Ivy wrinkled her nose at Blott. "Surely better than translators are," she shot back; (obviously she did not know either way, but at least her job actually required N.E.W.Ts.) "But sure, no wager - I am a lady, and you probably owe a week's wages to some den of iniquity already.'' He seemed lonely, and lonely men were prone to poor financial choices and debauchery.

(At least, in Ivy's experience. Her hilltop friends may have colored her impressions there.)