if one of them is dead.

chapter thirty-four.

Lilith.

"Blaise, hand me the fucking sandwich or I will stab you with a damn fork," Pansy snaps, picking up a fork to get ready to stab Blaise with it. "The fucking sandwich, Zabini, or I swear to Merlin that you will end up like your mother's husbands."

Blaise sticks his tongue out at her, waving the sandwich that Pansy wanted in front of her.

Pansy leans forward and smacks the sandwich out of his hand, making the thing fly all over the food. She slowly sits back down and clears her throat.

Draco coughs to cover up a laugh, and I start chuckling. Mattheo shakes his head.

Blaise crosses his arms and glares at Pansy. "Bitch," he mutters, grabbing another sandwich. She glares at him. "It's going to be mine turn to stab you with a fucking fork."

"I will—"

Someone behind me clears their throat, cutting Pansy off.

"Excuse me," a woman says. Her voice is almost as annoying as Umbridge. Ugh. I thought we were past that.

Blaise, Mattheo, and I all turn around. Draco and Pansy raise their brows.

"You're excused?" I say, more like a question.

She has blond hair, almost as light at Draco's. There are thin red glasses on the lower part of her nose, and they look like they're cut in half. Beads connect to the glasses in a string.

Her jacket-dress type clothing is a bright magenta color with traffic cone-orange feathers on her sleeves. Her heels are a bright yellow.

Why are all her clothes so bright? And why are they ugly? I mean, I'm not one to judge, but I am.

She smiles and nods the the others before her eyes go back on me. I raise a brow at her. "Is there a problem?" I ask.

She smiles more and shakes her head. She sticks her hand out towards me. "I'm Rita Skeeter," she says. "I work for the Daily Prophet."

"Yeah, I know," I say, eying her hand. She grabs my hand and starts shaking it enthusiastically.

"Well, of course you do. And you are Lilith Snape. I've heard so much about you."

"From who?" I ask, "We don't exactly have any mutual friends."

I'm being a bitch, but I don't like reporters. I never have.

She waves me off, dropping my hand. "It doesn't matter. I just want to get to know you more."

"And do we have to do this in front of the entire school?" I ask, raising my brows. Dad is looking over here, and so is almost everyone else.

What the hell is she doing he—

I block my dad out. That's the first time he's done that in a while.

Skeeter chuckles. "Well, obviously we would do the interview elsewhere—"

"She's not doing an interview," Mattheo says. I look over at him, but he isn't looking at me. He's death glaring Rita Skeeter.