the trial ; d.m

20

Sleep does not want to visit Geneva tonight. Each time she shuts her eyes, the feeling of panic consumes her. The fear. That inescapable fear of losing everything in her pride like a noose around her neck in those few seconds that Crain oppressed her.

When Theodore returns late into the night, he doesn't even notice anything off about her. Probably just assumes she's still being resentful towards him. She doesn't even think about telling him.

So there she lies, eyes wide looking above, studying every crack and patch that's weaved within the ancient ceiling. Simply hearing her husband's steady breaths as white noise, taking absolutely no comfort from them. There's no comfort from anything.

And most painfully, her mind won't rest its train of thought. The only thing she can think about in this moment in order to avoid the fear and the memory is Malfoy.

The way that he helped her, the way that he came to her aid as if it was a necessity, as if it was obvious that he would. Truthfully, she had expected him to laugh, to ruffle her feathers as usual and attempt to humiliate her for not being able to protect herself. But there was none of that.

No, there was a look in his eyes. A terrifying look that she can only imagine is what a victim sees seconds before they are about to be murdered. But with her he was tender, careful. She's never even imagined Malfoy knew how to be tender.

Most pressingly the main thing on her mind is the fact that she let him leave the Manor, unaccompanied.

She gave him the name and he left.

To think of what could happen, to even consider the consequences of Geneva's recklessness could ruin them all. But she attempts to leave these thoughts alone. Saves the worry for the morning.

Eventually she tires of this insomnia and ventures into the bathroom to find a vial of Dreamless Sleep. She usually doesn't like to take these as they always seem to make her extremely fatigued the next day, but in this case she makes an exception.

Once she indulges the liquid, she waits for the effects to kick in, lying with her eyes open until she's forced to close them.

*

As morning follows, Geneva is sitting at the dining room table barely touching her breakfast with a cup of tea alongside it that grows cold with every passing second. She feels sick to her core. Numb. Exhausted from her sleepless night.

And it's only when the Daily Prophet arrives by owl post that her temperament feels worse. Her stomach ties itself in knots, expecting to see the absolute worst in the headlines for today.

She tries to convince herself that perhaps by some miracle, whatever Malfoy had got up to last night when she had granted him temporary escape would be discreet. That it will go unnoticed.

But alas, Malfoy has never been one for discretion.

And there she sees it in bold font under the title of the Daily Prophet, every word practically screaming out of the parchment.

Former Ministry Official, Rhydian Crain found incapacitated, barely alive in the streets of Appleby.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She reads on, biting down on her tongue convulsively.

Late into the night of February 3rd, Rhydian Crain was found crippled by something that can only be explained as an inhumane, insidious attack. The following details of Crain's state include extremely graphic details thus the Daily Prophet advises readers to read on with discretion. Our source describes his injuries as follows: his ribs crushed, spine splintered, legs shattered, completely immobile and tongue ripped from his mouth, leaving him speechless and indefinitely paralysed. It is unknown whether Crain will be able to last it through to the next day. This attack is not one that can be justified as random, but rather it appears personal. Furthermore, no magic was traced at the scene, meaning the attacker must have had motivation to an extremity. Further reports will be made on this case in the following days.