The walk back from Malfoy Manor was a b whirlwind for poor Genevieve, who's heart felt terribly broken and who's spirit masterfully wilted.
Without her trusty goggles, the maturing sun made it damn near impossible to decipher the outline of anything beyond an illegible blob. And the intoxicating effects of the dozen or so healing potions she'd been shooed off with only exacerbated the problem.
Like a kidnapped windchime the glass vials filled with bioluminescent pink liquid were all making themselves known in the dragonhide satchel they'd come in, now hanging loosely from her shoulder.
She found herself humming along to their palaver tintinnabulation, blindly running straight into trees.
Narcissa had firmly warned her not to exceed ingesting more than two per hour, as the drams were of the highest possible pedigree afforded on the market and tended to produce a euphoric, drunken stupor when abused.
Lady Malfoy had obviously had a much better start to her day, foolishly overlooking the reality that to Genevieve - who'd been mocked, robbed, and lacerated in the span of sixty satanic minutes - it was a decidedly perfect opportunity to render oneself day drunk by ten in the morning.
Four of the concentrated brews might've now been downed...
...possibly five...
Well...who was counting...
This was her first time experiencing the lofty haze of fermented spirits, and counting on her fingers was not at the forefront of her priorities. Instead, it was holding together her sloppy footing amongst the tumultuous tree roots.
Her right hand throbbed ferociously as she flexed the wound there on repeat, hoping that the powerful potions would work at a rapid pace.
She'd heard a great many tales of indignities occurring during the trials, but nothing could have prepared her for the venomous delight in Draco's eyes when he'd slashed through the hand she'd specifically asked him not to.
She wondered if it was all witches that he despised and mistrusted so keenly, or if it was merely a personal issue he'd picked with her.
But if that was the case, it was a conundrum as to why.
If anything, Draco's clownish behavior presented to Genevieve's critical acumen as the actions of a young man secretly paranoid, immature and insecure deep down.
It was stupidly unclear if he took the trials seriously or unseriously.
And the same diametric signals were being sent as to whether he fancied her in some boyish delight, or wished to rip her skull clean off for defying his authority as the imminent Duke of Wiltshire.
"It is Lord Malfoy from youuuu," she imitated him in a singsong voice, hiccupping obnoxiously. Tiny, cartoonish bubbles seemed to be leaping out of her throat to fly away in the wind...or perhaps that was a figment of drunken imagination.
The train of her funereal dress caught upon all manner of hateful woodland underbrush as she consistently deviated from the pathway in a jagged crisscross.
"Not nearly as magnanimous as me...Absolute hogwash," she scoffed, discarding two more glasses with a whimsical flick of her wrist.
Draco would find them later like breadcrumbs leading to her cottage, when he came calling for his first 'visitation'.
Ah yes...there it was, the real reason Genevieve sought to escape her noisy mind for the day: she was frightened sick of ending up all alone with the beast of a beautiful boy.
The binding properties of an unbreakable scroll such as the one she'd signed for Draco's Purity Trial required that she not intentionally counter their chances at success.
This meant that should he make an advance to accelerate the fourth trial there wasn't much room for abnegation.
In fact there was zero room for abnegation. It was an arena where debate was a non-starter, and Genevieve was holy uncomfortable in any circumstance where debate was removed from the equation and replaced with a dictatorship instead.
At Malfoy Manor, she was fighting against an opponent with her arms and legs tied behind her back, leaving only her brain to save the day.
"What's hogwash?" a soft female voice stopped her drunken stumbling in it's tracks.
Genevieve squinted around; come to think of it, the air smelled oddly of murky, stagnant water, decomposition and slimy creatures.
By god, she was no where near her dumpy little cottage.
Right off the front porch she'd effectively butterfingered herself in the complete opposite direction, having now landed in the eastern parcel of the expansive property where a gruesome cemetery had been erected next to a blasted swamp.
Or perhaps the swamp was a run-off result of the plethora of rancid individuals rotting away there. It certainly gave off a whiff of putrefaction and heinous morals all stirring together.
She hadn't been stumbling over tree roots, but rather fallen and lopsided tombstones which put the efforts of lego blocks to shame when it came to the business of tripping passersby.
She also had not been running into trees, but rather what looked to be mausoleums.
Earlier in the week Genevieve had visited this freaky place, under the keen glare of the moon's big white eyeball during one of her daily, midnight strolls.
The brooding conditions of the overnight hours facilitated a perfect view, and the walk allowed her complicated mind to mill through all of the unfinished thoughts of the day before laying down to sleep.
The vast cemetery had once been fenced in by brittle wrought iron, a modular framework which had since popped out of the soil and fallen all over the place like played out dominos. Now, the hard metal rods were slowly being digested by prolific vegetation, barely visible in the landscape.
