the trial ; d.m

2

30th August 2002

She watches idly as the sun flickers between the curtains which sway with the draft, breezing through the open crack of the window. It's a warm day, turning evening now, but Geneva's never liked the heat much. In fact she's always been one to crave winter. They ought to think she were odd.

She sits, wine glass of the finest crystal in hand, because her husband would never settle for any less. If it's any ordinary glass grabbed off of the shelf, it would only be out of place in such a grand, lavish abode.

It's the way it's supposed to be, Gen, he would say, his tone light and rather comical. And she would smile, agree, without much implication in her understanding. Because she had never been able to understand before.

Only until she'd married Theodore Nott.

They married straight after the Second Wizarding War. No hesitation or forethought over the matter. He'd asked her, both so high and intoxicated with their love, on the success of the end of the war, and she'd agreed. Two became one.

Next minute, she's surrounded by the finest cutlery and hollowware, china and crystal, high ceilings, much like those familiar in Hogwarts, staircases, spiral and grand, rooms and rooms on end, all spacious and decorous as if the Queen of England's expected to be shown to her quarters, house elves, etcetera, etcetera.

This evening, it is quiet like most. As she ponders over her sweet glass of red— muggle wine she tends to prefer, she can hear nothing but the summery winds cruising through the air outdoors.

That is until a post owl comes swooping down to the window in front of the kitchen counter Geneva's perched upon. It dithers in the ajar opening, shoving the glass further with its body.

She reaches out a hand and takes the latest edition of the formally rolled up Daily Prophet. She's suddenly filled with a benign dread when recollecting what she's now expecting to see from this issue. But it's vague.

The latest case her husband had been working on had taken everything out of him. Geneva had suggested he didn't do it— had advised. But he was persistent.

Because it was his old friend.

His old friend who had murdered fifty-nine people. She didn't want Theo to defend the convict, no matter the context.

They'll send him to Azkaban, surely. If the Ministry have any sanity, they certainly will. She's not overly concerned. Why should it matter to her anyway? He'll be punished. She's convinced.

But as she gulps back the contents of her glass and unrolls the newspaper, she's not so sure.

Breaking: Malfoy Verdict In
The Wizengamot of the Ministry have decided to grant Draco Malfoy a year's probation under the supervision and hospitality of Ministry Official, Theodore Nott. Alongside this, he has been demanded to pay a fine for 500,000 galleons for the damages and insurance upon those lives taken. His punishment also goes as far to forbade him to use magic ever again. Wizards across Britain are outraged, some even attempting to riot and protest against the Ministry for the disposition of Malfoy's punishment, and their apparent leniency to the matter. It is said Malfoy has been given a fair chance of redeeming himself under courteous conditions, meanwhile serving his punishment for justice of those lives lost.

She stares blankly at the front page, over the lettering of the words she's just read in denial.

It seems like a whole load of waffle. Complete and utter bollocks.

She double checks the issue, trying to find a fault in the page to prove she's been sent a fake edition. Just someone playing a prank on her. It's not a very funny prank.