Zach snagged a bun for himself, forgoing the butter. As he tore off a corner, he grumbled, "Does it always have to be 'former Falcons player'? I'm twenty five. I'll probably do a lot more in my life besides playing Quidditch."
At least he hoped so. The prospect of being defined by his youth for the next hundred years was a dire one. And the ache that ran through him every time he thought of being on the pitch had to dull at some point, didn't it? The alternative was unbearable. It would help if everyone could shift their focus a little, when it came to him.
To distract himself from these disheartening thoughts, Zach reached out, sliding the notebook closer so he could look at it. One perk of being part wolf was that, like all of his senses, his vision was much improved, so he didn't have to use reading glasses any longer, but old habits died hard. He scanned the page, then pushed it back to Brown with a grunt.
"Loads more interesting than what nightclub the Harpies are frequenting or what Pansy Parkinson wore to some ribbon-cutting ceremony, you ask me."
He pushed the rest of the roll into his mouth, using the time afforded him by chewing and swallowing to formulate an answer.
"Being around Muggles hacks my grandfather off," Zach answered with a shrug. "He likes to pretend that part of me doesn't exist." He paused, then, because she wasn't writing anything down but actually seemed genuinely interested, explained, "My dad was a Muggle-born, yeah? Mum's family is pureblood going way back. So you can do the maths." Uncomfortable with so much focus on him, Zach shifted in his seat, playing with his beer bottle. "Suppose your family is super progressive?"