It was the eve before Halloween.
Precisely thirty days had dared to pass in the month of October, that terminal year in 1999, and now the moon above the world was awash in a bloody iridescence befitting of the upcoming hallowed day.
It was a dangerous season, peaking to such a hallow that the veil between dimensions would wane to it's thinnest, providing gateway to all phantasmic monstrosities beyond.
After enduring a delightfullypricklywalk through the effluvium with Cassius Warrington, Genevieve was for once flooded with relief at the grisly sight of Malfoy Manor looming in the open green beyond the forest limit.
Inside, she was fully struck by the sound of nightmarish organ music rebounding off of the copious black marble finishings.
The image of any Malfoy occupant listening to tunes was somewhat impossible to procure due to their inhospitable personalities, but perhaps the eldritch wail ofFugue in D minorwas the sole exception.
The boy named Cassius wordlessly meandered through the serpentine ground floor hallways until they'd reached a set of stunning double doors.
Unlike Draco, he surprisingly stood back with one heavy slab pried open, waiting for her to go first - although it was not exactly an honourable gesture as he left a very sparse crack for her to squeeze through.
The doorway led to an ethereal and decrepit ballroom which protracted half the length of a quidditch stadium, packed with young adults dressed up in comical 'All Hallows Eve' costumes.
Overhead, stretched a concave molding ceiling of elaborate tin tiles which had since peeled in large patches and oxidized into a strange blueish green hue, imbuing the illusion of bioluminescence in the streaming moonlight.
To further catch the eye was hung three gargantuan crystal chandeliers interspaced down the center, brought to life by thousands of sparkling gems and dripping wax candles.
There were rows and rows of reinforced windows framed by musty purple drapes, arranged along two wing walls in dramatic rectangular sets classic to the late Jacobean era.
This glassed edifice of the building was apparently much newer than the encaustic, ceramic flooring which patterned the area in geometric, medieval fanaticism - an archeological indicator that the ballroom had indeed survived one of many house fires occurring sometime between the two elderly periods, and had been rebuilt from the frame-up since.
A freakishly animated Jack-O-Lantern, utilizing it's long twisted vines to formulate sinuous limbs, eagerly crept up to Genevieve and held out a silver tray filled populated with what looked to be poisonous apples.
She motioned curtly to signify her disinterest, wincing at the oozing skulls in the chocolate dip.
But it was not only the interior provisions which inspired curiosity, for it was also the guests at this inappropriate 'rager' that Draco Malfoy was entertaining in his parent's grisly estate.
While there might have been forty young witches and wizards milling about, there was at least another fifteen specters in humming phosphorescent charm, floating between furniture like large clunky nightlights.
Given that a coven of magicals had lived on the same parcel of land for nearly a millennia, it was reasonable that a scourge of the undead would have amassed in tethered torment there. But the volume was surprising nonetheless.
One phantom man was managing to bellow straight overtop of the thundering command of a set of organ pipes playing independently in the orchestra lobby.
Hung like a bat upside down from the aquamarine ceiling, the ghostly figure of a chubby noble with an enormous pointy nose seemed to be losing himself to a fit of non-stop giggling at nothing in particular.
It was his long white hair, bending to the will of gravity in pin straight tendrils, which was the sole factor identifying him as a Malfoy descendant. Otherwise, he came off as an obtuse lunatic with no other obvious, overlapping traits.
Genevieve had grown so preoccupied with spectating upon the dirigible ghost that she had not noticed a tall figure gracefully glide up until his hand was atop her shoulder.
Theodore Nott's charismatic chime explained the confusing display, "Volcans Malfoy; a victim of a laughing curse. Passed away in this very room, stumbling in a howling fit...laughed himself to death, so it is told."
Genevieve turned at the familiar sound of his voice, a guilty blush beginning to creep up her neck, "That must render him the ideal apparition to haunt the Malfoy shield then - a creature expressive of endless joy."
