August 24
Dear George,
I can understand why you did not even tell Alicia, Katie, or me about the pranking. As you know me now, I would have joined in with you, but all of the girls back then (yes, including me) were too uptight about everything that the world had to offer to join in on the fun. But still, you could have at least told me earlier! And don't you dare tell me that the topic never came up; you could have just brought it up. The same situation applies here as it did with the time that the time that you accidentally turned all of the tap water into melted chocolate. The excuse that it just never came up isn't going to cut it this time either.
I would have written to you about the Harpies game yesterday, but it hasn't finished yet. Most people are overreacting and saying that the game is going to go over the five month record, but I of course know better than that. It will probably end in a couple of days; the current score is 120 to 80, Harpies. They are playing against Australia, whose seeker is mediocre at best. The Harpies seeker actually got hit with a bludger a few minutes into the game, which has put her out for a few days, or at least that is what the healers said. The Harpies' replacement is about the same skill level as Australia's, so now we have a match that is most likely going to go on for as long as the Harpy seeker is out. And before you start to worry about my sleeping patterns, the Prophet sent a few more reporters out, so we can monitor the match in shifts.
I have a sudden craving for a hot tub. Too bad they are in short supply, although I think one of the secretaries of the Prime Minister had her tent custom made to accommodate such things. Perhaps I will have to look into that. For reporting purposes, of course.
I wish you were here, or I was there. Either way, we wouldn't have to be apart. I love you.
Love,
Angelina
August 24
Dear Angelina,
Wow. That's all I have to say. Players of the noble sport of Quidditch have resulted to Muggle forms of cheating? I am appalled. I am horrified. I am disgusted. I am dismayed. I am not going to go on anymore because I might take up several pages of how I feel about how incredibly stupid those players are! They disgrace and dishonor Quidditch players everywhere! The whole situation is, as I'm sure you have imagined, completely ridiculous. You will have to keep me updated on if anyone gets disqualified. I hope they do. They were obviously stupid enough to cheat in such a blatant and nonsensical manner.
The shop is as busy as ever, with school starting in a week. Our best sellers this year have been the puking pastilles and, shockingly, the pygmy puffs. I never actually thought that those little multicolored little balls of fluff would sell. We didn't actually have the facilities to handle live animals until a few weeks ago. I was going to scrap the idea of the Pygmy Puffs entirely, but Ron talked me into it. Well, it was Fred more than Ron. I don't think I could ever forget him obsessing over those little dust mops like a fourteen year old girl. I never actually understood why he always insisted keeping them. They were selling moderately well, but I always said that they weren't worth the time and hassle. But Fred always said, "George, they might seem like a huge hassle now, but I predict that these brightly-colored-pain-in-the-buts will someday be our biggest sellers." Now I don't remember Fred being particularly good at divination, but I guess there are some things that people just know. I still wish that I had known what would have happened at the Final Battle. Fred would have loved to rub it in my face that he was right.
I wish you were here. I really need help with the shop. No, I'm just kidding! You know that you mean so much more to me than your occasional hours that you decide to help me out. I love you.
Love,
George