough, she supposed. She wondered what it was about Charlie that made her brain mark him as safe, even when he scared her half to death.

"I don't think I want to be alone," Zinnia admitted. "But I think I need to curl up into a ball in the quiet and just… process for a bit." She bit her lip. "Just… sit next to me? And maybe talk?"

Charlie nodded, and moving slowly, as though he thought he might spook her, picked up the patchwork throw-rug that hung over the chair nearest the fire and settled it over Zinnia's shoulders. He sat down on the other end of the couch, not quite touching her.

"What did you want me to talk about?" he asked.

Zinnia shrugged, staring slightly blankly at the wall in front of her. "I dunno. Whatever. You never did tell me what exactly you do for a living."

"Oh," said Charlie. "I can't believe that hasn't come up yet." He raked one hand through his hair. "Well, I uh, I work with dragons at the Romanian Reserve."

Zinnia's eyes snapped to his.

"No shit?" she demanded.

Charlie snorted. "Oh Merlin, never let my mother hear that sort of language from you."

Zinnia scoffed. "What do you take me for?" she replied. "I'm not about to jeopardise my access to Molly's cooking." She sat up straighter. "Now come on, don't tease me like that. Dragons? Really?"

"Yeah," said Charlie, a little surprised at how her eyes were lighting up.

"This sounds completely bonkers," Zinnia told him in a tone of deep respect. "You need to tell me everything. Isn't it insanely dangerous working with fire-breathing lizards?"

Charlie let out a slightly startled laugh. "Oh of course. Even with the latest of modern fire-proofing technology, the best method to stay unburnt is always to not annoy them in the first place. Pyro discovered back in the late 1800s that dragon fire actually eats away at magic, which dragon tamers had only been trying to tell people for centuries," he said, winding up into one of his favourite rants on the subject.

To his surprise, Zinnia's eyes never glazed over with boredom, even when he talked about the more mundane aspects of his job.

"Stop me any time if I start boring you," he said, after a quick rundown of what it was like mucking out the stall of an injured Swedish Shortsnout, which he had to admit was hardly one of the more glamorous parts of his job albeit an important one.

Zinnia laughed. "No keep talking," she said. "You're distracting me admirably and I've never met a dragon tamer before, so please?"

So Charlie, deeply relieved that Zinnia was looking less shocky, kept talking.

He was in the middle of telling Zinnia about the time he had received a decidedly sketchy letter from his youngest brother regarding a smuggled baby Norwegian Ridgeback and everything that had happened next, when there came a knock at the door.

Zinnia, who had been smiling, flinched.

Charlie patted her gently on the shoulder. "No don't worry, that's probably someone coming with Mum's care package. She tried to insist on inviting you to dinner, but it's a full house tonight, and I thought that a dozen Weasleys and significant others would probably be a bit too much of a good thing." He stood up and walked up the hallway. He opened the door and was a little surprised at who he saw.

"Harry?"

Zinnia leaned over to see Charlie standing with a shrimpy looking teenager with glasses, holding a gigantic looking hamper. For some reason all of his clothes were at least three sizes too big, and his hair was a total mess. He looked like he would blow over in a stiff breeze, and Zinnia's nursing instincts kicked in almost immediately.

"Well don't just stand there in the doorway, come in and have some tea," she called out.

"Oh, er…" the kid spluttered. "But, I was just going to…"

Zinnia stood up, wearing the patchwork quilt like a cloak. "Get your arse in here," she insisted with a grin. "Harry, was it? Come on. I'll put the kettle back on. Least I can do for you bringing over that heavy-looking hamper."

"It's er, not as heavy as it looks?" Harry hazarded.

Zinnia put her hands on her hips. "Are you refusing my hospitality?" she demanded mock-seriously.

"Come on mate," Charlie cajoled, taking the basket off Harry. "She does pretty good tea."

Harry mumbled something under his breath that Zinnia didn't catch, and Charlie shrugged. "She's Australian."

Looking more than a little uncomfortable, Harry stepped inside and minutes later, Zinnia had a cup of tea and a plate of the cake she had baked yesterday in front of him. Poor kid obviously had missed more than one decent feed in his life, and she just hoped it wasn't some kind of eating disorder.

Though going by the way he ate two slices of her cake with undisguised gusto, she was guessing probably not.

"Charlie here was just telling me stories about dragons," she said.

Harry nodded, and relaxed an iota. "How's Norberta?" he asked.

Charlie grinned. "Funny you should ask, because I was just telling Zinnia here the story of how we acquired her."

Harry snickered. "I'm not sure Hagrid ever entirely forgave us for taking her away," he said, "but considering that he was trying to raise a dragon in a wooden house, it was probably for the best."

