29th January 2003
Geneva waits vacantly in the drawing room, perched upon one of the sofas, and grips onto her wine glass in anticipation as they await the arrival of their guests for the evening.
She glances over at Theodore who is sitting across the room, eyes scanning today's addition of The Daily Prophet. A vague benign feeling rushes through her as she spectates him and she thinks for a moment that she senses his own discomfort in the company they are awaiting.
Her attention is caught by Malfoy who strolls into the room to pour himself a drink, having just finished his last. He takes a mouthful of his whisky, then takes a moment to survey the room, appearing rather unsettled.
"Did someone die? It's awfully quiet in here." He strolls over across the floor and positions himself on the seat beside Geneva. He turns to her and says, "You look as if you've been petrified."
"This is what peace looks like, Malfoy," Theo returns without glancing up from his paper.
"Bloody hell, I wouldn't wanna enter your heaven if this is what peace looks like to you."
He sits back, crossing one leg over the other, spreading himself out beside her probably to make her feel even more uncomfortable than she already does.
"What time are our old chums arriving?" he asks, an air of humour in his tone. She can tell he's slightly drunk in the way he's unusually more playful than normal.
"Seven," Geneva replies. "Behave yourself, will you?"
"I always behave, Riddle."
"Why do you still call her that?" Theo asks suddenly, peering up from the newspaper. He doesn't sound irritated. He sounds genuinely interested, though there may be a hint of confrontation. But Theo is never one to be confrontational.
Malfoy just stares at him, appearing rather confused. Caught off guard by the question.
"What d'you mean?"
"Why do you still call Gen that– Riddle?"
He says nothing. It doesn't matter.
"Because it bugs me," she replies for him, finishing off her glass of wine and standing from the sofa to relieve herself of this odd moment.
"And that is how I've always known her," he affirms.
Theo nods and glances back down to his paper.
Before exiting the room, Geneva throws Malfoy a quizzical glance but he ignores this and swallows down another gulp of whiskey. The air is unusually tense and she feels far from figuring out why.
She's about to head down to the wine cellar when the doorbell chimes and a few seconds later hears the array of voices coming from the foyer. She ignores the irritable dread which is brewing within her gut and forces on her elegant façade, embodying Lady of the Manor.
"Geneva," Pansy Parkinson greets, offering a gracious smile as she kisses her cheeks. "You look divine."
"As do you," Geneva returns, amazed by Pansy's effort of dress choice. She's clad in a verdant green slip gown with an open slit in the leg and appears completely unchanged since the last time they met. Perhaps except for the caramelised tint of tan in her skin that evidently reveals they've just returned from a lavish trip abroad.
Her arm is wrapped around Blaise's, lingering onto him with propriety and affection.
"Theo, you have a lovely home. It's a shame we haven't visited sooner," Pansy strolls forwards, detaching herself from Blaise and passing her scarf and coat to Bigsby.
"Thank you, Pansy," he smiles, appearing to avoid her eyes as she peers up at him with her natural alluring gaze. He turns to Blaise. "How was your trip? We received your postcard. The Andes, was it?"
"Yes, it was brilliant. We visited many sites. You should both go some time," Blaise replies as they follow through into the living room. He continues to tell them about many of the places they travelled to and Pansy chimes in with how romantic it all was.
"It's an appealing idea. Geneva's been begging me to take her away for a while now. But you know what work is like."
"They owe you about forty holidays with the amount of overtime you do, Theo," Geneva says, entering the living room where Malfoy is still lounging on the couch.
Pansy and Blaise stop shortly at the sight, quite obviously shocked to see him here in their company.
"Evening," he smirks, clearly finding amusement in their confusion.
"Oh— hello," Pansy dithers, looking baffled at Theo and Geneva.
"Malfoy is going to join us tonight. I hope that is okay," Theo says, sounding confident.
"Right, yes. I suppose so," she shrugs, resolving herself from appearing anxious.
Geneva can feel the air pressing in on them with the amount of awkward tension there appears to be. Pansy avoids Malfoy's glance altogether, Blaise offers nothing but a nod and Theo is the only one actually upholding humours.
Immediately, they force drinks down them and gradually things seem less tense. Though Geneva's not sure if that's because they genuinely are or if it's just the effect of wine which makes everything seem less serious.
By dinner, they're speaking as if they don't even notice Malfoy's presence, catching up on old memories and for a moment things feel as they are in school again.
The dining room table is set up with the utmost decorum that is always expected of them and the three course meal laid out is calling to be indulged.
Midway through their meals, Pansy gives Blaise an excited look and clears her throat.
"We do have some news," she beams taking hold of his hand. The three of them stare at the couple, already knowing what this news is going to be.
"We're engaged!" Blaise grins, holding up Pansy's hand to reveal a giant diamond rock on her ring finger.
"Wow!" Geneva rejoices, sounding so very shocked. She glances at Theodore and gives him a told you so look, and he raises his brows in return.
"We wanted to tell you in person. You are the first to know," Pansy says, appearing excited but also anxious for approval.
"How very honoured we feel," Malfoy derides, taking a swig of his whiskey. They both ignore him, attention kept on Theo and Geneva.
"Congratulations! When's the date?" Geneva asks.
"July, we're thinking. We want it to be in the summer," she replies, eyes flicking to Theo every few seconds who just seems to be staring.
Blaise begins explaining how he proposed while they were on holiday and makes it sound like the most romantic, dreamy story as if from a novel.
And in the midst of his storytelling, Geneva notices something she feels like she shouldn't have. She catches a look between Theo and Pansy, almost like a stolen glance which urges strange speculations within her. She recalls something in her memory which she has tried to repress, but pushes it away immediately.
