Blasted kids! Whaddaya want?! Shouldn't you lot be in … Oh, sorry, Professor, didn't see ya there. Just tellin' the young'uns how they ought to be in class. Yes, and a good day to you too, sir.
Right, you lot, hop it! Yeah, get to class. Only there ain't no classes on this floor, see. This is offices only, this is. Well, 'cept fer that bloody banshee and her blocked bogs! I dunno. Enough to make you believe in reincarnation it is, 'cuz I gotta bin all sorts of 'orrible to deserve this lot in life. Pushing a mop behind the likes of you and Moaning Myrtle – yes, that's what they call her, leastways since the Ministry banished her back 'ere it is, anyroad. Took over them toilets, that whole bathroom, point of fact, made it a no-go area. Wish it was no-flow, that I truly do.
And you might think, mightn't you, that them three Professors what've all got offices 'ere might lend a hand, you know, tweak a wand just once in a while to make life a tad easier for the only working man in these parts, but no. Arithmancy don't lend itself to such “mundane pursuits”, not from what I hear tell, and that Dark Arts bloke gives me the collywobbles, I don't mind telling ya.
But I mean Hufflepuff, ya'd think, wouldn't ya, given the stories that make the rounds, “friend to all”, “hardworking”, blah-de-blah, ya'd reckon after all that, their Head'd be the sort ta muck in, wouldn't yah? But nooo. Too busy, looking after brats and their business.
Speakin' o' which, why're you still hangin' around? Be off with ya, 'fore you feel my broom round yer backsides!
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