12th April 2003
Geneva has always had the feeling that time was wasting away on her. That her life will pass by her without having actually happened. A confusing thought, but something that makes sense to her. She imagines herself as an aged, withered woman sometimes, perhaps with a child or two of her own— some grandchildren even. And only having this offspring to show for what she has achieved in her life.
She knows it's not necessarily a bad thing. Motherhood can be beautiful and she'd like to have her own children one day if the circumstances are right. But not before actually doing something with her life. The achievement of becoming a mother alone is not for her. She needs more. Wants more.
What if that is all? she thinks.
It's a constant dialogue within her, and it scares her each time the thoughts emerge. That sinking feeling that she knows she should be doing more, feeling more, living for more.
Since the morning after her birthday soirée, when she had the misfortune of awaking alone in Draco's bed with a wrench and a pang through her entire body, she knew she wanted different out of this life. That nostalgic feeling of unrealistic hopes and dreams that she experienced in her earlier youth has returned and it clings to her heart, effervescently.
She still couldn't entirely remember what had happened that night, and why she ended up in his bed without him in it. Whatever it was, Draco has been cold and curt with her ever since. He hardly even looks her in the eye now. Though she hasn't confronted him about it yet in fear for what she may find out.
Besides, nothing has really resolved in her point of view. She can't look at him in the same way since stumbling upon him and Madeline. It's probably the most humiliated she's ever felt— being completely and utterly shafted like that. This and finding out that the last four years of her life have been built on a treacherous lie.
At least now she's certain of Draco's motives. He'll have anyone who is easily accessible. These past few weeks have felt like agony. She hates to admit it.
Theodore has been acting stranger than usual. This, however, she can summon a guess for the reason. She remembers that much of the dreaded party. She recalls kissing him in front of everyone, hanging off of his arm for the rest of the night, taking him back to bed with her...
But no matter how hard she tries to think of what happened after that, her memory fails her every time. It's as if someone has cast obliviate on her, stripping her of those late night memories. Perhaps it's not something she wants to remember— she doesn't know.
It is late into the evening when Geneva begins to feel weary while absentmindedly painting, noticing how the colours on the canvas appear to blur into one. Over the faint humming of the record player, she hears the sound of apparition echoing down the hallway from the foyer, signalling Theodore's return from work.
She decides not to go and greet him at first and instead packs up her painting supplies, tidying everything away with a neat flick of her wand. Once she puts a rest to the music and places the vinyl back into its case, the raucous singing voice of her husband echoes through the Manor.
"OHHHHHH WHAT A LUCKY, LUCKY LIFE I LIVE!"
He begins slurring the lyrics of one of the old schoolboy anthems that they used to play and sing repeatedly in their common room in fourth year. The professors used to frown upon the song for its lusty nature, which was exactly why everyone loved it. It was a rather vulgar tune that the boys used to bellow incessantly, attempting to wind up the girls.
Theodore obnoxiously yells for the entire estate to hear.
"OHHHHH HOW I ADORE THE PLEASURE YOU GIVE!"
Geneva immediately hastens to the lobby, finding him barely upright, feet dragging across the floor with a bottle of mead thrashing about in his hand.
"MY PRETTY, LITTLE WITCH!"
She just stares at him as he spits the lyrics, clearly taking hardly any acknowledgement of her presence.
"YOU MAKE MY WAND TWITCH!"
"Theodore, what are you doing?"
She anticipates the next line, biting down on her tongue in irritation. He turns to her, but lurches his body back and raises his head to the ceiling as if howling like a wolf to a full moon.
"YOU DIRTY, SLUTTY BITCH!"
That line was an addition that the Slytherin boys added as they seemed to have found possessing feelings for any girl a curse at that age. The thought of having a girlfriend at the time was a complete distraction.
Theodore locks his eyes on her, grinning ecstatically. She's hit with the pungent odour of alcohol drenched on him as he nears.
"Oh darling! I'm sorry! Did I disturb you?" he guffaws in her face.
"What are you doing?" she repeats, her expression neutral and relatively bored. "I thought you were at work."
"I was!" he jolts both arms up into the air, some of the mead liquid shooting out the top of the bottle from the abrupt force of his movement. "Until I wasn't."
She's never seen him like this before. Not even in school when he had been very similar any time he was drunk. He's acting like a reckless, trashy schoolboy and it sets her teeth on edge.
He carries on singing, repeating the same tiresome tune. Out of the corner of her eye, emerging from the shadows of the corridor to her right, she sees Draco hovering. He's watching the scene unfold as if on guard.
She doesn't let herself look at him directly.
