It was sad that people would let themselves be cowed into their homes and let the terror go on around them without acknowledgment or lifting a finger to help against it. But he was just as sad because while he was still willing to go out, he was hardly willing to help. Not yet, not in any kind 'take charge, go in headstrong' sort of way. No, he would leave that to the Boy That Lived.
"Mum didn't raise an impolite fool," Roger said, leaning forward as he drank in the sight of her. Angelina Johnson could be a dangerous woman, as she was a triple threat - beautiful, intelligent, and outspoken. Yet, that's what drew him to the women he chased after. Except for Cho, but she was a whole different story.
His fingers drifted over his left eye, where a Bludger had gotten him earlier that day during practice. "Well, it's nothing I can't handle," he boasted, winking at her with the very same eye. The bruise around it was nearly healed, as he had been tended to right after practice. He refused to let the game stop on his account because you didn't get time outs to treat a boo boo during real Quidditch. "How are those Harpies of yours? Should we expect any competition from you lot?" He asked, as their waitress brought them their drinks.