No need for that.
Her glance drifts over to Malfoy who's just sitting back observing as she is with the most amusement, as if it's the funniest thing he's ever seen and she cannot figure out why.
He captures Geneva's gaze and returns her with an odd look, but buries his words for now.
"Well I think this calls for champagne, don't you think?" Theo says, finally making himself audible. He pushes away from the table, and leaves for the wine cellar despite being able to just get one of the house elves to retrieve the champagne.
Geneva goes to follow him and is about to before thinking twice about leaving Malfoy alone with them. She pushes her worries away and leaves it for later on, and instead continues to make small talk with the couple.
Theo returns a moment later with the champagne and begins mechanically pouring it into their empty glasses. Saying nothing.
"There's another thing," Blaise says. "Theo, I'd er— I'd like you to be my Best Man."
He pauses, and turns to look at Blaise with a mixture of surprise and hesitation on his face.
"Yeah, of course, mate. I'd be honoured."
He doesn't say much else for the rest of the night after that. Just listens and chimes in every now and then.
While Malfoy also sits there in silence, having been completely ignored the entire night by their guests, there's a sudden change in his humour. The amount of alcohol he's consumed has evidently stirred something within him and Geneva prepares herself for whatever he's about to throw out.
"I saw you both at my trial. Did you enjoy? I hope I made it entertaining enough," he says, snidely.
An awkward silence spreads throughout the room, each holding it like a single thread.
"It was interesting, yes," Pansy replies, without looking at him.
"Not quite the outcome you were expecting?"
"Not quite," Blaise states, blunt.
"You and everyone else I think," he chuckles. "And to think that might have been you in that chair."
"Malfoy," Geneva says, warningly.
"Oh sorry. Have I spoken out of turn?"
"Just– don't."
"It's alright. I'd rather fuck off than sit here any longer and watch you play fucking pretend with each other all night long."
He drains his glass and smacks it down onto the table, spitting, "Goodnight," before he stalks out of the dining room.
"We better be off," Pansy says shortly afterwards, taking her clutch and pushing away from the table. "Thank you for having us. The meal was beautiful."
"We must catch up more often," Geneva says, only to be polite, and bids them both a goodbye while Theo leads the two of them to the foyer.
On her way to bed, Geneva passes by the drawing room where she hears the mellow tones of Debussy playing out and figures they left the music playing earlier on. Only then does she find Malfoy standing vacantly by the record player with his back to her. And he's looking down at something in his hand. But she can't quite see.
That is until she wanders into the room, curiosity driving her to move forward.
Although he must've heard her, he does not waver. Just keeps staring down at the photograph in his hand— the one Pansy and Blaise gifted them for Christmas from Sixth year.
"That was quite the exit you made," she says, her tone oddly light. She doesn't feel like getting into more drama this evening. There is too much on her mind at this present moment.
"Did I ruin your night?" he drawls, no trace of sympathy in his tone. Just mocking.
She shrugs, "I don't think they really cared much."
He scoffs, tosses the photograph back onto the counter and trudges over to his drink.
"What is it?" she asks. She quite suddenly feels like she's crossing a line. Though he's obviously too intoxicated to refrain from answering.
"It's just a load of bollocks," he shakes his head with a sarcastic smile. "The way things have happened. The way things go."
"You mean—"
He cuts her off. "I mean, look at you all. Fucking hell, it's ridiculous. Look at Parkinson for fucks sake. You remember what she was like. Tough as fucking nails. And now— and now she's– she's playing housewife, and— and pretending to like it. Zabini, he's fucking stone like the rest of you. And Theo— don't even get me started. The war, it fucking made everyone into a bunch of half-human voids."
She doesn't say anything. Just lets him speak.
"But Pansy, she used to look up to me you know. Means nothing to me now, but then— back then it meant everything. She fucking idolised me and I never knew why. Because I was a little shit. I still am. But now— tonight she couldn't even look me in my fucking eye, treating me like I'm a bloody fly on the wall. Because I remind her of it. I remind her of everything fucking bad in the world. I remind her of her family. And I remind her that she was supposed to be like me. A little longer and she would have been given the mark. So would Blaise and so would Theo. None of them want to admit that, of course."
He snatches the photograph off of the counter and glances at it for another prolonged moment. He then flays it up in front of him and continues.
"But they look at me now and they fucking remember. And the worst thing is, they pretend that they are so fucking innocent and that I'm the fucking devil, when it should have been them too. It's as if I was given a choice. That night on top of the Astronomy Tower there was no other option. There was nothing else to do. Not when Voldemort told you to do something. You just did it. Because that was better than getting yourself and your entire fucking family killed. And I killed the Greatest Wizard of all time. No one forgets a thing like that. No one would ever forgive it."
He stares straight through her and suddenly she feels many degrees colder. The expression on his face could kill.
"But you know it, Riddle. Because you're the fucking same. You are so sickened by me, and you pretend like you are a saint. Fuck, it makes me hate you so much. But if you had been in my position back then, if any of you were, you would have done the same."
She doesn't quite know what to say once he's finished. He just crashes back onto the sofa and grasps at his glass. Gulps down the whiskey like it's juice.
Without knowing why, she takes the seat beside him and in the silence they just sit.
Because truthfully, there is nothing she can say. Nothing that can make sense of any of this.
And most of all, she can't determine why she doesn't feel as if she should fight him on this. She wants to make a justifiable argument, but can't find it. Can't find the words, or the sense.
Because she believes for a moment, merely for the fraction of a second, that he's actually worth defending.
They remain this way for a moment longer, sitting in this strangely comfortable silence between them, until the needle of the record player reaches the middle of the vinyl and Geneva resigns for the night.