He wouldn't bother denying that; of course he was only saying it so that she would keep coming up. ... Well, not only. "Not Gobstones, thank you." He was wretched at it, and it reminded him of long, awful afternoons indulging his mother's one fond connection to the wizarding world. It might have been his least favorite game in existence. Aside from Quidditch, of course. "I don't know the other. Cards, perhaps."
He resisted the urge to do more than look back at her. He could have read more deeply than her face, he was sure, if he had wanted to, but that would have crossed too far from 'appropriate,' for him. He very rarely felt that way. "If you'd like," he said, almost lightly. He expected simply pulling up his sleeve would answer most of them, really, but he was strangely reluctant to go into ... that. Which was stupid; it was public record, and he had been sure for years that he had almost nothing more to hide. He drank his wine and set his glass aside. "It's a lot to cover. But I am not, in fact, a demon. That's important to begin, I think."