The Trial ; D.M

38

10th June 2003

Her eyes have scanned and butchered every inch of those letters after a week has passed since her trip to Malfoy Manor. Instantly, she could understand what Draco meant when he had said it felt like Theodore had used those letters to him as diary entries.

Once she had taken time to flick through the envelope that was full to the brim with his letters, she had expected to find an abundance of information that would reveal the truth to her. But there she was, for hours on end, reading through them until it felt as if the longevity of the task would zap her of all her energy.

She could have asked Draco to help her, of course, but her stubbornness to remain as they currently are— both avoiding to tackle the elephant in the room— stopped her from including him in this part of the plan. Besides, when she mentioned to him that she was successful in retrieving the letters, he seemed uninterested anyway. So she has taken it on alone, spending each moment she finds some quiet time to read every inch of those letters.

And it's all been rather interesting, studying and understanding the inner workings of her husband's thoughts from the beginning of their marriage. Even the parts that have been uncomfortable to read, like any mention of Pansy Parkinson. She finds that her name certainly does begin to take more dominance across the letters as time progresses. He never makes his feelings for her explicit, but it appears so painfully obvious considering the facts that Geneva does know.

As well as this, she's found it fascinating to witness the evidence of the once close relationship between Theodore and Draco. The brotherly words and phrases written, the care and closeness that they once shared years prior to now. Curiosity drives her to wonder what happened. Wondering where and why that brotherly bond perished.

She remembers what Draco told her a couple months ago concerning the breakdown of their friendship— due to Theodore's change of personality and his guilt for abandoning Draco. But she can't help feeling like there's something absent from the story. A part of the equation missing which would put the pieces into place and provide a more believable justification.

For Draco to shift from being extremely close to Theodore, when he once thought of him as a brother, to suddenly not caring whether he lives or dies— all due to natural drift, seems unconvincing.

She wishes she could ask him about it. Wishes he would speak to her about these things. But his resistance to reveal those haunted, secret parts of his past remains obstinate. So she doesn't even bother. Puts it out of her mind for now and remains fixated on the most pressing matter at hand.

It takes her a few days until she finds any mention of Crain in the letters. There is only a single occurrence of his name. And even then, it is a vague, patched up detail that doesn't reveal any explicit evidence.

My friend, I fear I have done something terrible. I cannot tell you any more on the matter, except that Rhydian Crain and I have struck a deal— a deal I was not seriously considering. It was a bluff. That is all. I cannot speak of it and it can never be known, but the knowledge of what I have agreed to is heavy on my conscience. I've trapped myself under the weight of my actions and I don't know how to recover from it. She may never forgive me, should she ever find out.

Geneva has spent many moments reading and re-reading this small paragraph. Looking at the other sentences surrounding it, trying to read between the lines and make the ink speak out the explanation to her.

But this is all she has. This is the only slither of information she has managed to collect and it does not provide an answer whatsoever. Just pushes her further into the curse of curious insanity. She showed Draco the excerpt, having practically forced it in front of his face for him to read. There was nothing that he could infer either, both completely at a loss.