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Zack watched her for a long pause. Finally, he ran hand through his dark hair, shaking his head.

"Because it's my job," he said solidly. "Because I have to. Because if I did not sacrifice things I really wanted, people and creatures that do not deserve it, will fall. You know. I know you both do. You've seen the effects and devastation battle and hell like it can cause. And if I can keep that from spilling over at much as my ability will let me, if I can lead others into a safer route better than any other command in certain areas, then I can sleep at night. Never peacefully, but I've learned to take what I can get. That's why I keep disappearing, over and over."

His eyes weren't laughing, they weren't cold, they were just empty.
"I care about my friends more then you, and they, will ever know. I know I've always been horrible at showing it. I'm a jerk. I don't blame you if you give up and forget me, and I don't blame those that already have. I deserve it. But don't say, that I don't care."

He sighed,

Zack stopped, turning toward her, his hood finally falling back around his neck. He watched her eyes, his own glassy, but empty. He showed nothing.
~Well, how long do you want me gone? I've been getting the feeling that you want nothing of me around anyway, so why the hell should I stay around?~
He knew she was fishing, but he didn't care.

~So I've come to realize,~ he shot back.
Zack set the whiskey bottle down onto the table with a dull chink. He had grown again, from the last time he had seen any of them, towering at a good 6'4 at least, and that was more than obvious, as he sort of uncoiled, and rose from his seat, turning, smoothly avoiding a few people, and exiting out the doors. He didn't carry himself like a man of height, though. Even as he sort of crouched, his body agile and light in both footing and size, there was a notable amount of weight holding him unsteady that had nothing to do with physicality.

~He doesn't.~ Zack imput shortly.

Rock hard, lean athletic muscles bunched and knotted beneath his dark green shirt, as he turned at the waist, drinking another long swig. This time, when he set it down though, his movements were somewhat aggravated, and tired. Something said had broken him from the spell of cool and casual air he had so ably cast around himself.
Still hidden beneath the long hood, though, he didn't let them see his face. Sullen, he took another drink of the whiskey.

~When has Ginny had a normal job?~ he stated blandly.
~I know I'm a jerk, Ginny. I deserve far more than a threatening bottle. You know that more than anybody.~

Zack leaned back again, draping an arm over the back of his chair, the hood of his black cloak dropping farther over his face, his chiseled features now completely hidden from view.
Zack moved differently. His thought pattern was different. He had changed consderably from the last time he had seen any of them. Drastically. Yet, he was still the same, in a few senses.
He took a swig of the drink, and sighed.

~I know,~ he returned quietly, taking another long, solemn swig of his drink, and setting it down with a low chink of glass upon wood.

~You know the Weasleys, Lavender, Kiara, Pig... Or supposedly, from what I remember.. I have been around for quite a while, just lately.. I haven't been able to be in person around here.~

He shifted slightly, leaning foreword slightly in his chair to relieve some of the pressure in his back, setting his elbows upon the table and folding his hands.

~I'm Zack.~

Grey, shadowed eyes looked up as the girl approached, slow, watchful eyes searching her from toe to skull. His form was in no way sluggish, even with the alcohol in his system. He was a creature of fluid movability and dark purpose. He had finally come to realize that, and the effects were neuritic.
Each movement was slow, precise, and smooth. He sat back, slinging a casual arm over the back of his chair.

~No,~ he replied shortly. Without moving his eyes from hers, or moving at all actually, the one and only chair opposite him slid out, offering seat.

He looked away from her finally, tipping his head back slightly, and downing another long swig of the foul-tasting liquor. He set it back down, and spun it.

Zack tapped his quill quickly and repeatedly, in a steady, hyper rhythm upon his doodled-on parchment as he stared up at the teacher, watching the man walk back and forth across the room, though not really seeing him. Zack had forgotten his name. He'd forgotten the class he was in, too, at the moment, to be honest. He jotted down a few more lines, darkening the spread of the wings of a falcon, sharpening the eyes, and the look of the talons and beak. The picture was amazing, in fact. No one knew that Zack had once actually professionally done portraits, for a little coin, back a few years. Long lost memories, those were. He hadn't lost his talent, though. A girl across the isle caught a glimpse of his picture and gasped, her eyes going wide as she gazed at it. Zack shifted his papers and arm, so no one could see it any longer, unless they were looking over his shoulder. He was self-conscious over the little thing...

