3rd February 2003
Strange as the past few days have been for Geneva due to the feeling of unease around her husband, subtly avoiding Malfoy and occasionally sneering at him whenever their eyes should meet, she's found it surprisingly easy to deal with.
It's become so normal to her now, feeling tense within her own house. Not threatened. Not anymore. But tense, nevertheless.
The abnormal silence between herself and Theodore has become unbearable, as if their marriage is currently held together by a single thread, but neither will admit that fact. They speak, they act like nothing is wrong, when truthfully everything probably is. Geneva feels it anyway.
She feels it each time Theodore looks at her. It's as if he's glancing upon something as mundane as a brick in the wall when his eyes fall upon her face. And it's like a crippling fist around her heart. Every time. Drowning her lungs in her body's own blood. Suffocating. Killing.
But all the same, they act as if nothing is the matter. All except for Malfoy, of course.
He observes them, he takes his spite out on Geneva, smug in her face behind Theodore's back. And each time reminding her of the irrevocable, inescapable desire for more than the taste of those stupid, soft lips.
But she mustn't think of it. She knows all too well by now that forbidden desires are the ones that are to be desired most. And she won't let them win her.
She loves Theodore. She will make things thrive between the two of them, even if she has to kill in order to protect what they have. Even if that means ridding their lives of any other parties.
Because this is all she has. It's all she'll ever have.
On this particularly crisp February morning, Geneva takes to travelling into Appleby to grab herself some more seeds for their gardens, and when she shares this with Theodore over breakfast, he makes the bold suggestion that she takes Malfoy with her.
"That's not necessary, is it?" she asks, evident bother in her tone. "I'm only popping there for an hour or so."
"Come on, Gen, he hasn't left the Manor in a while. You'll be alright with him."
"I know that. But can't you come along at least?" she pleads, subtly, truthfully not wanting to be left alone with Malfoy in the middle of Appleby.
He gives her a disappointed look which just makes her feel stupid.
"You know I can't. I'm working until late tonight. Please just— be reasonable."
She rolls her eyes and a disgusted sound escapes her. There's that tone again. That irritating parental tone.
"Theo, please don't speak to me as if I'm a child."
"I'm not, darling, I—" he shakes his head, grabbing gently onto her hand. "I just think it would be good. For both of you."
"Why are you so adamant for Malfoy and I to be friendly? Is it not enough that I tolerate him, that I can be civil?"
Before he can make any reply, Malfoy strolls into the room, clearly having just been listening outside to their conversation. Theo turns to him immediately.
"How would you feel about going into Appleby today?" he asks, a civilised smile on his face.
Malfoy glances at Geneva, assessing her expression and grins. "I would be delighted."
"Fine," Geneva sighs, standing from the table to grab her things. "Get ready. I'm leaving in five minutes."
Five minutes later, he's smartly clad in his usual plain black robes which he wears so familiarly with a frustrating balance between sophistication and edge. He somehow always manages to look as if he's just peeled himself from the bloody cover of Witch Weekly. Smug twat.
She drops the barrier spell which surrounds the Manor and he clasps onto her arm as they apparate into Appleby.
"We're not here for long. I only need to grab a few bits and then we'll be going back. Don't get too comfortable," she says as they march through the small lanes towards the town centre.
"Yes ma'am," he smirks, following her.
Malfoy's unusually quiet for the most part, only speaking when necessary, not nattering sarcastic remarks as he usually does when trying to wind her up.
The first place she leads them into is the flower market where the florist Madame Avery is busy at her days work. Geneva manages to find most of the plants and seeds that were on her list, however her favourites were no longer in stock which is disappointing.
Once they leave the flower market, Malfoy suggests they go for a drink in Billywig's Brew, however Geneva denies him, no longer wanting to spend another moment in his presence despite his strangely good behaviour.
"Come on, Riddle. It's been a while since I've had a nice cold brew."
"I don't give a toss."
"You just don't want us to be seen together. What would people say?" he chuckles to himself. "We haven't actually fucked, Riddle."
She turns to him immediately, aghast at what has just come out of his mouth.
"Yet anyway."
