Zacharias was sporting quite a shiner, the skin around his left eye all a wicked purple and black. That would be from the fist of a Scottish man, from a little skirmish that had broken out during the World Cup finals. But oh, it had been well worth it (and the bloke was looking doubly bad).
Nothing could bring Zacharias down anyway. England had won! The world was as it should be.
He was walking along down Diagon Alley, running a few errands, glancing abour as he walked (because there were many kids scurrying about who were not watching where they walked), when his eyes landed on a familiar figure, perched on a bench.
"Ellie!" he exclaimed, a smile taking over his face as he went over and plopped down next to her. "Some game, yeah?" He was still riding high!