Howell might’ve avoided this year’s Flower Show after the debacle he’d had at the last year’s, only – it was at the zoo, and that was too much for him to turn down. Not dragons, but – nearly as good.

He had been traipsing through the magical section when he turned and saw her. He remembered her from the cocoa incident, and from the mittens he’d knitted afterwards. (He hadn’t seen or talked to her since, and he still didn’t know her name – but it had been straightforward enough to track her down well enough to leave them for her, just by asking one day at the Hogsmeade market if anyone had heard of any Australians in town. Gladrags had been the answer. He’d sent them there.)

That didn’t mean he particularly wanted to see her again, either, but even at a glance she looked suddenly pale and drawn. She moved to a bench – towards where he had been loitering, looking at the exhibits – and Howell stood there for a minute more in awkward silence, wondering whether he could ignore her or not.

It seemed like she was alone, so – he stepped in front of the bench, looking down at her with a furrowed brow. He cleared his throat. “Are you ill?”

---