the trial ; d.m

9

26th October 2002

Geneva thought that with the arrival of the Autumn months, the weather getting progressively chillier and the days getting shorter, her plans would be limited. Isolation from society would surely be bliss.

But her acquaintances— whether you can even call them that— have had other arrangements in mind.

During the evening, when she would usually be preoccupied with a good book and other homely comforts, these were replaced by dining at this and that rich person's estate, or this expensively luxurious restaurant.

The urge to decline these invitations each and every time tempted her so persistently. However, her neglect of their company would only be frowned upon. She would be shunned as a cold, reserved woman until the day she becomes old and frail, when age would eventually replace the excuse for her hostile attitude.

But the only way to not be belittled and patronised by the superiority complexes of these respectable people is to treat them with such hostility. Twenty two years old, Geneva is and she presents herself with the mannerisms and behaviour of a middle-aged woman when she's around them. It's the only way to gain their esteem.

Theodore encourages her. He likes to see her around people, not so alone and content with her solitude. His determination to make her a proper lady irks her beyond belief. Though her love for him resolves any frustrations.

She sees as much of Malfoy these days as she sees of her own parents. None at all. And she's surely glad of it.

Since that night when their proximities had become too overbearingly close and threatening, she hasn't caught a single glimpse of him. She was sure she had hated him before, but that was nothing compared to the disgust she holds for him now.

The mere audacity to snap a Witch's wand like that without batting an eye of bother made her ill. And his satisfaction that had driven his motives that night when impaling the tip of the wand into her flesh gave her the gloomiest feeling.

It would be naïve to say that he wouldn't have killed her that night.

If she had pushed him any further, Theodore would have been finding her body strewn across the floor, ashen and limp.

But in the grand scape of the Manor, she's managed to avoid him. Or he's purposefully kept away from her. Several times she's felt inclined to ask Theodore whether Malfoy was actually still with them. And each time she stops herself when noting that it would likely suggest she cares.

Instead she sought Bigsby for a small word and enquired about Malfoy to which he responded, "Mister Malfoy never leaves the East Wing, Mistress. Bigsby thinks the mister is locked away by Master Nott, but the master is saying otherwise."

Of course, Theodore made it very clear that Malfoy would still live under their hospitality for the time being, even though Geneva disapproved. Banishing him to the East Wing seems a likely alternative.

But such peace can only last so long, and even then, the very thought of Malfoy still existing within the walls of the Manor interrupt this contentment. 

After several evenings and brunches and shopping trips with the company of Geneva's acquaintances, it eventually comes to be her turn to host. Theodore gave her the idea of a luncheon and never has she felt so Victorian. Although, despite what would be believed, Wizard folk do seem to live several centuries behind the common Muggle.