the trial ; d.m

28

26th March 2003

Geneva awakens with a killing crank in her head, and the feeling of nausea consumes her. She can't bring herself to open her eyes, expecting the sudden blare of light to damage her retinas. She doesn't even know where she is. Can't remember a thing.

When she can finally bring herself to slightly blink her eyes open, confusion reigns upon her. Because she's not in her usual place when waking up. She can't recall how she got here. The room is still dark, but she recognises the decor of Draco's room immediately, considering the few times she's ended up in here.

She's in his room, but he's nowhere to be found. There's hardly any trace of him, except for the untouched crisp white shirt that is hanging on the door of his wardrobe.

She brings the duvet up to her face and breathes in the scent of both linen and Draco, melting internally. She's clad in nothing but her nightgown, and feels increasingly more nauseous due to the absence of her memory. It comes back to her gradually in flashes. The more conscious she's becoming, the more she's remembering. But she cannot trace the memory of how she ended up in this bed.

The Night Before

For fucks sake.

That's all Draco's internal voice can say in this current moment as he's faced with a very drunken Geneva, staring at him with wide eyes while he's compromised by Madeline.

He doesn't even know how he ended up in this position. The girl just followed him up here when he tried to escape that drag of that party. She just started nattering on at him and next thing he knows, he's pressed up against the wall, hardly even present. And then Geneva's there. Fucking of course. She's been avoiding him for weeks, but the moment she finally stops being stubborn, she catches him like this.

Of course.

He can't even bring himself to push Madeline off. He's too focused on Geneva to move his own body, and when he watches the way she just smiles and turns on her heel like it's nothing, he recoils. It stuns him. It's as if she's just witnessed something as ordinary as rain beginning to fall.

He can finally bring himself to move, and shoves himself past Madeline who just loiters aside. He'll deal with her later— if he can. With only his sight set on Geneva, who is sprinting ahead in the distance, he tracks her down like he's following his prey.

"Geneva," he calls after her, frustrated that she won't just stop walking for a moment.

She's walking so fucking fast, he can hardly keep up. She could barely stand up earlier, how is it that she is now fleeing so quickly?

"Geneva."

She won't look back. Won't stop bloody storming off. He feels his anger exceed him. Keeps his cool for now. If only he still had his wand, he would freeze her in her place. Stupid fucking Ministry.

They've reached the party scene once again and all he can do now is observe from behind as she crosses the room, darting straight for her husband. He knows exactly what she's going to do the moment he sees her by Nott's side. He hovers in the doorway, watching as his chest sears rather agonisingly. The sensation sickens him. It's not a feeling he's accustomed to.

It only worsens when the image he'd anticipated becomes reality, and Geneva grabs her husband's face to hers, kissing him forcefully. He knows she's only shoving it in his face— this is what I can make you feel. And he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing he watched that happen. Knowing how it made him want to storm across the room and skin Nott alive in front of every single pretentious prick here.