the trial ; d.m

7

"Oh please don't pretend like you haven't been following me around all day, Malfoy. Every room I walk into you're there."

"Apologies, Mrs Nott," he grins and her breath catches when hearing Theodore's name coming from his mouth. "I would take myself for a stroll somewhere on your beautiful grounds, but you see how shite it is out there and I'd rather keep my hair dry if you don't mind."

She scoffs, humoured by his response. His eyes return to the paper.

"You'd really think that a few years away from civility and decorum would rough you up a bit. Forget how to live like a snobbish prick."

"Seventeen years of preparation to be the perfect aristocrat heir, take the throne of the Malfoy line—you'd never forget a thing like that," he grins. "No matter how many lives you've taken or people you've maimed. Believe me."

He sets the paper down and continues.

"I can see you've learned a little thing or two though. I still find it funny. I would never have pictured you here. None of us could."

"What do you mean?"

"Well—we figured Nott would've popped the question eventually. Especially after his parents were shut away and he became Lord of the Manor." His tone is ridiculing. "Parkinson, Zabini and a few others figured you would've fucked off once the war was over. Ditched him or something."

He stands from his seat at the kitchen counter and slowly creeps towards her. He stops shortly, keeping his distance acceptable yet rather unsettling.

"I knew you better. Yeah, you went throughout all of school insulting us entitled arseholes, surely you'd never want to be one of us? Oh, but Nott whisked you off of your feet, didn't he?"

"Get to the point, Malfoy," she seethes through her teeth impatiently.

"Ah it's nothing much really. I just think you saw the opportunity there with Nott— one of the richest Wizard's in Britain had fallen completely in love with you, and thought it would be the perfect way to get out of that scatty care home you spent your summers in."

Geneva just stares. Pathetically.

She's lost for words. Can't find the correct way to move her tongue that will enable her to speak.

She never thought anyone knew where she'd stayed in the summer. Not that it mattered much. She had never even told Theodore, only to save herself the sympathy from their condescending superiority when it came to wealth.

"And look at you now. Geneva Nott, Theo's lovely little wife. Too bad you married him for the wrong reasons."

"How original of you," she rolls her eyes, trying to appear as unbothered as he could be when she tries to insult him. "I was never as wealthy as any of you therefore I must be some scheming, advantage-seeking crone."

His grotesque smirk doesn't falter.

"I find your judgement absurd considering everything you've done. You're hardly allowed to have an opinion of me."

"What because I murdered half a county? Fifty-odd fucking people and you call that half a county," he laughs, manically. "I wish it had been half a county, then I'd really have something to brag about."

"You're vile," she grimaces.

"But I was merely stating the truth, wasn't I? I mean that must have been tough when your parents abandoned you after learning you're a witch. Filthy Muggles," he spits. "Guess that's what turned you into such a sour, rich-hating bitch."