the trial ; d.m

29

12th April 2003

Geneva has always had the feeling that time was wasting away on her. That her life will pass by her without having actually happened. A confusing thought, but something that makes sense to her. She imagines herself as an aged, withered woman sometimes, perhaps with a child or two of her own— some grandchildren even. And only having this offspring to show for what she has achieved in her life.

She knows it's not necessarily a bad thing. Motherhood can be beautiful and she'd like to have her own children one day if the circumstances are right. But not before actually doing something with her life. The achievement of becoming a mother alone is not for her. She needs more. Wants more.

What if that is all? she thinks.

It's a constant dialogue within her, and it scares her each time the thoughts emerge. That sinking feeling that she knows she should be doing more, feeling more, living for more.

Since the morning after her birthday soirée, when she had the misfortune of awaking alone in Draco's bed with a wrench and a pang through her entire body, she knew she wanted different out of this life. That nostalgic feeling of unrealistic hopes and dreams that she experienced in her earlier youth has returned and it clings to her heart, effervescently.

She still couldn't entirely remember what had happened that night, and why she ended up in his bed without him in it. Whatever it was, Draco has been cold and curt with her ever since. He hardly even looks her in the eye now. Though she hasn't confronted him about it yet in fear for what she may find out.

Besides, nothing has really resolved in her point of view. She can't look at him in the same way since stumbling upon him and Madeline. It's probably the most humiliated she's ever felt— being completely and utterly shafted like that. This and finding out that the last four years of her life have been built on a treacherous lie.

At least now she's certain of Draco's motives. He'll have anyone who is easily accessible. These past few weeks have felt like agony. She hates to admit it.

Theodore has been acting stranger than usual. This, however, she can summon a guess for the reason. She remembers that much of the dreaded party. She recalls kissing him in front of everyone, hanging off of his arm for the rest of the night, taking him back to bed with her...

But no matter how hard she tries to think of what happened after that, her memory fails her every time. It's as if someone has cast obliviate on her, stripping her of those late night memories. Perhaps it's not something she wants to remember— she doesn't know.

It is late into the evening when Geneva begins to feel weary while absentmindedly painting, noticing how the colours on the canvas appear to blur into one. Over the faint humming of the record player, she hears the sound of apparition echoing down the hallway from the foyer, signalling Theodore's return from work.

She decides not to go and greet him at first and instead packs up her painting supplies, tidying everything away with a neat flick of her wand. Once she puts a rest to the music and places the vinyl back into its case, the raucous singing voice of her husband echoes through the Manor.

"OHHHHHH WHAT A LUCKY, LUCKY LIFE I LIVE!"

He begins slurring the lyrics of one of the old schoolboy anthems that they used to play and sing repeatedly in their common room in fourth year. The professors used to frown upon the song for its lusty nature, which was exactly why everyone loved it. It was a rather vulgar tune that the boys used to bellow incessantly, attempting to wind up the girls.

Theodore obnoxiously yells for the entire estate to hear.

"OHHHHH HOW I ADORE THE PLEASURE YOU GIVE!"