SEA, SWALLOW ME, remus lupin

dhà deug, nymphology

CHAPTER TWELVE
nymphology

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BEING IN THE LIBRARY HAS ALWAYS been enough to make Cove's palms sweat.

  There's an eerie air about it every time she goes in, the paramount knowledge lining the walls in yellowed scrolls and leather bound books overwhelming her. Also, she's a very non-confrontational person on the best of days, meaning that the lethal glares Madam Pince tends to pin her with make her inconceivably nervous. Considering she had her first ever detention only a few days ago, she's not trying to start anything with the librarian on top of that stain on her record. When she pushes the double doors and they screech open a tad too noisily, Cove practically sprints to the table her friends are at before she can be reprimanded.

The two of them wave her over, grinning ear to ear. Mary has her braids collected in an effortless updo to keep them out of her eyes as she scribbles away in her journal, focus intertwined in the way her eyes narrow and her glossy lips contort in concentration. On the other hand, Fallon is away with the faeries as her homework grows a layer of dust, twisting her starling feather quill around and around in her calloused palm. She's begun to plait a section of her dark hair when Cove slides into the free armchair in between them, rummaging through her bag while she curses herself for putting an undetectable extension charm on it. She procures a torn up jotter and a heavy book on the long, long history of nymphology.

  Fallon slumps on their table, head cradled in her arms. "I think I'm going to kill Rigby."

  Cove pats her on the shoulder. "Yes, dear."

  "What is it this time?" Mary asks, raising a flawlessly shaped eyebrow. Her glittery red eyeshadow sparkles under the candlelight in an entrancing way that Cove has to stop and admire. Moth to a flame.

   "She's given us another essay to do on nymphs," Fallon groans. "Like, is that even part of the curriculum? This is why she's nearly forty and unmarried. She ran off to get eloped with homework years ago."

Mary snorts. "Christ, that must be the third one this month. When's Kettleburn back from probation?"

"Not soon enough," Cove huffs.

"Honestly," Fallon says, "my education shouldn't have to suffer from Rigby's bad teaching and his, um, debauchery."

Cove tilts her head to the side. "Do you know what debauchery means?"

"No clue," she admits. "It makes me sound much smarter, though."

"Anyway..." Mary diverts, slipping into a tangent. "How's detention been going, Cove? Anything interesting to report?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," she drawls unhelpfully. "Anything interesting."

Cove stares at her cluelessly, eyes round in confusion. Her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.

"She means did anything happen with Remus," Fallon explains.

  "Oh! Riiiight. Not really, no."

  Mary narrows her eyes. "What do you mean by 'not really', babe?"