The Last Riddle

4. Blaise Zabini

"Evening Miss Potter" The Bloody Baron glides past me his chains dragging along the floor.

"Uh um good evening Sir, I mean Mr Baron." I stutter as I walk past him my eyes wide.

Even after a week at this school I'm still not used to the ghosts that roam the hallways on their own accord.

I hold my books slightly tighter to my chest as I enter into the large dining hall. I look over to the Gryffindor table to see Harry laughing loudly with Ron and the other first year Gryffindors whose names I don't know yet.

I let out a long sigh and continue my walk to the Slytherin table. I look around the hall and spot Hermione Granger with her head in her book as usual, I think I would actually quite like the girl if she wasn't such a know it all. She always shoots me glares when I answer the teachers questions and I often hear her muttering under her breath about me.

I turn my head away and look over to the Hufflepuff table, Poppy meets my eyes and waves enthusiastically at me. I smile at her and raise my hand waving back at her awkwardly.

Poppy is a great friend and she always says hi to me in the corridor, she's even invited me to sit with her at the Hufflepuff table every morning. I always decline though, I don't want the Slytherins to have any more of a reason to shun me.

They all glare at me when I walk into the common room, I hear them saying that I'm a Potter and was put in the wrong house. The mutters and glares I can deal with but I have heard rumours about how cunning Slytherins can be, I'm worried that they might start cursing me or hiding my things. Therefore no matter how uncomfortable it is I'll keep sitting at the Slytherin table to avoid any harsher treatment.

I slide on to the bench and avoid the students sat around me, instead I open the top book of the pile and begin to read greedily.

Today is going to be my first flying lesson with Madam Hooch and it would be a very big lie to say I am anything but absolutely terrified. In fact my plate lays empty before me due to how much my stomach is churning.

"Not hungry?" A thick French accent asks me loudly.

I jump at the voice and look up my eyes wide. A boy who I know is in my year and house stands before me but his name escapes me.

"Uh what?" I take in the boy in front of me, his dark skin stands out against his white school shirt which fits him perfectly and appears to be of a much more expensive material than mine and everyone else's. His hair is shaved short but this only highlights his sharp cheekbones and his strong jaw, even though he can only be my age he appears so much older and more grown up.

He laughs as he sits down on the bench opposite me "you're not eating anything for breakfast? Normally I see you eating at least two meals in the morning."

My cheeks burn pink "you notice that I eat a lot?"

He nods "sure. I mean you sit there bent over your book shovelling food into your face as though it's going to be your last meal. For you not to be eating this morning is, what's the English word for it?" His accent becomes even thicker as he smiles "creepy."

"My eating habits are creepy?" I look up at him totally confused "do you often comment on people's eating habits, especially strangers."

I immediately regret my words, what if he curses me, or hexes me or just goes full on old school and punches me in the face?

Instead he smiles widely "you're funny, I like you." He turns to me stretching out his hand "I'm Zabini, Blaise Zabini."

I smile "Potter, Angelica Potter."