the trial ; d.m

10

31st October 2002

Unlike the stereotypical ambience of Halloween where one would assume grey clouds and rain, this one has sun and clear skies.

It is always this time of year when Geneva feels most content. It's not something she can understand any clear reason for, not something she can rationalise. Just the perfect moment between Summer and Winter when it's not too cold nor warm, and there's a sort of dreary beauty to the world. The temporary decay of nature.

Halloween itself reminds her of every Slytherin party that had been held annually, amongst all of the other bashes that were had just for good cause.

The parties always went hard. In her sixth year, since being the first time she'd ever tried any form of alcohol, she got so drunk she couldn't remember a thing when she woke the next morning, head still fuzzy. In fact she found herself in Theodore's bed untouched, as he had crashed in Malfoy's on the other side of their dormitory.

That's when their relationship arose from its roots. Through the entire party Theo couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was a superior breed of herself that night— a change occurred which resurrected some worth and pride into her. And he took a liking to it.

As the pleasant weather supplies a good opportunity to take care of the life that covers their grounds, Geneva sought to spend the day doing exactly that. Since the summer, she hasn't been out in the gardens much. Most of the flowers have wilted, dropping their leaves, withering around each other— she felt inclined to rid the gardens of this decay.

The air is bitter, but the sun casts a slightly warm glow to her cheeks. Surrounded by their gardens which stretch on for what feels like miles, her peace is interrupted by a unwelcome feeling. A feeling of loneliness. Solitude.

She furthers through the hedgerows, finding the death among the beds, and for the first time in a long time, she feels as if she's the only being to exist. Alone with the withered flowers.

Without catching herself in a state, she proceeds to rip the dead matter from the soil, conjuring the replacements with her wand. She usually doesn't use magic for this, but the plants won't grow by themselves in these climates.

But now Malfoy is strolling towards her, secluding the two of them in this interlocking of hedgerows.

He pauses for a moment, watching her carry out her work without speaking. Probably with a mocking expression on his face.

"All of these elves you have, yet you choose to do this? You're doing the servants work."

"I enjoy it," she spits back, defensively.

"Of course you do," he rolls his eyes and scoffs.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," he smirks. "Just that you've always seemed to be fond of the Muggle life. You may as well be one. I mean I don't think I've ever seen you use magic."

Without straying her focus away from his face, she waves her wand over one of the empty patches of soil, forming a giant shrub of mauve carnations.

"Hmm, I guess I stand corrected."

She looks away and can feel him watching her as she continues to busy herself with the gardening. For a brief panicked moment, she's suddenly self aware of how awkward he's making her feel, almost insecure, and experiences a burning need to clear this silence.

The words spew out before her mind can catch up. "My mother liked gardening. Sometimes it reminds me of her."

She regrets saying it the moment she opens her mouth. She's in a daze, unable to comprehend the strange moment she's just had with herself.