Without thinking, she grabs at his shirt and throws him against the brick wall of the alley way they're currently venturing down. He falls back against it, winding himself. She digs her wand into his throat, threateningly.
"Don't say another fucking thing like that otherwise I'll rip your tongue out, I mean it!"
His eyes widen, but all the same he just looks amused. She digs her wand deeper against his windpipe, making him cough. He throws his arms up defensively.
"Fuck me, Riddle, alright. Alright."
"Just— don't!"
"I'm only teasing. You know that?"
She stares at him, blankly.
"Don't," she repeats.
Geneva draws her wand back and carries on down the alley way, only hearing Malfoy follow behind her moments later.
As she passes by Billywig's, she experiences a sudden change of heart and feels an immense craving for something to drink.
But when she's about to enter the pub, she nearly collides with another Wizard who's exiting and immediately as she apologises and looks up at the figure, she stills.
"No worries, love— Oh, it's you," the gnarly grin of Rhydian Crain reveals itself in front of her. "You're Nott's woman, aren't ya?"
She says nothing, feeling completely reluctant to say a word to this man. She feels Malfoy's presence behind, and he looms over her as if he's her personal guard. Relief floods in, she feels ashamed to admit it.
The excitement in Crain's eyes dims.
"Ah, Malfoy. What a pleasure it is again," he snarls, looking both down at Geneva and up to Malfoy.
Malfoy just nods curtly, a blunt greeting, his eyes brooding and sinister.
"Where's Nott at today then?" he asks, lingering in the doorway, prohibiting their entry.
Malfoy steps in front of Geneva and for some reason this irks her despite her desperate desire to get away from Crain.
"None of your concern, Crain. Could you move aside please so myself and Mrs Nott can grab a drink?"
Crain hesitates for a moment, still grinning, showing each silver and golden tooth. The air between them is awfully tense. "Oh yeah, of course, mate. My sincerest apologies."
When he moves and Malfoy steps inside, Crain gives Geneva an eyeful, almost licking his lips with the most grotesque satisfaction as she passes, grimacing.
"Good job you didn't come alone," Malfoy says quietly as they perch up at the bar. His hand tenses visibly into a fist, the whites of his bones showing through his pale sheen of skin.
"I would have been fine," she says in an unbothered way.
He scoffs as if it's the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.
"Didn't you see how he was looking at you, Riddle? Come on, I wouldn't have picked you as the naive type."
"Of course I saw. I see it all the time. You men are all the same."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, his tone slightly offended. "You're not saying I look at you in that way?"
"You have done. In the past."
She expects him to come back with something witty but instead he says nothing. Just bites his tongue and stiffens his jaw, allowing silence to linger uncomfortably.
"Two firewhiskey's please," Geneva says to the barman, meanwhile aware of Malfoy's eyes on her. She slaps the cash into his hand and takes the drinks.
She can't resist the temptation of curiosity and presses. "Why do you sound so surprised? It shouldn't be news to you that you have made me feel that way."
"I didn't know," is all he says.
She carries on.
"What do you mean 'you didn't know'? Would it have changed a thing? Would it have made you treat me differently? My, Malfoy, I would not have expected you to care about such things."
"Well, maybe I'm not as damn monstrous as you pick me out to be!" he snaps, slamming his hand down onto the table, making her flinch.
She falls into silence, feeling the urge to defend her statement, and simultaneously writhing with an uncomfortable guilt felt only once before for him. The same guilt endured that night when Pansy and Blaise came for dinner, when she heard him speak from deep within for the first time, when they drank together late into the night, when their lips touched, when she experienced those desperate pressings of desire.
Enough.
"Maybe you're not," she shrugs, lifting her mug of firewhiskey to her lips and abandons any decorum with a chug. He watches her, carefully.
Not long after their drinks, they leave the tavern, deciding they have quite clearly run out of things to talk about for now without forcing themselves to discuss the only thing they want to.
As they stroll along the cobbled road, Geneva notices Madame Avery peeking out of the flower market shop, attempting to catch her attention. She goes over to the florist leaving Malfoy to hover alone momentarily.