Theo nodded in the direction of the hysterical specter, "Oh yes. He's been bungling about up there for two centuries - part of the reason the Malfoy's eventually abandoned this space. The only one who comes in here now is our meddlesome friend Draco. Uses the chap as target practice for his feudal weaponry."
Indeed, a pile of worrisome archery equipment by the doorway might've explained the multitude of brutal injuries pockmarking the tin molding.
In his lofty region of the ballroom, Volcans had miraculously paused his berating shrieks long enough to facilitate the administration of one pale blue finger deep into his right nostril.
They both peered as he fished out a slimy, glowing booger for a quick snack before boomeranging back round to his prior chaotic state.
Genevieve shifted her gaze to Theodore's submarine eyes in the candlelight.
A handful of months had passed since theirnear-trial together - an invitation day which had concluded far too soon and unfavorably. Yet he was just as wonderful as she recalled, just as alluring, and suave.
Unlike the Malfoys, the Notts had followed modern traditions by accepting one lady at a time on their son's trial 'dance card'.
As such, he had dedicated an entire day hosting Genevieve's RSVP to his invitation to trial.
There had been no line up of shaking maidens, nor the inhumane stipulations to sign one's life away before ever stepping foot on his baroque estate by the seaside.
On an early spring morning they'd met, and he'd bowed to her in the grand lobby at Nott Manor.
The walls there had been plastered with shiny golden wallpaper which reflected the sunlight beautifully. The chateau had been filled with flowering potted plants, elegant pastel furniture, and trays of vibrant macaroons.
Before Madame Sylvie's elated smile he'd taken up one of Genevieve's gloves in his, and encouraged her to promenade in the budding gardens. From there, they'd spent hours conversing about literacy, and pagan magic, amongst politics and aspects of their society which represented to both of them a gilded cage.
It had been an instant chemical affinity, on spiritual, intellectual and emotional levels alike.
But in the end, Genevieve had gathered enough about his benevolent and altruistic personality to expect what came next.
After agreeing to trial with Genevieve and signing his portion of the contract, Theodore had looked strangely between her and his parents, his face changing, then finally announced that he would not partake in The Purity Trials.
Ever.
Then he tore the contract in half.
His parents had reacted with explosive shock. They had ultimately failed to convince their renegade son of the worthiness of such an oppressive courting system, and this would be viewed by the ton as a personal failure.
The bold decision placed Theodore Nott in the top percentile of those imaginably 'crazy' enough to deny such a rare birthright, forevermore tarnishing the name of Nott. For no marriage to a pureblood woman would be accepted in bankruptcy of the trials.
He'd then politely sent Genevieve and Sylvie on their way back to Wales with sincere apologies.
Genevieve had absorbed it all with genuine disheartenment, yet harbored not a droplet of ill-will. If anything, it had fostered her attraction all the more, and she had wondered since then - quite avidly and achingly - if they would cross paths again in the future.
He was a brilliant match for her; intelligent, charming, and mature for a young man of twenty one years. That, and it was the oceanic depth which swirled in his dark, beryl blue eyes ringed with silver, which drew her in like a worm to a dictionary.
Seeing him there without any forewarning had now turned her blood to bubbles, and the carbonation high was wretchedly disorienting.
He was speaking, but her ears had momentarily tuned him out.
He'd since moved on to explaining another one of the undead in attendance, pointing now at an Edwardian woman with a gaping hole in the rear of her skull, "...have Lacerta Malfoy. At only one and eight she was bucked from a horntail dragon...mistreated with trepanning...draconian practice. Pity, even magic could not repair the damage done."
Genevieve inhaled quickly to bring herself back to reality, and he awkwardly ran a hand through his long chocolate mop. It was rare that she did not pay attention or was left so speechless.
She suddenly felt brash remarks slip past her teeth before they might be policed properly, "And what pray tell, are you meant to be Lord Nott? I've never witnessed such polished attire for All Hallows Eve."
A sarcastic frown took up shop on his face as he bent to inspect his pricey ascot, sharp suit, and the long Scottish jacket attached to his figure, then he raised weary orbs to her in penitent exhaustion, "You'll have to excuse my lack of festivity, Lady Selwyn. I was...caught up late by...by horrific obligations that I dare not recount in your delicate presence."
