martine zabini took quidditch rather seriously for a ravenclaw; it was the general hogwarts consensus that ravenclaws were inclined to be bookworms, book smart, witty, but not the most competitive when it came to wizarding sports. it was clear to anyone in the ravenclaw quidditch team, however, that as one of the three chasers and co-captain, martine meant business.

she was charming, in the same hypnotic way a snake was-- it was constantly brought to question by a begrudging james potter why she was not sorted into slytherin. ambition was something she held close to her heart. and being in her 7th and final year at hogwarts, she was resolute in her determination to secure the house cup for ravenclaw.

the prospect of blue and bronze banners adorning the walls sounded more enticing by the day.

see, martine and yourself were usually quite cordial; she was sweet when she wanted to be, helpful perhaps, but when it came to quidditch, all that was as good as gone-- especially given your affiliation with another house.

"well, well, look who it is. the asswipe for tomorrow's match." martine's eyes glittered with a vicious mirth as she leaned against the wall next to you; she tended to pass you out of coincidence, but even she couldn't pass over an opportunity to heckle an opponent before a match.

"shouldn't you be on the pitch getting some hours in with your team?" she quipped, regarding you through her long lashes, her gorgeously sleek black hair swept behind her back like a sculpture of obsidian. the loose blue and bronze tie around her neck seemed to be mocking you, as was the smirk she shot you. "because bloody hell, you certainly need them."