Apple trees grew on the eastern side of Malfoy Manor. The orchard was small, consisting of a few varietals that provided fruit throughout the autumn. The trees were ancient, gnarled things cared for by elves who had aged to look like their charges. It was mid-September now: the James Grieves would be ready for picking. He could almost see the yellow-green skin, streaked pink where the sun had shone between the leaves. Could almost taste the sharp-but-sweet juice and feel the pear-like texture against his tongue.