Z was minding her own business and not doing anything vaguely dishonest (such as stealing one of Beckett's books about wards from behind his desk while he was helping someone on the other side of the library) and trying to find a spot free of people under the age of sixteen at the Slytherin table when someone slammed into her.
"For fu-" she heard as she tried to figure out why she was now sprawled on the ground, illicit book, several bits of parchment and an assortment of quills and muggle pens falling out of her bag. She looked up, about to curse out whoever knocked her over.
Huh.
Apparently it had been Lazzara. She'd been hoping to run into him before class-just not literally. Before thinking things through, Z hit him with a nonverbal leglocker and then disarmed him.
"What happened to always being on guard professor?" she asked sweetly. "Also, I need to talk to you."