The sun had well and truly encased Malfoy Manor the summer after Draco’s fifth year at hogwarts. His mother's rose garden overflowed with bursting buds of red and white, the flowers bewitched to last ten times as long as any regular bloom. The grass lay in perfect sync, like silky velvet trimmed to perfection down to every last blade by one of the family's house elves. Because to be an Elf to a family such as the Malfoys one had to have an eye for perfection and yes, this grass was perfect. As the sky turned pink in the setting sun, casting a magical glow across the earth beneath it, Draco stood up to shut the curtains and in turn shut out any light or happiness that might accidentally enter his confines from outside.