Lavender/Zach
Drink in hand and tie already shoved into his pocket, Zach perked up as a familiar and tantalizing scent wound its way through the increasingly crowded ballroom. He'd thought there wouldn't be much to interest him here, and he'd planned on making his appearance known and then beating a hasty retreat. Maybe he'd been too quick to judge.
He'd attended other years, of course, except when he'd been in the States playing quodpot. Then he'd been blissfully exempted. But normally his family insisted and so normally he turned up, though his plan was always the same as it had been tonight. Get a free drink or two, get his photo snapped, get the hell out.
The trick was leaving before anyone thought to ask him why he hadn't been on the front lines at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Zach pushed that uncomfortable possibility aside, however, in favor of saying hullo to Lavender Brown. He hadn't seen her since he'd given her the exclusive on the Infinity II, and he hadn't had a social moment with her since their impromptu steak lunch. He'd thought about her, though. Brown might be the only other person- at least that he was willing to interact with- that knew what it was like to be bitten by Fenrir Greyback.
She was proudly displaying the evidence of that bite in the dress she was wearing. Zach envied her confidence. He was too worried about anyone putting two and two together and coming up with furry, if anyone outside of a Quidditch locker room or a bedroom saw his scars. He told women they were Quidditch scars. They didn't usually argue. But a Prophet or Witch Weekly reporter was another kettle of fish, and Zach didn't like to risk it.
He strode in her direction, the red dress hard to miss amid less lively apparel. On his way, he plucked a flute of champagne from a floating tray, presenting it with a flourish as he approached.
"Brown," he said, holding out the drink and tipping his head. "You look properly refreshing tonight."