A sickly quietude settled between them as Genevieve politely averted her gaze to wring at her hands.
Like most pureblood families, Theodore's too had fallen into dutiful alignment with Lord Voldemort. It was afterall, a running theme with the gilded sort - cowards and charlatans a plenty.
Whatever he was now being forced to do was obviously not a tale he cared to share with the softer gender.
She shrugged and signaled to the revealing dress Draco had forced her into, still too ashamed to shirk off her outer layers, "Well if it is any solace, I feel rather catchpenny myself. Autonomy grows increasingly sparse these days, mine included."
His attention lingered on the angry red scar across her palm, "The so-calledprivilegeof blood purity has ensured the liquidation of autonomy for one thousand years strong, this is nothing new. Neither of us shall ever truly be free of it. To do so, would charge one every last cancerous drop in their veins. The kindness of death is the only emancipation."
He stepped closer in unmasked disappointment of the gleaming silver and green shield upon her peacoat, "If...I may speak so boldly...when I read your surname had landed on the list for Malfoy's latest trial, in no capacity did I foresee this outcome between you two. He and I attended Hogwarts together, and I'm regrettably familiar with his peculiarities."
Genevieve felt detrimental embarrassment itching below the surface of her skin like wee tunnelling insects, wishing beyond rationale that Theodore had remained in the dark about her final designation.
It was entirely indignifying, standing there before him practically marked up with the words'Property of Draco Malfoy'written across her forehead.
"How is he treating you?" he met her eyes with extraordinary pity. The question was probably rhetorical.
"He's..." Genevieve nervously scanned the party for Draco, but he was no where to be found.
It was nearly impossible to discern whoanyonewas underneath all of the masks and creepy outfits.
Almost certain that he wasn't nearby to catch a whiff of her scrutinizing, she continued, "He's very difficult to read, Draco. Often offensive, mercurial, andprofoundlynarcissistic - however not entirely morally corrupt. He has shown me short morsels of compassion."
"Indeed. That crown will have cost him a small fortune. I've never known Malfoy to be generous to others," Theo commented more lightheartedly, but with an air of disbelief.
In his beautiful eyes she could see twinkles of the gems on her head sparkling reflectively.
"I feel more like apetthan a princess," she dismissed his pensive probe.
He reacted with a stiff smirk, glancing far off, "Have faith yet. Malfoy is never what he seems on the surface. When you venture beyond all of the jesting and barbarity, far,far downinto the depths of his psychology, there lays quite meaningful aspects. Try not to judge him too critically - overriding limbic friction is not the forte of most men."
"Whatever does that mean?" Genevieve queried with a curious smile.
Theo laughed, now undeniably abashed as he repeatedly swept back disobedient brown curls from falling over the bridge of his nose, "To nullify one's emotions after logic has already set forth a designated plan."
When she simply sent him tentative eyes he scratched at his temple, staring down at his loafers, "Lady Selwyn, surely by now you recognize the jarring effects of your own comeliness. Even as I speak these words it is...difficult to concentrate on what I originally intended to say. I can only imagine the perverted whimsicality your residence sparks in Malfoy."
"You are far too charitable," she whispered as her self-consciousness ballooned, "But you are correct about one thing - I would not be here had he not imposed a carte blanche condition beforehand."
"Lucius will have been behind that lien, don't have that confused," Theodore spoke in such a jolting way that it raised her face in worry. The energy in the air had mysteriously inverted.
She felt the need to combat sharply, "Draco is not all that innocent. He took great enjoyment in reminding me of his ability to incarcerate me on the day of his invitation."
Theodore stared at her deliberately hard in the dim candlelight, clearly fiddling with his wand in his pocket.
He was definitely irritated with her now, and it became obvious that she had taken too much liberty, "You know...I've been friends with Malfoy for a decade. He hasn't thrown this party in over two years. For him to display this much healthy vitality again is nothing short of a miracle after the brutal mutilation that Greengrass put him through. I suspect Malfoy is fond of you, and this is a reality that cannot be reversed, Genevieve."
