the trial ; d.m

5

19th September 2002

It's been quiet. Quieter than Geneva anticipated. Two weeks have passed since the last time she had spoken to Malfoy. And they haven't interacted at all. He doesn't look at her, pretends she doesn't even exist, and she ignores his presence just the same.

They are making it work through the simplicity of ignorance. Never uttering a word to each other, or even looking in the other's direction.

In fact, she sometimes forgets there's a third member of their household at all. She's even beginning to believe that this next year could actually be alright. As impossible as it may seem, she thinks she can do this. She hopes.

But that's only until he decides to ruin this unspoken agreement they appear to have.

It's morning and Theodore has left earlier than usual for work, abandoning Geneva to dine for breakfast alone. She's barely awake when he leaves, eyes half open as he places a brief kiss on her forehead and slips out of the room.

When she goes down to the dining room, there's no one there and she's glad. She calls Bigsby and he brings her the usual tray of breakfast indulgences. Pastries, french toast, summer fruits, tea with only a splash of milk, an ice cold glass of water. She's never too hungry in the morning. Hence why she frequently gets up at eleven o'clock, when the thought of food first thing doesn't make her want to vomit.

Today's edition of the Daily Prophet is already opened on the table, most likely having been looked over by Theodore earlier that morning.

Her quiet morning only lasts until Malfoy strides into the room, mug of coffee in hand.

She glances up at him, and obviously doesn't say a word. Neither does he for a moment.

See, every other morning that they've encountered each other, Theodore has also been there. He never speaks to her when he's there, even avoids her.

It's when she's alone that he likes to exert his interest.

And when he's still quiet, she thinks for a second that they will truly remain this way.

But then he clears his throat, and ruins her hopes.

"Say Riddle, any plans or just another day of playing the perfect housewife?"

She looks up at him over the paper, threads her brows and frowns. Decides to ignore his apparent insult and mockery. "I told you not to call me that."

She doesn't admire his persistence to disregard what she's already asked him not to do. Of course, he couldn't care less.

"My mistake. It can be difficult to remember such a minor detail about someone. Especially when you'd been Riddle since we were eleven," he grins, and his association of them together in the same sentence makes her feel uneasy for some reason. "What would you prefer I call you?"

"What I would prefer is that you don't address me at all. I'd rather my name weren't anywhere near your mouth."

He laughs, determined to never take her seriously.

"Do I really bother you?"

She rolls her eyes and slaps the newspaper down onto the table, eyes pinning him.

"Oh no! Is it obvious?" she asks, sarcastically. Dramatic, as if it's the end of the world that he'd know.

Again, he laughs. Nods.

"Like a fly bothers a spider," she continues, taking a sip of her tea.

"Careful," he grins. "I don't think your analogy there is quite correct. You see spiders tend to like flies."