The room was opulent, with sparkling quartz pillars, thin, gauzy magic-spun fabrics, draped over golden rods to cover the windows. Warm air blew in through the pane-less window, fluttering the cerulean fabrics with a light rustle. The bed was wide and four-postered, draped in a thicker, richer blue fabric than the curtains, tied to each corner rod with a golden rope. Draco was nearly swallowed by the white down comforter he lay under. Despite the temperate night air, he shivered. Hermione paced the room, sometimes watching him sleep, and other times gazing over the city. The neighborhood was at a high point in one of the further corners of the city, and looked out over steep stairways and rushing aqueducts that snaked their way around other large villas with gardens bursting in greenery and dotted with marble sculptures. In a villa to the right, Hermione watched a young boy zipping over a low fence line on a broomstick. It was slow, and made of the fibrous wood of the trees that surrounded the city. She smiled, as she watched the boy zip back down into the garden, almost knocking over a stern looking woman with her hands on her hips, before flying back off, giggling. 