He closed his eyes and winced, probably to avoid the look of betrayal blooming on her face, "As his friend,and yours,I pray that benevolence matures between you two, and that you recognize he hadno choice butto pick three of you for incarceration. He hasno choice butto suffocate your independence; you are a Lady in the court of a Lord, not an orphan anymore. He is under immense pressure to police your behavior and presentation, seeing as you are well below his station and choosing you was an immense risk to his credit."
She bristled on the spot; Theodore was apparently much more than an academic peer to Draco, he was a close and intimate friend.
As her respect for him began to fringe at the seams she crossed her arms, "You surprise me Lord Nott, with this partisanship towards such a bigoted and archaic ideology."
His esoteric gaze had taken on what could only be described as dripping with protective warning, "I do not defend the ton's perverse chauvinism and patriarchal values. You made your choice to amalgamate with high-society while I made mine to isolate. I sympathize with the desire to salvage your family estate, but do not stand there and blame Malfoy entirely for your circumstances. He too, is incarcerated."
Genevieve's heart had sunk through the floorboards. There was something verywiltingabout this conversation, and about being labelled as afriend...
She supposed he saw her as belonging to someone else now, someone that he would not backstab, being the good gentleman that he was.
Theodore softened only just, tenting his eyebrows at her remorsefully, "Draco...he is like a brother to me, Genevieve. I hope you can comprehend the position this puts me in."
Before she could even attempt to respond an unusual thing began to unwind; starting with the foremost central curl in the middle of Theodore's forehead, his hair gradually transformed into a tightly packed nest of rainbow coils.
Genevieve's eyes blurred in dumbfoundment.
Then his nose reddened, and a round scarlet orb formed around it in mimic of a clowns foamy snout, then...
HONK HONK!
A hand clamping down upon the illusory magic set off an old-timey car horn, and the pair of them staggered off in marvel. The magic wisped away into grainy sparks to reveal the arm of the attacker who had just appeared out of thin air directly between them: low and behold, it was the host of the party.
"How's that for perverted whimsy?" from the angled view she had of Draco's expression it read as tense and agitated.
He had somehow cloaked his own form in order to eavesdrop, and had fashioned Theodore as a figurative clown out of resentment for what he'd been partial to, "I should thank you Nott, for fortifying both time in your busy Ministry schedule, but also for that incrediblyflatteringdissection."
Theodore recovered quickly and shook Draco's shoulder with reassurance, but there was redness in his cheeks no less, "And I should thankyoufor this familiar escape from it, Malfoy. You spare no expense on the parlour tricks. Should we address you as the Evanescent Enchanter this nigh?"
With her heart still in her throat Genevieve scanned down Draco's uncharacteristic robes - elaborate, ancient, and of a bright purple tone with sapphire accents. This was not at all reflective of his personal style.
Whyhe'd dressed up as the Evanescent Enchanter wasn't much of a riddle - a pirating wizard who'd become infamous for his obsession with consuming potent invisibility potions.
He'd also been known to favor the colour violet, so much so, that on rare occasions when hewasvisible, the unique tone acted like a beacon to aurors.
For nearly two decades spanning the end of the nineteenth century witches and wizards across England had begrudgingly hung up any purple attire indefinitely, out of fear for being accused.
The Evanescent Enchanter had been the first wizard to successfully rob Gringott's Bank, and he'd pulled off a furthersixheists before the goblins running the institution grew the wiser and began implementing defensive measures throughout.
Unfortunately he was never apprehended, because he simply vanished...forever...
Excessive use of invisibility potions had caused what would later be coined 'Invisibility Ire', whereas a chemical disease had been set into motion that could not be corrected; the Evanescent Enchanter was doomed to eventually become perpetually invisible.
No one ever did confirm where he died, how he died,ifhe died...
Clues that the notorious conjurer remained at large, ubiquitously and cloaked to the eye, arrived in the form of spinetingling, handwritten letters, which ground to a static halt sometime into the early twentieth century.
