Terence and Sylvie
Terence was really a city boy at heart. He loved Gwen, and so he had to love Helga's along with that, but sometimes he wanted to be far, far away from any sods of grass and fresh, clean air. He was his birthday and he was not going to spend it up in Scotland along with Andrei's merry band of country ragamuffins. He was going to spend it at Diagon Alley, in the middle of a smoky club with dim, atmospheric lighting and champagne on tap.
His fun was abruptly stopped by an insistent tapping on his shoulder by the club doorman. What was the problem? People not on the guest list were milling around the door, and could he sort it out? Terence rolled his eyes. What was the point of a doorman if they let everybody in? He sauntered to the entrance, ready to chuck all the intruders out.
Lo and behold, some of the last people he expected. He saw Sylvie first and pinched his nose.