"I didn't forget her birthday, arse. You did. And Montague. Do you know how fucking nuts she was over it too?" Terence smirked, thinking he didn't know Ginger very well. Taking her out for a night on the town on Miles' tab? She'd have thought it was great fun, he was sure.
Terence raised an eyebrow but couldn't muster too much sympathy. After all- he'd had a broken leg, and ribs, and a cursed wound and-
"Whisk her away? She's availble for the fuckin' whiskin'," he infomred him. Why was it that Miles never pbelieved that he and Ginger weren't seeing each other?
He laughed at Miles' assertation that it wouldn't happen again but he couldn't help the little stab of regret in his stomach. It was ridiculous and he just let it slide, taking another drink of the whiskey.
"Oh you know, went to Sweden, nearly got fuckin' killed, trapped by muggles, came home to find out about this whole Rosie dying shit, and then got the pox, nearly died again. Great fuckin' three months.
"Thanks for checkin' in," he said with a small glare.