He glanced over at the ginger-haired girl, then followed her gaze to the other side of the room where 'the lads' had seated themselves. Terence wasn't sure yet which was worse: when the Hitwizards blended in so well that no one, not even he, could tell they were even there, or when they made themselves conspicuous. Like now.
He turned his attention from the dour, unwanted escort back to the young witch. Of course she was a witch--why else would the lads make their presence known, if not to reassure the wizarding public? Besides, he wasn't in the habit of being addressed by Muggles.
"Boyfriends? Afraid not. A mere five years in prison was scarecely long enough to turn me into a poof," he deadpanned. "Miss..?"
There was something familiar about her. It teased at the corners of his mind, frustratingly elusive.