Draco opens his eyes, and, with a flick of his wrist, the sconces on the walls flare to life with a soft, warm glow. The light plays over his neatly arranged books, and he walks to his shelves, scanning the titles with a leisure he never feels outside these walls. He bypasses two new volumes he'd ordered from the bookshop, both bound in custom black dragonhide with silver lettering to match the rest of his collection. He ought to select one of them for his evening, but he reaches for a story he knows as well as the back of his hand.