Farthest from the incorporated swamp, at the very beginning of the cemetery, stood a modern columbarium with newer graves all organized in raised marble plots, providing better dignity to the latest deceased Malfoy ancestors.
Given the unstable geology of the area this design strategy made a lot more sense, however such architectural foresight presumably went overlooked hundreds of years prior when the graves were initially laid out.
Centered within the minefield of upturned stonework, grisly exposed coffins, mysterious skeletal remains, and feathery reed grasses, was situated the eldest shrine; Armand Malfoy's final, and ridiculously stately, resting place.
It was a nightmarish shrine which echoed his character quite flawlessly: a twelve foot tall weighty stone statue (of himself, naturally) with a twisted staff in hand - the very staff that had been wielded by Ursa Malfoy earlier that morning...
On a weathered plaque at the base, one could barely make out the ancient scripture describing the founder of the estate, and the years in which he had graced the planet with his foul charisma; 1046 - 1132 A.D.
Sat atop the boxy stone footing of the shrine was the Irish contestant, Persephone of House Fawley, red hair spun up into a messy bun, sporting a sweet and welcoming smile.
The competing girls were not meant to be entertaining any exchanges according to the bossy instructions of the Malfoy family, however, it was apparent that neither of them felt threatened that sunny morning.
Genevieve rubbed her eyes, barely making out the girl rotating her spine to stare up at Armand's unfriendly expression, "The resemblance to our own young Lord Malfoy is striking, isn't it? You suppose that he's been cloning himself for a millennium?"
"Either that, or he's never even perished, and this is all an elaborate ruse put on by an immortal vampire," Genevieve snorted, trailing her impacted gaze over the dead ringer of Draco before them.
The statue impossibly, and quite eerily, possessed the same pointy nose, the same nasty sneer, those intense eyes...
If it weren't for hair flowing down to his elbows and the bizarre noble attire of the early era, the depiction of Armand might very well be Draco Lucius Malfoy glaring out across the glade instead.
It appeared that Persephone began to playfully swing her legs back and forth on the crumbling pier, speaking with a deep Irish lilt, "How was it then, your initiation trial miss Wales? Hurled during mine. Had to start it all over. Still have an egg on me skull from that scallywag witch thundering down on me. Them healing potions are strong - see you've had a fair go at them. I did the same afterwards. Irish blood doesn't curdle from a good pickling."
Genevieve scrunched up her face as the burn on her palm returned in reminder, "Then you needn't employ any stretch of imagination with regards to how my primary trial went, if my current state speaks so ineffably for itself."
Persephone leapt down into the boggy grasses, straightening out a pair of adorable jean overalls that she would be reprimanded fiercely for wearing outside of her private quarters were she caught, "Big words, sly humour. I've noticed that about you. Pretty girls with pretty minds happen to be my sort of fancy."
Genevieve decided then and there that she foresaw a friendship in this girl who also operated independently in the face of tyranny, and who clearly could detect the true nature of the Malfoy's.
Persephone was heliotropic by nature; warm like a sunflower, uncomplicated, discerning of others, and the very opposite of shy.
She got straight to the point that it was not friendship she desired with Genevieve, but perhaps something else, "Bit of a conundrum for me, being stuck here in the middle a rotten love triangle."
"It's not a love triangle, more of a love square - you forget the American," Genevieve corrected her.
"Aye but no, tis a true triangle, lassy. America has no piece in this here game, but reckon she'll murder for a chance to," Persephone argued back, twisting around a rogue strawberry curl which had escaped her bun to frame her cordate face, "That Lord Malfoy has his heart set upon you like no other. The rest of us, we're just a coupla benched players. But aye, he's not the only one if I'm not being too bold."
Genevieve was suddenly unbothered by her inability to visually perceive anything with clarity, her eyes starting to jiggle from welling anxiety. She awkwardly adjusted the satchel across her front and disappeared into the back of her mind.
Love triangle? Wait...what?
Was she misunderstanding the colloquy at hand, or was this individual...flirting with her?
The girl reached forward to transfer the hair twisting from her own locks to one of Genevieve's ivory strands, "You might say...I'm of the male persuasion when it comes to matters of the heart. Something very charming about those violet eyes. Enchanting. I've seen you, skulking about at night, coming dangerously close to my abode a few times...If it's nerves that's holding you back from knocking-"
Genevieve cut her off in mortification, stepping backwards to disengage from the personal contact, "-Pardon the intrusion, it was only in the name of my habitual cartography practice. I should apologize if my trespass has misguided you in any way, it was not signature to your territory."
Persephone nodded, however her smile remained unaverred and genuine.
She crossed her arms and peered around the myriad of burial debris losing a battle with the undulating topography, "Figured you'd say that. Was worth a shot. You let me know if that ever changes, though, my lovely purple princess. Totally barmy that my mother signed me up for this, bloody hell..."
