Alright, Jones
Since you don't seem to be getting the Hint, let me spell it out for you: Stop. Following. Us.
Parvati, Padma and I have Things to Do, and do not want to hear about the new hair charm you tried, or how Terribly mean Bones is being to you now, or what you think about about the transfiguration homework.
In fact, we'd rather not have you underfoot at all.
In some ways it's a Pity really; it was rather nice having someone around who believes everything you say and who's always willing to copy her notes for you or give you her last quill or sweet. And it was rather fun making you over--you are a Bit pretty, I have to admit.
But how could we really Trust you? I mean, since you were so eager to tell us all about how Midgen cries herself to sleep at night and Abbott still sleeps with her tatty old stuffed unicorn, not to Mention Bones' criminal relatives.
Not that we have any embarrassing secrets, Naturally. But we couldn't very well invite you to our homes over hols or something like that, and then have you Blabbing to the journals about what our mothers wear to breakfast or the portraits in our foyers or, oh, anything at all that we wouldn't want broadcast to the entire world. The Prophet simply Hounds Mummy at times as it is.
Besides, you never know when a half-blood is going to try to deceive you. Just look at Fawcett. Or Bones, for that matter. I wouldn't think a plain little mouse like that had it in her, but it just goes to Show.
Parvati, Padma and I have Things to Do, and do not want to hear about the new hair charm you tried, or how Terribly mean Bones is being to you now, or what you think about about the transfiguration homework.
In fact, we'd rather not have you underfoot at all.
In some ways it's a Pity really; it was rather nice having someone around who believes everything you say and who's always willing to copy her notes for you or give you her last quill or sweet. And it was rather fun making you over--you are a Bit pretty, I have to admit.
But how could we really Trust you? I mean, since you were so eager to tell us all about how Midgen cries herself to sleep at night and Abbott still sleeps with her tatty old stuffed unicorn, not to Mention Bones' criminal relatives.
Not that we have any embarrassing secrets, Naturally. But we couldn't very well invite you to our homes over hols or something like that, and then have you Blabbing to the journals about what our mothers wear to breakfast or the portraits in our foyers or, oh, anything at all that we wouldn't want broadcast to the entire world. The Prophet simply Hounds Mummy at times as it is.
Besides, you never know when a half-blood is going to try to deceive you. Just look at Fawcett. Or Bones, for that matter. I wouldn't think a plain little mouse like that had it in her, but it just goes to Show.