Charlie snorted. "That man genuinely terrifies me," he admitted. "I mean, he's a decent sort," he quickly added when Harry looked like he was about to take offense, "but you have to admit, his lack of awareness of just how dangerous most of his favourite creatures are to mere human beings is a little alarming. And if any of the rumours about his illegal breeding experiments are even half-true…"

Harry groaned. "Alright, that's fair," he stated with a slight shudder. "I mean, he's one of the first people I can remember ever being nice to me, and he welcomed me to the Wizarding World, so I'm biased, but even I can admit that the Skrewts were going too far."

"Share with the class?" Zinnia asked, wondering what they were talking about, whilst making a mental note about what magical society was apparently called. Wizarding World, huh? Sort of patriarchal, but she supposed it was alliterative. "What's a… what did you call them? Screweds?"

The two wizards (apparently) turned towards her looking more than a little sheepish.

"Uhhhh…" Harry said. "You wouldn't report him, would you?"

Zinnia sniffed. "I'm not a snitch," she said loftily, taking a sip of her fresh cup of tea.

Charlie looked at her a little oddly at that statement, whereas Harry blinked and then laughed. "It's been a while since I heard that word used outside of Quidditch," he said confusingly. "Going from what Luna was saying though, you and your family live mostly muggle over in Australia?"

Zinnia nodded slowly wondering if any of these magical folk were going to figure out that she wasn't one of them. "Yes," she said, deciding to just roll with the convenient story.

Charlie winced sympathetically. "Must have been rough, living without magic."

Zinnia shrugged. "I'm used to it," she said completely truthfully. "And well, it wasn't until relatively recently" like say, within the last week, "that I even knew why we moved to Australia. I was born over there, and Mum and Dad never really talked much about what had happened to make them move. But with one little kid and another on the way, it makes sense that they would have wanted to get the hell away from anywhere with Death Eaters," she realised.

Harry grimaced. "If I'd had the option to run, I'm honestly not sure which I would have chosen, out of never using magic again and fighting in the war," he said, with the air of confiding a deep dark secret. "Part of me wants to rail at people who didn't stand up and fight, but…" he sighed. "It's not particularly Gryffindor of me, but I completely understand why people ran. Especially since I'm the last Potter left. Sometimes I think that maybe it would have been better for me if my parents ran. Not so much for the Wizarding World, but for me." The kid looked haunted, and Zinnia's heart went out to him. Harry scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand, nearly dislodging his glasses. "Then my godfather died, and I didn't even know I had one for most of my life, and now even Remus and Tonks are…"

Charlie's mouth opened and closed as he obviously struggled with a response to that. Zinnia could hardly blame him. Those were heavy thoughts for anyone, let alone someone who didn't look as though he could be possibly legal to drink.

"Harry," Zinnia said, deciding to be direct. "Can I give you a hug?"

Harry stiffened. "Please don't," he mumbled. He looked up, and Zinnia could see that his eyes were reddening. "No offense, but I don't really know you and…" he went dead white. "Oh Merlin, I can't believe I just said all of that to you. Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course not," Zinnia soothed, whilst wondering who he was so afraid of disappointing. If she knew, she would be having words with them for making a teenaged boy look so scared about sharing his feelings. "I promise. Charlie promises too, don't you Charlie," she said.

Charlie managed to regain enough composure to do so, and Zinnia poured more tea for everyone. "Look Harry, it sounds like you've been keeping all of that bottled up for a while. And, well, sometimes it's just easier to talk to strangers, which is probably why you told me all that," Zinnia reasoned, "but is there anyone that you do know who you can talk to? Someone kind and wise? Who'll listen and keep your confidences?" (Were there such thing as magical counsellors? Zinnia didn't know, but she certainly hoped so.)

Harry sighed again. "I don't know. I just… I don't want to disappoint anyone, you know? A lot of people had their hopes pinned on me during the war-"

"And you didn't disappoint Harry," Charlie interrupted. "Merlin, you're only Ron's age, and you defeated the worst Dark Lord since Grindelwald. Twice! And you haven't even graduated Hogwarts!" Charlie shook his head. "I know you were the Chosen One, but that beggars belief. I honestly never put much stock in Divination, after all, I'd met Trelawney-" (seemingly despite himself, Harry snorted) "-but somehow, against all odds, you managed it," Charlie chuckled, but then grew more serious. "I saw how you dealt with the Hungarian Horntail in the Tournament, but honestly, it wasn't until just recently that I realised that some of the wilder stories my siblings were telling me weren't just exaggerations." He paused, as though considering whether he should say the next thing, and then went for it anyway. "Honestly, I'm ashamed that I spent most of the war in Romania. I mean, I know that someone needed to listen out for Death Eater activities and squash recruitment pitches, at least, that was what the Order told me, but I feel like apart from the last battle I spent most of the war just listening at keyholes and brawling in pubs. I felt useless," Charlie confessed.