Presumably, mortality had come knocking.
Before ceasing, the cryptic penned admissions of the Evanescent Enchanter tended to randomly show up in public spaces or private homes, sometimes scribbling in real time from an indecipherable hand, leaving those who discovered them in a state of eerie paranoia...
It was now a common prank amongst modern magicals to quill a fake E.E. letter and plant it in another's satchel, or leave in a startling location - anything to spark a good laugh and a bout of playful neuroticism.
Unfortunately, after all traces of the Evanescent Enchanter had dissipated fully from society, the British Ministry for Magic then outlawed producing any dangerous strains of invisibility potions.
Even possessing an original potion recipe belonging to the Enchanter was warrant enough for a vacation to Azkaban. Not that this put a stopper to one popping up for sale in Borgin & Burkes every now and again, framed as a 'collectors item'.
As of that year in 1999, the only legal invisibility potions were fickle and weak.
They required the consumer to shut one's own eyes in order to entirely vanish, ensuring that they were blind to the world while it was blind of them. This was an inconvenience that prevented any serious sort of mischief from reoccurring, such as robbing a major bank...
This also meant that Draco had stood there next to Theodore and Genevieve totally blind while listening to them, which can't have helped with his imagination.
To Genevieve's horror he arrogantly marked his territory by taking up her hand, "Spot on, Nott. Now, unless you're planning to fashion the girl a balloon dragon, you and that clown's nose may entertain elsewhere."
Theodore briefly opened then shut his mouth, eventually landing upon a polite half smile, but his discomfort went undisguised, "I'm sure my questionable abilities to warp natural rubber shan't be missed this evening. Do excuse me."
Genevieve felt the separation like a knife as he faded into the freakish crowd, wishing they'd had a chance to at least find some closure after that little spat.
"Bizarre nutter," Draco's fingers tightened around hers as he articulated his spine to ensure his friend was fully gone, "Must've been struck by acute dementia in the carriage over, out here acting like a bloody maître-d. Was he introducing you to mydead relatives?"
"He was," Genevieve glanced back up at Volcans overhead.
Draco turned around and bent his head to shoot sly daggers at her from an angle, "There's my royal princess."
Genevieve's nervous system shot into feverish hyperdrive as he helped her out of her peacoat, which he then passed to one of the pumpkin butlers with a flaming face.
She grew cold and sweaty as the risqué gown was all that was left for her to barely hide underneath. His keen attention on her cleavage was mortifyingly novel as he squeezed her bare shoulders inwards, whistling low, "Come darling, I'll get you a drink."
His sudden switch to flirtatiousness was puzzling enough, but what made it even harder to digest was the fervent gossip in the air surrounding them, sourcing from various onlookers.
A slew of young females surrounding the American trial contestant and her condescending black eyes certainly were not mindful of their manners, speaking loudly and boldy.
"that dress...really trying to sell herself to him, isn't she?"
"Oh she's completely desperate. An orphan. Can you imagine?"
"...where she got ahold of a crown like that?"
"Probably robbed the Lady of the Manor - how else?"
It was as if Genevieve was a baboon forcing itself into a tutu, pretending to be a ballerina in a renowned dance class amongst professionals. They were all just waiting for her to trip up and reveal her hairy backside, and that she indeed, was an imposter dressed up dollish silk.
Finally she couldn't take the overwhelming sense of being out of place, of looking like she was trying to hopelessly fit in or win over his trials, "Lord Malfoy, I'm not in the mood."
He inspected her expression seriously for a moment, "You're cross about the dress."
"I didn't say that," she controlled herself quite professionally.
"You said it to Theodore Nott," Draco grunted impatiently, and she could see from the way a ridge had formed down his forehead that he was unhappy about witnessing their closeness.
He levelled his eye on her and hushed under his breath, "Am I going to have a problem with you two? You belong tomeGenevieve; your mind, your body, your soul...you sold it all tomewhen you signed that contract."
