"Oi, I was far from the only tosser in that room."
Zach started to grin, in spite of himself, only for it to fade back into a frown when Brown mentioned gossip columns. Those were the worst sort of reporters. They didn't even need facts. The only redeeming factor Zach could find was that she wanted to move away from doing that.
"Quidditch players will be thrilled, no doubt," he said dryly. "Spectre ads are creepy, you ask me. No faces."
Zach had had enough women fawn over his physique without a care for what was in his head that he curled his lip in disgust when he saw a Spectre ad. He knew, however, that they were popular with the witches- and certain blokes.
He lifted a brow when her stomach rumbled, but his grin started to return. He was starving. He always was, shortly after a shift. All the changes seemed to need fuel and he could never quite supply enough to stay satisfied.
"I could eat," he admitted grudgingly. Eating with Brown would give him more time to figure her out, he supposed. "No trade secrets, though."