The bell rang. Thankfully. Zack gathered up his bag, papers, and quills, and quickly evacuated the room, not stopping until he reached a tree, at a more shady part of the lake. He leaned against the base, pulled out his papers, and began drawing again, darkening the background of the bird, and finally finishing it up. He stared at it for a long moment, then unsatisfied, flicked it away, the what could have been a muggle still photograph of his drawing, landing on the grass a yard or so away. He ignored it, and began another, though he wasn't sure what he was drawing this time.

Curious, how after so long, he could just pick up his once most favorite thing to do, and be even better than before. He shook his head, and continued drawing, or painting, more like.

Zack was seated in the back of the Three Broomsticks, in one of the more dimly lit, unattractive, less noticeable and least popular of spots in the building. He wasn't concerned with the other people in the room. There were too many of them with too many different worries to notice he, sitting alone, deep in reverie, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey between his hands. Occasionally, he spun the bottle, but it, like everything else in the world, seemed to be forgotten.

He was lost in his own dark thoughts, and he was fine with that. Clad in black jeans, a dark green shirt, a thick black cloak, of which the hood completely hid his features, mud-stained boots, and various weapons the sharpest of eyes would not be able to find, he didn't look very approachable, but he didn't much care about it. He was fine with that, too.

"How was I supposed to know that, Gin? I've learned to be logical about your powers, after all."

Zack suddenly was behind Ginny, walking about as if he'd been there all along, picking a small piece of rock from his palm. He smiled warmly at the kid.

"Make it out okay, kiddo?

Zack appeared, a few minutes or so later, unscathed, other than the fresh cut on his palm, from catching that blade too quickly, outside the barriers of the place. He mentally knocked, rubbing his thumb over the wound on his right hand, angry at it, it seemed, but otherwise calm. The blade he had made, was mysteriously gone.
Perhaps it was being fished out of someone's stomach right then. Who knew?..

The next knife came, and Zack heard this one, turning slightly, leaning heavily to the right side, catching in mid-air the throwing blade that had been sailing right where his head had been moments before. He growled, and pinched the tip of the blade, throwing it with a precise, trained skill, in perfect aim through the trail it had come from, directly back and into the throwing shoulder of another. There was a howl, and the thud of a falling body, then a handful of curses Zack hoped the kid didn't hear.

"GO," he growled, unwilling to leave his position, directly in front of Ginny and the kid.
Ginny had said he was a little prince. Who the hell wanted to kill off a prince? A kid, for that matter.

With a nearly invisible flick of his wrist, Zack's own blade was unsheathed, resting in his mastered and talented hand, almost loosely; dangerously.

Zack turned, mentally counting the sets of steps, the long slip of leather suddenly in his right hand, feigning to be nonthreatening.

-Two,- he announced to Ginny, by thought.

His tone was grim, and it was obvious that those nearing weren't friends.
Zack took a small step to the side, taking account of the stone, shallow cave, and high trees.. every little thing, just in case. He glanced back, and smiled reassuringly at the kid. He would not, let anything happen to him. Hurting little kids was just wrong.

-What do you think about taking him up to the Gryffindor Common Room; it'll be safe, eh Gin?-

" 'Course," he said, winking, straightening as he took a bite of a piece of fruit, himself, tossing a piece to Ginny.

Suddenly, he tensed, though visible only to the trained eye, his eyes watching the kid enjoying the fruit, though he seemed to be watching more, far behind his back. His looks darkened, and he met Ginny's eyes.

-Hear that? Human footsteps..-

Zack nodded his head, watching Ginny for a moment, before glancing at the kid. When the little guy finally did two 'near-snaps', Zack flicked his hand, behind his back and out of view, and the dry-water dried as it was supposed to, as if the kid had done it all himself.

"Good job," he said, ruffling the kids hair into a stylish 'do, grinning. "Told you it would work."

Zack suddenly jumped up, no magic used at all, and disappeared into the high boughs of the thick-limbed tree. He returned, with a handful of fresh fruit, landing solidly upon his feet, making nothing of it, crouching down to begin to wash them. He tossed the first clean one to the kid, who caught it, easily enough.

"Good stuff, you'll like it. If not, feel free to spit it out."

Zack winked, assuredly knowing the kid would probably like the sweet fruit.