"Mrs Nott, I forgot to say when you were here earlier that I have a delivery coming this late afternoon for those seeds you wanted. If you have a chance to come by, they'll be here," she smiles.
"Oh great! I have no plans for the rest of the day so yes I'll definitely come. Thank you so much."
When they leave Madame Avery, Malfoy chuckles. "Coming all the way back here for a bunch of seeds?"
"They are very popular, hence why they're never in stock when I go to buy them. I'll take my chances," she defends, ignoring his judgement.
"Whatever makes you happy."
The moment they apparate back to the Manor, neither remains in the other's company. Malfoy strolls off elsewhere as soon as they get inside.
All resides quiet in the Manor. Still and silent. It is odd how isolation can make one feel. And isolation with another who seems to act more like a ghost than a living person only increases the obscurity.
Geneva mostly floats around for most of the day, leaning into one interest and the next without much commitment, simply letting her whims control her. And when the late afternoon finally emerges, she goes alone to Appleby, feeling herself in a rather animated mood.
Madame Avery welcomes her inside and to her satisfaction the hydrangea seeds are there as promised. She takes quite a few bags, and thanks the florist for her kindness, leaving the flower market.
As she wanders down the lanes, she fancies a drink rather than returning home and follows this whim to the brewery. After a few tankards of mead, Geneva grows extremely fatigued and feels intoxicated from the heightened buzzing sensation in her brain.
She wanders out of the brewery and down the lanes of Appleby as it approaches the twilight hours and the moon peaks out, casting a gloomy shadow upon the world around her.
As Geneva leads herself forwards with a slightly drunken haze about her, she pulls out her wand to disapparate from Appleby. However, the moment she pulls her wand out a grown figure trudges around the corner and stops in front of her abruptly.
It's Rhydian Crain, snarling down at her as if he's known she were to appear before her at this precise moment.
She stares up at him, completely puzzled and doesn't so much as break a sweat in spite of his lewd smirk which so many men such as him like to wear around women.
"Ahh, look who it is. Twice in one day, it must be a lucky one," he grins, flashing his full set of mismatched coloured teeth.
She cringes and attempts to turn away, but he embarks his presence upon her, quite obviously taking advantage of the fact that she's alone. No bodyguard beside her tonight.
"Is there something you want, Crain?" Geneva almost hisses, avoiding his vulgar stare.
"Hmmm, that's a question," he chuckles. "There are plenty of things I want, darlin'."
She swallows back the bile in her throat.
"Lovely. If you don't mind, I'll just be on my way."
She steps forwards, but he throws his arm out and halts her with the thrust of his hand on her shoulder. She stutters, shocked.
"I wasn't finished, love," he says, sounding almost offended. "That's quite rude, you know. To walk away from someone when they're speaking to you. Thought you would have learned some manners by now in that big house of yours."
She says nothing, biting down on her tongue, not knowing what to do next.
"You see, darlin', you're husband owes me something. Something big. He stole from me, you know? This great fucking grand life you and him have, could've been mine."
"And what would you like me to do about that?"
"Well that's the thing," Crain grins, practically drawling like a ravenous hyena. "I've had my eye on you for a while, you know? Nott stole what should belong to me. I don't see why I shouldn't take what's his. When it's right in front of me."
She bursts into a raucous laugh, a reaction too abrupt to be stopped, but certainly foolish in this situation. "Excuse me?"
He edges closer to her, she can't find her feet to move. In a moment such as this, she could never prepare herself for it. The fear that crawls up within her suffocates every sensation. She's blinded by it. The unfamiliarity of fear. Though she ought to have been fearful every single day of her life.
Geneva turns immediately in attempt to dodge herself out of his reach, but he's too quick. With one harsh shove, she's knocked back against the wall.
She tries to raise her wand but he knocks it out of her hand and onto the ground. And when she feels it slip, her heart breaks for herself slightly. Because she knows the worst is about to happen.
And in these next few moments, she believes she's stopped existing. Simply looking upon herself struggle against this monster as if from another's perspective. As if she's watching a film and something so awful is happening to the character, yet she can do absolutely nothing except sit and watch hopelessly. Wishing to help, but is all the same helpless.
