She dreamed of herself a year from now, sat in this same chair, looking out at the same orchard. It would be her orchard by then. Harry could be quaffing the cider pressed from its apples. She would have a book in her hand, and she'd be blissfully happy like that. Celesca would be there, too, but not talking to Narcissa. She'd be cooing to a newborn baby, talking to it with her incredible Seer ability.