Rosemary glared at him. âYes, theyâre fantastic. Olive is practically a saint. Maybe we should have her join our study date.â Not that she would ever actually do that. Olive hated her and the feeling was mutual. Apparently, âstealingâ her mummyâs inheritance (money she would let rot in Gringotts) really irked her.
She finally looked at his paper, wrinkling her nose. âIâm feelinâ Tom and Dick. What exactly is this paper? A love letter to goblin genocide?â
Adrian ignored the suggestion. The less he thought of Olive, the better. He could practically hear her grating, high-pitched whine at the mere mention of her. However, he could not stop his eyebrow from raising at Rosemaryâs next comment. She was doing what?
Still, Adrian did not speak on it.
âIâd hardly call it a genocide,â Adrian said, sitting back a bit in his chair. His arms were folded. He almost looked bored, apart from a tension in his lips. âI donât actually require your help. Binns will give me an O for that essay just as it is. This isnât about the essay.â