At this she pressed her lips together firmly, "Well you've juxtaposed yourself, surely, for this gown does nothing but advertise my finest assets toallin attendance."
He sent his gaze in a ping pong from the bowled ceiling to the windows tolerantly, "Alright it's spirited. But were a costume up to your insolent arse, you'd have shown up here in a scuba diving suit or some other illogical disaster intent to ruin me."
"Hmm, that is accurate," a genuine laugh escaped her lips that surprised even her, "I am very pleased about the crown though, so points are due there."
He smirked coolly, "You'd better be. One diadem in the Tower of London is now a highly convincing replica."
Her jaw dropped open, "You're joking, right? You-you haven't...plunderedthe Queen's vault?"
He winked at her devilishly.
"Oh you'renotjoking?" Genevieve clapped a glove over her mouth, suddenly feeling like the crown on her hair weighed a million pounds of controversy, "That is a capital crime, Lord Malfoy. Are you-are you suggesting that this Enchanter outfit is unironic?"
He popped his eyebrows, "You'll soon find out that I don't do anything half-arsed, Lady Selwyn. You might even call me a perfectionist. I wasn't going to place cheap metal on your big head."
She scoffed and poked him in the arm multiple times,"Youare a bad,bad boy,Draco Malfoy. You might be the worst behaved I have ever met, and I grew up in an orphanagefullof troubled wizardlings."
He checked his watch with a careless look, "Like I said, I always take first place."
She tutted in disbelief, focusing away on a group of rowdy boys all chanting around an enormous cauldron filled with boozy concoctions. His fingers on her shoulders felt spidery and heavy, and his cologne was beginning to play hormonal tricks on her mind.
She commented as a helpless bout of sheepishness swelled over her, "You're peacocking, showing me off to your friends."
His hands drove precariously low down her spine, drawing her in closer to his chest, "Of course I am. You're my prized valentine. Look."
In dubiety she followed a nod of his chin, twisting her neck to inspect herself in the candlelit reflection within a mullion of glass.
By the light of the flames she did look rather sumptuous in the glittering ensemble he'd arrayed her with, that much could not be denied, yet still she could not squash the impression that Draco viewed her more as a collectible to be showed off rather than a person.
More sordid hushing and giggling ensued in the background, of which Draco seemed to be turning a deaf ear to despite it burning a whole straight through Genevieve's eardrum.
"Well he's not greeting you like that, Carmine."
"Yes...you might want to take notes from the orphan afterall."
She looked up into his silvery eyes in desperate confusion.
Was this something else - was he making fun of her instead? Surely he could hear the gossip.
He finally freed her of his roving grasp, stepping back with a ringed hand stretched out, "You're stiff as a plank of wood. You really need a drink. Come,now."
This was an order.
Genevieve clutched at her neck, delaying inevitably ending up a convivial circle with those unfriendly socialites nearby, "I don't think it wise - between last night's potion binge and this morning's flying failures, I'm utterly knackered."
Draco checked his watch again and raised an eyebrow at her, "It's not even half past ten on Hallows Eve, you dusty fusspot."
Genevieve gulped stubbornly, "Lord Malfoy, unless you'd like to witness me in repose before the hour of eleven then the answer remains a steadfast no."
He growled under his breath, and rustled around in the pastel robes which looked utterly strange on him. Glancing around first, he then held forth three vials of shimmering golden liquid, "Fine. Don't let Warrington spot you with this - he's a bloody addict."
Elixirs of Euphoria; Genevieve recognized the signature glittery consistency immediately. She'd brewed it before but had found that it was inconveniently difficult and time consuming.
Hesitantly, she took one from him and threw it back.
As her vision expanded her gaze lifted to him with renewed invigoration, noticing that he'd taken one for himself.
The feeling of glee came on in a rush, causing her cheeks to glow warmly and her heart to soar in her chest.
Suddenly, she felt inclined to join the ghost on the ceiling, laughing and dancing to no end. Suddenly, the notion of partaking in the party with searing vitality was not an unwelcoming thought at all.
