the trial ; d.m

4

5th September 2002

Five days he's been at the Manor. Five, and she already feels like ripping her own hair out.

You'd think she'd never even see him. After all, it's a three story building, built across mass grounds, rooms and rooms on end, almost too many corridors, four different gardens. Yet he still manages to find her while she walks down for her morning tea.

He doesn't say a word to her. Just looks down at her predatorily, tracking her like she's his prey. And she entirely ignores his existence. Or tries to.

He floats around the Manor like a ghost. She can't even hear him coming, doesn't notice the footsteps or air of threat that he brings with him everywhere he goes. He just shows up unannounced.

Doesn't utter a word, just embarks his brooding presence, and is always entertained by her discomfort. And it is certainly difficult to hide when he materialises silently, appearing behind doors and around corners. Catching her off guard where she certainly doesn't expect anyone to find her.

One morning, she's partaking in her usual routine, getting into the shower being the first thing she does after slipping out of bed.

She uses the shower in the main bathroom of the North Wing of the Manor. Simply because the water is softer, warmer and it's the most spacious and lavish bathroom she's ever stepped foot in. So why waste it? Naturally, it's better than the en suite shower.

It's only a short walk from the master bedroom where she and Theo sleep and is never disrupted by any inconvenience— when it was only the two of them living there, that is.

Once she's stepped out of the shower and wraps her towel around herself, she exits the bathroom, perfectly refreshed by the warmth of the water that leaves her face rather red and dewy.

But as she journeys back to her suite, Malfoy's at the end of the corridor, emerging towards her.

She stumbles backwards, tries to return to the bathroom but she feels humiliated. She plays it out instead. Pretends he doesn't bother her.

She's aware that his predatory eyes are collecting the image of her in nothing but her towel, tracking her from head to toe.

"What are you doing?" she snaps, outraged.

"Felt like going for a walk," he smirks.

"Here?"

"Nott permitted me to go anywhere I like in the Manor." He says it so matter-of-factly, as if anything she has to say would immediately be false.

She scoffs. Her hair is dripping down her neck, making her shiver. Combined with his cold façade, she can't feel the warmth of summer that she's supposed to.

"Are you now telling me that this wing is out of bounds?"

He's enjoying this. They're both aware of his superior position— that she's the one who should feel vulnerable.

His eyes never leave her. Her towel, her body. There's not even an ounce of respect for her privacy. And if there is, he has no inclination whatsoever to act upon it.

She grips tighter to her towel. He notices this and his sinister smirk widens.

She ignores his question.

"He also told you not to bother me. There are gardens and grounds that stretch for miles. It's a pleasant day. Take yourself out there if you're so intent on going for a walk."

Far, far away from me.

"Very well."

He consumes another eyeful of her, a judging look on his face that tries to make her insecure as his eyes drink in each curve and dip that the towel fails to hide. He almost exceeds and she feels the need to move, but she's too disgusted by him to fret.