For the first time in all of the many years that she'd known him, she began to understand the appeal of Antonin's garden. She'd lost count the number of times she'd teased her deadly, ferocious husband for liking to crawl around in the dirt tending his tiny plants or how he enjoyed sitting on a bench overlooking the small part of the world he'd been able to tame to his rigid specifications. It allowed him the chance to think about something other than the insanity of the world they lived in outside of the rickety gate he'd fixed a hundred times. When every other part of his life was uncertain, he could find a minute amount of control in planting and caring for the various plants. It was his way of grabbing hold of the last bit of sanity that hadn't been stripped from him in Azkaban.