the trial ; d.m

23

She feels like an utter twat to put it lightly.

Geneva spends the rest of the day repenting for running her mouth about such topics, especially considering she was already aware of Malfoy's sensitivity regarding his mother. She'd already known from their previous scraps, when she had craved that thrill from getting under his skin. But now that thrill has altered into a nauseating shame.

It just doesn't seem right. Nothing about it does. She's not supposed to feel sympathetic towards Malfoy. That very feeling for someone like him— a criminal— is something that society is supposed to be conditioned against. Nevertheless, she can't shake the agonising guilt which trips over and over in her mind.

And at very most she can't even comprehend what she feels guilty about. Nothing she said was particularly bad. All she did was mention his mother, asking a simple question of whether or not he condemns her for what she did to those children. Perhaps that's why he had reacted so disgruntled— he knew what Narcissa did was inhumane and sick, he just couldn't bring himself to face the facts.

But attempting to understand Malfoy was probably not the brightest idea.

She floats about the Manor for the remainder of the day, a part of her hoping to stumble into Malfoy, but all the same dreading the moment she does.

When she happens to run into Bigsby on several occasions, she questions about his whereabouts, asking if he is well, showing a peculiar amount of concern which Bigsby seemed befuddled by. After all, she had always shown the greatest distaste towards him. Why on earth would she be concerned?

Later on, she finds him in the grand library of the Manor, slung across a divan flicking through a novel, careful to not look up as she strolls in.

At first, she doesn't utter a word. Just busies herself, pretending to look for something. She expects him to leave but when he doesn't, she quietly creeps up behind him and dithers a moment.

"Are you okay?" her voice squeaks through the silence. Merlin, feels like I'm in school again, her mind berates her.

"It's not like you to care, Riddle."

"You can't sit here and sulk forever."

His expression lifts slightly to one of amusement. When he makes no reply, she continues.

"Look, I was only trying to understand."

"Understand what?"

She hesitates. "You, I suppose."

He laughs, viciously. "Well you don't wanna do that."

"Maybe I do." She can hear how naive she sounds and cringes internally.

"No, believe me," he snaps, bolting up from the divan and tossing the book onto it. "What do you think this is?"

"I don't know," is all she replies with.

"You think I care about you?"

"Do you?"

He laughs again, curtly, increasingly frustrated. "I'm not doing this shit."

"What are you talking about?"

"You— trying to get under my skin. Trying to make me feel something."

"I'm not making you do anything, Malfoy. That is of your own accord."

"Oh fuck you," he spits, frustrated.

Geneva stays put for the moment, just studying him as he paces in front of her, clearly battling with his own inner monologue. She feels the statutory thing to do would be to leave the room. To not speak with him again at least until Theodore is back.