"“Ms. Sevoy,” began Alice Griffiths, her voice shaking. “You are a reasonable woman. I am a reasonable woman. All I am asking, is that you ask those obnoxious, noisy, gossiping fifteen-year-old girls to leave the library. They are not working. They are not reading. I’m not even sure they know how to read. What could they possibly be doing in the library that is in any way productive? How are they contributing to society? How?”
“Miss Griffiths,” replied the plump, grey haired librarian with a voice like sugar-laced arsenic. “Those girls are not doing anything wrong. They’re whispering, and whispering is perfectly acceptable in the library.” She smiled sweetly in the direction of the fifth years, and one of them smiled back, adding a small wave.
“They are not whispering!” cried Alice.
“Miss Griffiths! Volume!”
“They are not whispering!” Alice repeated in a loud, furious whisper of her own. “They are twittering. Like birds. Evil, possessed birds, hell-bent on ruining my life.”
“Ruining your life?” repeated a skeptical Ms. Sevoy. Alice nodded vigorously. “How?”
Alice leaned over the librarian’s desk, setting down the book (“A Deeper Look at Potion-Brewing in the Seventeenth Century”) she had been clutching. “Ms. Sevoy, I need to study. I have to complete a Potions project by the end of the month that is worth a quarter of my grade. That means a ridiculous amount of research, using books that barely cover the information I need. And then, Ms. Sevoy, in ninety-seven days, I will be taking my N.E.W.T. tests. I have to score… phenomenally on those, and if I don’t, I will not even be allowed to take the test that decides whether or not I can fill an application for the auror program. If I do not make it into the auror program, the dreams that I have been carefully and meticulously constructing since I was seven, will be shattered, sending me into a downward spiral of self-doubt and alcohol abuse, which will then force me into a life of prostitution… where, no doubt, I will become very well acquainted with those twittering fifteen-year-olds, who will by then, be my fellow street-walkers, and because they are younger and skinnier and stupider than I, they will steal all of my business, and I will be forced to do the unthinkable… marry one of those brainless, rich purebloods that my parents like. Ms. Sevoy, save me from that! Save me from life as a trophy wife! I beg of you!”
Ms. Sevoy, however, was neither amused nor impressed. “Miss Griffiths, those girls are doing nothing wrong.” Alice flung her face down on the desk. “And furthermore, if you want my advice…”
“I don’t,” groaned Alice against the table.
“…You had better forget this auror nonsense and marry one of those wizards that your parents like, if they’ll have you. Aren’t you still single?”
“Aren’t you still single?” countered Alice, earning her a look of pure hatred from the librarian; the seventh year decided that was cue enough to make her exit. She gathered her books hastily and moved to the furthest possible table from the giggling fifteen-year-olds. “Smart girls, ye be warned,” she murmured to no one in particular. “The enemy is multi-lateral.”
"
