26th October 2002
Geneva thought that with the arrival of the Autumn months, the weather getting progressively chillier and the days getting shorter, her plans would be limited. Isolation from society would surely be bliss.
But her acquaintances— whether you can even call them that— have had other arrangements in mind.
During the evening, when she would usually be preoccupied with a good book and other homely comforts, these were replaced by dining at this and that rich person's estate, or this expensively luxurious restaurant.
The urge to decline these invitations each and every time tempted her so persistently. However, her neglect of their company would only be frowned upon. She would be shunned as a cold, reserved woman until the day she becomes old and frail, when age would eventually replace the excuse for her hostile attitude.
But the only way to not be belittled and patronised by the superiority complexes of these respectable people is to treat them with such hostility. Twenty two years old, Geneva is and she presents herself with the mannerisms and behaviour of a middle-aged woman when she's around them. It's the only way to gain their esteem.
Theodore encourages her. He likes to see her around people, not so alone and content with her solitude. His determination to make her a proper lady irks her beyond belief. Though her love for him resolves any frustrations.
She sees as much of Malfoy these days as she sees of her own parents. None at all. And she's surely glad of it.
Since that night when their proximities had become too overbearingly close and threatening, she hasn't caught a single glimpse of him. She was sure she had hated him before, but that was nothing compared to the disgust she holds for him now.
The mere audacity to snap a Witch's wand like that without batting an eye of bother made her ill. And his satisfaction that had driven his motives that night when impaling the tip of the wand into her flesh gave her the gloomiest feeling.
It would be naïve to say that he wouldn't have killed her that night.
If she had pushed him any further, Theodore would have been finding her body strewn across the floor, ashen and limp.
But in the grand scape of the Manor, she's managed to avoid him. Or he's purposefully kept away from her. Several times she's felt inclined to ask Theodore whether Malfoy was actually still with them. And each time she stops herself when noting that it would likely suggest she cares.
Instead she sought Bigsby for a small word and enquired about Malfoy to which he responded, "Mister Malfoy never leaves the East Wing, Mistress. Bigsby thinks the mister is locked away by Master Nott, but the master is saying otherwise."
Of course, Theodore made it very clear that Malfoy would still live under their hospitality for the time being, even though Geneva disapproved. Banishing him to the East Wing seems a likely alternative.
But such peace can only last so long, and even then, the very thought of Malfoy still existing within the walls of the Manor interrupt this contentment.
After several evenings and brunches and shopping trips with the company of Geneva's acquaintances, it eventually comes to be her turn to host. Theodore gave her the idea of a luncheon and never has she felt so Victorian. Although, despite what would be believed, Wizard folk do seem to live several centuries behind the common Muggle.
After all, why on earth would anyone need a telephone or a bit of decent technology when magic exists? Geneva amuses herself with the sarcasm of this question frequently. We have owls for fucks sake!
"Where on earth do you keep all of your portraits, Geneva?" Is one of the first questions asked by Elaine only minutes after they've been invited inside.
"We don't have any," she states, earning a few raised eyebrows and discreet looks of judgement. "Well, Theodore has a few in his study. But we prefer paintings."
"Muggle art is so bland in comparison to the work of Wizards, I always thought," Nancy chimes, sounding all too proud.
"Not if you find the right pieces. Though I suppose taste is subjective."
"Of course, yes, of course." Nancy forms the most artificial smile, taking a sip of her tea.
"Are there no relatives, no ancestors you would want to display on your walls?" asks Elaine. She immediately corrects herself, however, when realising the person she's speaking to. "Any of Theodore's for that matter?"
"Yes. In his study there are a few," she reestablishes, feeling utterly drained already.
What is it with these women and their incessant interest and critique in her interior decorum?
"Well, I think you have a lovely home. Just the way it is. You are both too critical for your own good," Madeline affirms, giving Geneva a reassuring smile. She thanks her, ignoring the strange looks from the other women.
When they dine with the Caesar salad whipped up by the House elves, the ladies enthuse on the splendid quality of the meal, ostensibly finding nothing to make critical comments on.
The entire time, Geneva senses the women are on edge. As if they were expecting something terrible to happen, or dreading the presence of another.
This is only confirmed when the infamous killer strides into the room, wittingly, his eyes collecting in the group of women in front of him from the moment he's entered.
After their horrified stares at him and appalled glances to one another, Geneva sees a smirk crawl upon his face and she feels absolutely vile.
As if this godforsaken lunch couldn't get any worse and Malfoy decides to show himself— alive and very free to walk about the house where he pleases. These women will gossip. The Nott's are keeping him as a guest, not as a prisoner. Where's the retribution in that?
And the irony being the first time he decides to confirm his presence in the Manor to Geneva is when they have company. A rare occurrence no doubt.
"Apologies. I had no idea we had company," he smirks, his eyes finding Geneva, capturing her glare for a brief moment before they wander off elsewhere.
