Trev Scabior sold his scruples for a galleon. (opportunist) wrote in wished,
"Whatever," Trevor rolled his eyes at Gretch's assertion, but smirked anyway. He took a last bite of breakfast and shoved the plate away, watching Verity for a moment before digging into his pocket for his wand. "The flat's in London," he explained, waving the wand lazily. "Islington." From the living room something small and shiny flew toward Trevor's open hand, glinting as the light hit it on it's way past. He caught it easily and flipped it toward his cousin promptly. "That'll get you past the wards. Take your time." He shrugged and added, "Or not." It was her problem, not his.