Snapping the magazine down to catch a glimpse of Rodolphus Lestrange, a man Eric did not care much for, Eric stared at him for a long moment. Scooting forward to the window in his rolling chair, Eric leaned forward. "Are you lonely? Would you like me to talk to you?" he asked, breaking into a grin.
Eric certainly feared quite a number of witches and wizards that came through the Ministry as his only defense was his wit—not useful in a proper duel, though he did not do too badly in school when he was in the dueling club. That, however, was nothing compared to the sorts of duels he could potentially face. Eric did not think someone like Lestrange would only give him boils or turn his skin purple (which happened to Eric his sixth year, and he shook the witch's hand thinking it brilliantly executed).
Not leaving much of a pause, Eric took to his original position and reopened his magazine. He did not care in the slightest what Rodolphus' opinion of him was—quite frankly, Eric would probably agree with Rodolphus, regardless of what it was, but he knew he was better than what others saw (or in his opinion, anyway).