Instead of a chilled cell in Azkaban like he’d feared, Draco found himself in a vast garden, the smell of peonies flooding his senses. Draco took a deep breath and looked to his side, an ancient cypress tree loomed next to him. Following the pull in the center of his chest, Draco was led along a gravel path to a clearing– a field of wheat emerged, in the center he could just make out a head of wild curls.