For a few shy seconds they both blinked at each other, and around the room, as dopamine levels in their brains skyrocketed recklessly.
Draco seemed to be feeling just as restless, tapping his foot and breathing rapidly. Several times he corrected his collar as if the bright clothing was somehow penitently choking him.
"Is it at all possible that we got off on the wrong foot?" she ventured as ecstasy flowed into every cell of her being. Her mind now dreamed that this frightening boy might be, as his friend had insisted, sensitive somewhere in his deepest depths.
He sighed down at her, his one remarkably baby blue eye nearly black from the sheer dilation of his pupil, "It's...possible."
She metaphorically crossed her fingers that this would be a breakthrough moment, "Is it also possible that Theodore's conference just now echoed some truth?"
He hesitated, then cracked his jaw in another direction avoidantly, "What part precisely?"
She felt her heart squeezing anxiously as she pressed onwards.
It was a sort of romantic angst she had never experienced, an itchy eagerness that felt truly terrifying to scratch at yet impossible to ignore,"Well, you have done a spectacular job of veiling your intentions with me, only to invert your behavior in the past twenty-four hours. I'm simply seeking a bit of clarification, vulnerability perchance."
"Let's see, where shall I begin, seeing as you are not going to drop this?" he airily scanned the room, the guests, his veiny hands clasping behind his back, "Perhaps I'll start by filling you in on my sock size. Or if that would not do, should you like to brass tacks my tea preferences?"
Genevieve started to object to the blatant mockery but he kept on going in a condescending tone, "I'll remind you Lady Selwyn, that you revealed to me the nature of your parent's passing of your own accord - I am not in debt to you after one week of affiliation. Vulnerability is earned through trust, which is earned through time and action. Last I was hastily vulnerable with a trial witch, she held my mind hostage for years."
She blinked on the spot, coming once more to the conclusion that she was not going mad and that he was, for some reason, continuing to stonewall her.
Why, he had immodestly offered her a sexual encounter on their first date. He had spent his own time teaching her to fly, bought her all of those fancy gifts, delivered bouquets of flowers, stolen a royal crown for her, greeted her at his Halloween Ball with unique fervor...
Yes it had been one week of affiliation, but in that short span of time Draco Malfoy had sent a flurry of romantic gestures her way. Could he really stand there before her and gaslight as if it wereshethat was being unreasonable to ask what it all meant?
The mixed messages were piling up, and the mess of metaphorical parchments was a fire hazard up to her shoulders just waiting for a stray ember.
"But you do fancy me, don't you?" she blurted out what he was obviously avoiding admitting, then was certain she'd pissed herself from nerves alone.
To demand such lack of politics from a prospective lord was holy unprecedented and stupendously unladylike, especially in the circumstances of a trial which included multiple other contestants.
Draco did occupy a far more impressive station than Genevieve amongst the ton, who was arguably only a member of the pureblood society out of the graces of her genetics alone.
The Malfoy's actually stood toplummetin their cordial order simply by absorbing a witch accused of being cursed into their highly publicized trials. They had taken on an enormous risk by selecting Lady Genevieve of House Selwyn to contest for their son, who in turn, had gone on to act like a menace with zero sense of propriety.
Naturally, his eyebrows rose quite judgmentally, and he held that motion for enough seconds to make her squirm uncomfortably, "Like I said...it's been a mere week-"
Across the ballroom Draco's rowdy friends had apparently spotted them whispering to each other intimately and the heckling instantly set off.
"Oi Malfoy! Is that her then?"
"Priiiiiincessss!"
"Come here prissy princess, don't be shy!"
The time had apparently arrived at the most inopportune moment; it was nowPeacock O'Clock.
Draco looked at her intently, a glint of cruel amusement in his eye, "Do me the courtesy of behaving yourself tonight, and you have my word we will complete this conversation later."
No, no she could not promise this courtesy at all, and he knew better than to ask.
But she took his hand anyways, for she was bound by a contract to appease his every whim until such a time that their trial concluded, or was effectually voided - preferably the latter.