the trial ; d.m

8

"Where did you— Did he say that?"

She doesn't respond, her eyebrows knitted closely together.

"We'll talk about this later. I'm starving," he says, grinding his jaw. She stands still as he strolls past her, stubbornly staying put. He stops short and sighs, "Just come get some grub, will you?"

"I've eaten," she lies, storming away from him, determined to seclude herself.

She does not talk to Theodore after that. Not for the rest of the night, not when he tries to make conversation with her in the morning, checking to see if she's still holding a grudge.

It's the feeling of betrayal that makes her feel worse. Theodore had promised her from the moment Malfoy arrived, if anything bad happens he'd be sure to act on it.

His heart is simply too kind to restrict Malfoy to the East Wing. He would feel awfully guilty knowing there was a prisoner in his house, despite the truth of it. And poor hospitality, whether or not they be a criminal, is Theodore's worst nightmare.

But when Geneva doesn't see Malfoy for the next few days, she thinks that Theo got over himself and actually did right for his household.

She's too plagued to ask him, and resigns to petty ignorance whenever he's near.

"Ok, I've had enough," Theodore groans when he slips into bed beside her one night. "You haven't talked to me in four days. I'd not like to make that a week."

She says nothing.

"Gen, please. I'm so sorry. I hate this. I hate that you won't speak to me, I don't like that you're angry."

She takes a deep, heavy breath so he knows she's listening although she's facing the other way.

It takes her by surprise when his arms loop around her waist and he nestles himself into her.

"Please talk to me. This is fucking torture."

Another heavy breath.

"Look, if you want, tomorrow I'll take the day off work. We can go to Diagon Alley and grab you a new wand from Ollivander's."

"I'm not a child, Theo. I can get my own wand."

"Of course, honey. I know, I know. But I'd like to spend the day with you."

She feels his breath on her shoulder and it makes her skin prickle amidst the closeness. His lips press over the place, patching her with kisses.

"Forgive me," he breathes.

She shrugs him off, continuing to wallow in her own bitterness.

"Go to sleep," she says, firmly. She changes her tone in the last second. "Or you'll be too tired."

***

It's been a while since Geneva's been to London.

She used to be there all the time. Muggle London anyway. After all, it's where she was born and raised, where she'd memorised the neighbourhoods and high streets and shops and parks and alleys of her childhood.