"MY PRETTY LITTLE WITCH!"
"Come on, that's enough now!" Geneva raises her voice, stepping toward him.
Theodore raises the bottle to his mouth again but Geneva attempts to grab the bottle from his hand. When she does, his face becomes angered with purple and he shoves her away. A full blown shove, causing her to stumble backwards, tripping over the long hem of her gown.
Her hands save her fall and she lands on her backside, winded by the severity. Her chest feels stunned and she can hardly summon a breath.
Immediately, Draco's figure from the shadows rushes forwards and he instinctively places a hand on Geneva's shoulder. He looks down at her a split moment and asks immediately, "You okay?"
She just nods, too in shock to function properly. She glances to Theodore, worried he has bear witness to this small interaction, but he's too busy necking more of the strong substance down. Draco detaches his hand and steps past her towards Theodore.
He peers back at her and whispers, "Go upstairs. I'll take care of it."
Usually she would object, and her stubbornness would say that she's perfectly fine dealing with it herself. But with what just happened, she sees absolutely no reason to object. That's never happened before— not even when he's been absolutely beside himself with anger. Though Theodore was never one to get furious about things. Neither extremely drunk for that matter.
She nods and turns on her heel, briefly peeking back to watch Draco handle him. He's got his arm on Theodore's shoulder who is attempting to shrug him off, but his almost unconscious state prevents him from doing so.
"Ahhhh, Malfoy! Always here to save the day!" Theodore jibes, mockingly. He begins to sound as if he's struggling. "Oi! Get your hands off! This is my house— MINE!"
Geneva ignores the sound of his voice and keeps going, storming straight for her bedchamber. Each step she takes hurts, the pain running from her bottom down to her legs. There's a lump in her throat, but she doesn't allow it to rise.
She paces about her room for a while, unable to let her mind rest due to her shock. But when she concludes that there's no good in dwelling and she needs rest, she gets straight into bed and wraps the covers around her tightly, shutting the world out.
About twenty minutes pass and nothing is working. Nothing is allowing her to sleep. And just to interrupt her attempts, a knock sounds at her door.
She's worried that it's Theodore, though if it is he'd probably be bellowing through the wood right now, or just barging in. She knows who it is and her stomach does a flip.
She rises out of bed and tiptoes over to the door, then opens it slowly, her heart thrumming. There's Draco looming over her, and he doesn't speak at first, almost as if he's lost his tongue.
"Is he okay?" she begins, not looking directly at him.
"He'll be fine." His voice is deep and almost saddened.
She waits a moment, trying to think of something else to say that won't expose how she really feels.
He continues, "Are you okay?"
She hesitates answering him, and sort of just nods, then diverts the conversation. "Any idea what's wrong with him?"
"Well I think this might have something to do with it," he pulls a piece of parchment out of his pocket and hands it to her. "That's why I'm here. Thought you ought to see it."
She notices the handwriting immediately, despite the fact that it's not signed.
Theo,
This cannot go on. If you will deny me in public then this cannot go in secret. I am tired. You must be there for your wife. For your future family.
Let me go.
Geneva folds up the note and passes it back to him, feeling numb and hardly affected by it as she once might have been.
"I suppose he hasn't taken it too well," Draco says, putting it back in his pocket.
"Clearly not."
There's a long silence, she begins to feel uncomfortable. Fills the void. "He's never been like that before— with me."
"You don't need to make excuses for him." His tone is clipped, appearing slightly uninterested.
"No, but I wouldn't want anyone thinking I have been trapped in a—"
She struggles to finish the sentence.
"I know." He cuts her short before she stresses herself out over it. She despises how uneasy he appears, as if all he wants to do is run away.
The two of them hover by the doorframe, meaning to say more, but unable to form the words. Unable to discuss the main thing that ails them both.
Geneva's chest aches with yearning, with frustration and with slight anger. She finds herself wanting to reach out and ask him not to leave her alone tonight. But the avoided eye contact he forges makes it impossible for her to reach him.
"I'll let you get some sleep," he sighs.
She idly watches him turn away, a panicky feeling overcoming her. She doesn't want to be left in her own solitude. She can't be alone. She can't. She can't.
"Draco?"
He turns back, immediately, eyes widened.
"Yeah?"
Say it. Say it. Just say it. Say it.
Her heart thrums, pathetically pining.
Will you stay?
He's just standing there, looking at her as if she's an imbecile. She feels a dagger plunge into her chest. Bites down on her tongue, harshly.
"Goodnight," is all she says, with a weak smile. Another wrench and pang.
He nods, a half smile and she keeps watching as he glides away into the shadows of the night's concealment.