MEMOS
Minerva, my dear, are you quite alright? You seemed unhappy at dinner today.
It's nothing, really, Albus.
Uh oh, looks like somebody needs cheering up.
Oh, no I don't!
Oh, yes you do!
Oh, no I don't!
Oh, YES YOU DO!
Albus, please don't.
How about a nice game of –
No.
Why not?
I am not playing another board game with you as long as I live.
Oh, yes you will!
I don't think you want to go there again, Albus.
Oh, yes I –
Stop.
Fine. But why won't you play with me?
I propose you rephrase that sentence.
I propose you stop changing the subject and answer my question.
I concur. I'm never playing a board game with you again because, last time, you were insufferable.
I was not.
You threw the board out of the window.
It was because you cheated!
It was because I beat you.
You would have done the same thing.
That as may be, I do not care for your board games.
But Horace sent me one from his trip to Marbella.
Now there's an image I didn't want in my head.
What?
Horace on a beach.
Come to think of it, it wasn't Marbella. It was Mabelthorpe.
Well, that's slightly less scarring.
Anyway, the game is called 'Scrabble'. It's a word game. You have to get the most point by making words out of the tiles you are given. Please play it with me? I do so want to try it out.
Oh, go on then.
A/N: This can only end badly.