None of them say a word, the horrified silence speaking for itself.
Geneva clears her throat. "Well yes, we do. Now please take yourself away."
He grabs a glass of water, sips at it while he carefully studies the table, eyes lingering on Madeline who's nervously fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
"Malfoy." He smirks again and takes himself out of the room.
The women are quick to look away, except Madeline who can't seem to shake his stare that he holds.
"Geneva, isn't he condemned to a–a dungeon?" Elaine asks, clearly sick with unease.
"We don't have a dungeon."
"No alternative of the sort? I mean considering what he's done, it seems outrageous that he should be walking about the place freely."
Speak to my husband if it concerns you so much, is what she wants to say. "It is outrageous, I know," she says instead.
"He looks different to the picture in the papers, don't you think?" Madeline says after a moment. "Different in person, I mean."
"Photographs have a way of telling lies, Maddy." Nancy assures. "It isn't surprising that he should be more handsome in person."
"That's what you think?" Elaine scoffs.
"No—I just—"
"My, Nancy, if it's murderers you want then I'm sure the line is not very long. Please, do ditch your husband and drive yourself to hell if it's what you want."
"All I said was I thought he was handsome, Elaine. There is nothing in admiring someone's looks. Don't be so uptight."
"Uptight? I'll have you know, I had friends at that party that he decided to blow up! Friends who died. And–and you sit here drawling over this–this monster! With the knowledge of everything he has done. You disgust me, Nancy." Elaine snatches her napkin from her lap and whips it onto the table, hysterical. "Thank you for this lunch, Geneva, but I must leave now."
She gives Nancy one last repulsed look, rushes into the foyer of the Manor and they hear a crack as she apparates.
"Am I so wrong?" Nancy asks. "It's not like I confessed love or anything. I merely commented upon his looks. I mean you can't deny it. He's not ugly."
"Perhaps it was rather insensitive," replies Madeline.
They sit in silence for a few beats, enduring an awkward tension. Geneva feels like she's choking.
"Thanks for coming but I think it's time you left," she says, particularly aware of how cold she sounds while she stands to clear the plates.
"Right, yes of course."
She waits for them to apparate and the moment they do after giving their sincere apologies, Geneva storms out of the dining room, only to find Malfoy lingering in the hallway.
She stops shortly in front of him, feels the need to spit, kick him and scream. Simply to take her frustrations out on him. But she calms herself down and speaks bitterly.
"You've ruined my lunch."
He laughs, "Oh please, I think I did you a blessing. I could feel your reluctance to be there the moment I walked in. You were practically trying not to explode. You wanted them here no more than you want me here."
"You frightened those women."
He laughs again.
"I established my presence and I triggered them. I don't think I did anything wrong."
"You just don't get it do you? There are people in this society whose friends, whose family members you killed and you don't have one sorry word to say about it. They see you here, walking around where you please when they want to see you suffering. There is no reason why anyone wouldn't hate you, Malfoy. I have no idea why you act so oblivious."
"Is that why you hate me so much? Did I kill someone you were close to?"
"It's your lack of remorse that I hate so much. Your inability to acknowledge the wrong in your actions. You killed people and now you laugh about it as if it's nothing. You're a monstrosity and you see no reason to deter anyone from that."
"You didn't answer my question."
"No. You didn't kill anyone close to me."
"So you hate me because you fear me? You're afraid of what I might do to you."
She hesitates for a moment, trying to ignore the amused expression on his face.
"I think I have every reason, considering..."
He stares at her. She sighs, and waits for him to figure it out. It clicks.
"Ah yes, our little falling out. I forgot all about that."
She changes the subject. "What I wanna know is why you decide to show yourself now when we have company after weeks of hiding away?"
"I was intrigued. We never have company. And it was all too amusing to see you entertain those women. Never in a million years did I think I'd find you associating with such upperclass snobs."
"You're so sure that you know me."
"I remember you. Can't have changed that much."
"You'd be surprised."
"What would you like me to do then, Riddle?" he smirks.
"For a start, when we have company you have to stay away unless told otherwise. You can't go around terrifying our guests. Even if it is with your presence alone."
"Considering what those women were discussing, they can't have been too frightened," he chuckles, pointedly. "Apparently I'm handsome. That doesn't make me sound as grotesque as you tell me I am."
"Yes well, those women weren't nearly impaled by their own wands. I reckon if that had been the case they'd be thinking of you as I do."
"Fair enough. How is the new wand? Working wonders?"
"It's fine," she answers, firmly. She doesn't want to make small conversation with Malfoy. Wants to keep him as this villainous version that he's so determined to present himself as. "Now do me a favour and go back to being invisible."
"I wouldn't do you any favours even if you begged for it, Riddle. Don't you know me at all?"
"Clearly not." And she certainly doesn't want to know him.
With that she takes herself away, leaving him among the shadows of the dimly lit corridor.