Harry clenched his hands around his teacup. He laughed lowly, and it was one of the least happy sounds Zinnia had ever heard. "You think you felt useless? Apart from breaking into Gringotts and the last battle, I spent most of the war fucking camping and trying to follow Dumbledore's cryptic clues," Harry replied. "And in retrospect, I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea to try and best Voldemort with a Disarming Charm of all things." He shook his head disbelievingly. "I learned that spell in second year! It shouldn't have worked! I thought Hermione was going to have a stroke when she realised what I did. So stupid!" he said, as though amazed at his own idiocy.

Charlie shrugged. "Prophecies apparently. What can you do?"

"'Neither can live while the other survives,'" Harry quoted dully. "That bit never made any sense to me, but when I'm not feeling guilty about outliving so many people, I have to admit, it's a massive relief to at least not have that hanging over me anymore."

Charlie dropped a companionable hand on Harry's shoulder and the three people sat in silence, lost in their own contemplations.

"Right," said Zinnia after a while. "Want to see what Molly put in that hamper?"

Harry opened his mouth and made to stand up, but suddenly Ichabod appeared seemingly from nowhere, and planted himself directly in Harry's lap.

The poor kid nearly startled straight off the couch, but fortunately for the state of his legs, managed to regain his balance before Ichabod was forced to dig his claws in for stability.

"Um…" he said.

"Oh, that's Ichabod," Zinnia said. "He likes being scratched behind the ears." She winced slightly. "Sorry about him, I can probably pull him off you if you want?"

Ichabod started making a sound like a small motorboat, and pushed his head into one of Harry's awkwardly hovering hands.

"No, it's alright," Harry decided after a moment.

The two wizards ended up staying for a light dinner of cold chicken and pickles on freshly baked bread (Molly was incredible, Zinnia had to wonder if she used magic in her cooking or if she was just that good with food), and then Ichabod finally released Harry from his clutches.

Harry watched him go. "How much Kneazle is in him?" he wondered aloud. "He really reminds me of Crookshanks, Hermione's cat."

Zinnia shrugged. "No idea," she said completely honestly, considering she had no idea what a neezel was. "He was a gift for my eleventh birthday from my great aunt who used to live in this house."

Harry nodded. "I wonder if your great aunt got him from Mrs Figg," he muttered to himself, before standing up and brushing cat hair from his trousers. "I should definitely be getting back," he said in a semi-apologetic tone.

"Well, it was good to meet you Harry," Zinnia said politely. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

The door closed behind Harry, and Zinnia met Charlie's eyes. "Does he have anyone looking out for him?" she asked. "Like, that he could talk to?" She bit her lip. "It's just… he sounds pretty depressed."

Charlie blanched. "You're not saying…" he trailed off.

Zinnia shook her head. "I'm not saying anything," she said, "except that he's young, and hurting, and it doesn't sound like there are that many people left to look out for his wellbeing, you know? I mean, I get that he killed that Dark Lord," (Lord help her, she was stuck in some insane fantasy book. Chosen Ones and Dark Lords and magic and oh god she needed Charlie out of the house so that she could have a proper nervous breakdown about all of these things she was learning in dribs and drabs and how did it keep getting worse) "so I assume he's got fans, but does he have any mentors left to look out for him?"

Charlie's eyes widened in horror. "Now that you mention it…" he swore in what Zinnia assumed was Romanian. "I'll talk to Dad. He might be able to help. I mean, everyone has been grieving about Fred, but if anything happened to Harry…" he shook his head as though the thought didn't even bear thinking about. "I'll talk to Dad," he repeated. He moved to leave, and then paused. "Are you going to be alright?" he checked. "You had a nasty shock today."

Zinnia twisted her hands behind her back. Charlie really had no idea of the magnitude of the nasty shocks that Zinnia had been having recently.

"I'll be fine," she insisted.

Charlie offered her a distracted smile, and then quickly left, a cracking sound heralding his departure.

Zinnia sank onto the floor.

Ichabod wandered over and plopped himself into her lap, mewing concernedly.

"What the literal actual fuck, Ichabod," Zinnia wondered aloud, "have we managed to stumble into?"

After the day she had just had, part of her half-expected the cat to just open his mouth and respond in English.

She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved when Ichabod just headbutted her until she petted him.