Genevieve swallowed and pawed around for another potion, her face hot as a kettle as she uncorked it, "I do wish I returned the affect, then we might've played into some amusing dynamic behind this bastard's back. How is it you plan to handle him, being of the male persuasion? How is that meant to work, you know...with the physical stipulations of trial four?"
Unspoken between them hovered the understanding that it was Genevieve's first day meeting with Draco alone, and that there was good reason to fear the unknown.
Persephone on the contrary, laughed.
It was a wonderful melody. She had a truly infectious ring to her sugary voice which called one's attention like budding leaves to the sun, "Lord Malfoy, he's a surprising gentleman in that category. Forces nothing on yah. Left me wondering if he's of the female persuasion. Might've chalked it up to a shared lack of chemistry. You'll see."
It was impossible not to panic, as this statement was not only vague but insinuated that the circumstances might be different when it came his approach with Genevieve, "So...you really expect that he is fixated with me? You expect he may...initiate advances with me?"
Persephone seemed to think for a moment, sighing heavily, "Nah...I expect he'll be right delicate with your sessions. Acts like an ape on the surface, mmhmm, but tis only 'cause something about you drives him all mad and squirrelly inside."
Fuck.
"The way he looked at you on the invitation day...like he'd stumbled upon a fallen star on the sidewalk. We all suddenly felt like a gaggle of goblins, aha."
FUCK.
Genevieve frowned, worried that this was all confirmation of her worst fears.
Was this idiotic wizard overwhelmed by an attraction to her? So much so that he felt the only way to expunge it was through unleashing upon her confusing cruelty?
Persephone certainly bore the gift for gab, giving the impression that she would merrily stand there all day prattling on, "Spent his entire session with me, both a' them unholy nights, bombarding me wit' questions about you...How did I think Periwinkle was doing? What's a girl like Periwinkle looking for? What could he do to impress Periwinkle? Periwinkle this, Periwinkle that, my god...Periwinkle started to sound real funny by the end of it."
"Oh don't you fib, he did no such thing," Genevieve scolded Persephone, whom she was starting to surmise had a bit of a pathological inclination towards delusory fabling, "He possesses a bandwidth for romance about as broad as a baboon's. It's a scheme. He anticipated our conversing like this and is aiming to disorient me with doomed stirrings."
Obviously, neither of them were fully convinced of that statement.
"Such paranoia, love, it's only worsening his reactivity, yah?" Persephone bent her face to the side, and Genevieve could tell that she was inspecting her flustered reaction, "You're both mad and squirrelly. Rest assured, the bloke isn't gonna come in there and lay you out against your will."
"I'm going to be ill," Genevieve clutched at her stomach.
Nope...all good...
"That'd squander his precious chances."
NEVERMIND.
She turned to the side just in time to avoid projectile vomiting a riotous soup of blood, healing potions, and what was left of her breakfast onto the crooked grave of someone named Vulpecula Malfoy.
"He's not a very handsy sort anyhow, what with his past."
On and on Persephone went in the background, clearly unable to hold her tongue for more than two grating seconds, "See now that's good, get out all o' that nasty trial rubbish. Blimey, speaking of vampires, just look at that name and tell me that gent wasn't a blood sucker."
"Ugh," Genevieve wiped her mouth, dizzy, blind, and nauseated both on a mental and physical scale.
The constant stimulation of the conversation was beginning to drown her patience.
The loquacious Irish maiden patted her back encouragingly, "There, there. He'll probably leave you with the same option he left us. It's a criminal use of a turkey baster, though. I tell yah I had a mind to cast it right in the flames. If his mother ever found out...But that's their whole dynamic, isn't it? Cat and mouse fallacy."
"A baster? Pardon me?" Genevieve absolutely baulked.
She'd just realized that the venerable bones of a human hand were visible mere inches from her boot, making it all the more difficult to quell any lingering urge to retch.
"Better than the alternative, if you ask me," Persephone shrugged, jamming her hands into her pockets. She'd begun to wander away lazily and Genevieve blinked in her blurry direction, "Should we reconvene here, Monday at noon, so you can tell me and our friend Armand all about it, love?"
"Yes!" Genevieve called out eagerly, searching uselessly around herself, "Yes! Wait! Why not in the cover of darkness instead?"
"Too many zombies, are you mental?" Persephone replied back jokingly.
Lady Fawley and all of her bubbly banter had weirdly vanished just like that, leaving the blinded and tremendously anxious Lady Selwyn to catch her footing on all sorts of morbid obstacles in the low-lying ruins.
It was a miracle that she didn't end up falling straight into an opened coffin on her way out of the godforsaken cemetery, her demented exodus observed by Armand Malfoy's grandiose, lifelike statue.