The moonlight reflected off the marble gravestone of his son. Draco took one last look at the black stone before taking the shovel in his hands, sticking it into the ground with the help of his foot, and starting to dig. He was sure that there was a spell somewhere that could do the same job much faster, but he preferred to do it himself. There was something cathartic about removing the earth above the coffin, a symbolic gesture that he felt he needed. Every clod he took away released something within his soul. Through physical exertion, he earned the gift he was stealing from the afterlife, cleansing those dark corners of his conscience that still screamed it was a mistake.