Though instead of just observing, she can feel it. She can feel exactly what is happening to this character who is enduring such torture. Because it is her. And it is many women.
As she struggles against him, fighting, scratching, doing everything in her power to hoist him away from her, he continues to pin her against the cobbled wall, trying with all desperation to break every piece of her.
But she will not break today.
She takes her chance as soon as she finds one and with a quick motion she flinches her knee upwards and jolts it into his groin, forcing him to recoil. But this only exceeds his anger.
Though Geneva finds herself one step ahead as she yanks hold of the dagger she keeps strapped around her ankle and without giving it a fleeting thought, stabs it between his shoulder blades. Once. Twice. Again and again.
His screams fill the air, but she silences him with a simple charm and throws him off of her to the ground, allowing his blood to splatter against the stone beneath. But he doesn't want to give up without a fight when he starts silently spelling out healing charms for the stab wounds which slowly begin to heal in front of her eyes.
She doesn't linger for a second longer before she disapparates.
Geneva crashes onto her hands and knees, finding herself in the foyer of the Manor. A heaving breath fills her chest. A breath so painful, so heavy, she feels she will internally implode.
Her palms sink into the cold marble beneath and she chokes on her cries, trying to be silent so no one will find her. Although she knows Theodore isn't even going to be home yet, she doesn't want to be heard.
When she lifts her hands, blood stains the tiles and she instantly clears these with the waver of her wand.
She picks up the dagger from where it had fallen from her hand and squeezes it severely, until it feels as if the handle will bruise her palm.
She clutches onto her chest where the fabric of her gown has torn down one side, exposing the red raw scratches she can't bring herself to look at. She feels the deep, haunting imprint of his hands. Tries to ignore it.
When Geneva drags herself to the kitchen to obtain a soaked cloth and any healing supplies she can find, the echo of footsteps sounds through the silence. She's shivering profusely, uncontrollably.
"Where've you been?" Malfoy asks in his usual teasing, humorous tone.
She says nothing. She can't.
Just remains facing away from him, clutching her chest, not wanting him to see. Desperate for him to disappear.
She busies herself with the essence of dittany, her hand shaking as she applies it onto her wounds.
He hovers for a moment, just waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she doesn't, he strolls over to her, places a hand on the back of her shoulder and she flinches away, letting out a small cry.
He just gapes at her, shock horror. He eyes the explicit place of harm over her chest and stiffens, eyes blackening. She pulls her gaze from his, tears leaking from her eyes like ink bleeding from a quill. She attempts to cover her chest.
"What happened?" he asks, tone unusually gentle but clipped.
She shakes her head, pursing her lips and squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn't want him to see her like this. Fragile. Helpless.
Malfoy reaches out a hand, withholding his touch. She looks up at him and he seems to be asking for permission. She nods and he takes the cloth soaked in dittany from her trembling hand.
There's a still silence between them as he wipes the cloth along her arms. And it continues as he takes her pip-pet of dittany and allows it to drip over the wounds on her chest. She sucks in a sharp breath and endures the stinging sensation.
His thumb then brushes over the red fingerprint marks which splatter the top of her arm and covers them with his hand. He waits a few more silent beats and sighs.
"Who did this to you?"
She can't bring herself to speak.
His thumb wipes at the tears falling down her cheek. She shudders, but doesn't resist.
He repeats himself.
"Who did this to you, Geneva? Give me the name."
And she's not sure if it's due to the first time hearing her name on his tongue that possesses her to reveal to him, "Rhydian Crain."
He nods, a melancholy look in his eyes.
She watches as he appears to be debating with himself internally, his jaw clenched.
"Bigsby," he summons the house elf, who appears in an instant. "Please could you take Mrs Nott to her chambers and run her a hot bath. And bring her tea."
Bigsby stares between them for a moment, puzzled at whether to take orders from Malfoy. Geneva nods and the house elf takes hold of her hand.
She glances back at Malfoy, both sharing a look that holds so many words. With the waver of her wand, she allows the barriers on the Manor to fall.
And as she and Bigsby take the stairs, she hears the front doors of the Manor open and close.