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The garden is quiet, calm, and peaceful when it's the dead of night.
We didn't train today. Bellatrix never gives us one night off, much less two, but I'm not complaining.
I have my own Pensieve now, stored safely in a trunk in my room, but still I prefer to walk out while the sky is black and the stars shine mischievously to wander amidst the bushes and trees towards the Pensieve that sits in the arms of a statue of Morgan le Fay. Summer nights have a certain peaceful air to them. They're warm, but not so warm that I can't wear a cardigan over my shoulders, and they have gentle breezes like the Earth is exhaling softly in her sleep.
A silver-leafed tree sits next to the pond. There are quite a few other silver-leafed trees scattered around the garden, but this one is the oldest and by far the most regal. Its trunk is thick and twisted, filled with knots in which pixies construct their nests. Its branches reach out towards the heavens and extend out over the pond, casting an unearthly reflection in its dark nighttime waters, the moon rippling in the undulating surface.
Morgan le Fay's statue sits across the pond on the opposite side of the tree. She's made of metal, a cold, silvery metal that is almost hard to look at when the moon reflects off of her long hair, or her leg that is propped up on the boulder beside her. The replica of the infamous Dark witch stands tall and proud in the night, glowing ominously. Her staff rests in the crook of her elbow while her outstretched forearms balance the weight of the basin, the only part of the statue etched with runes and covered in precious stones.
I clutch my wand in one hand and a bottle of my father's memory in my other, walking around the perimeter of the pond to approach her statue. There are a few stone steps leading up to her, and I ascend them quietly, stopping to stand before her. She's tall, looming over me, with the basin reaching my chest.
I pause for a moment to glance over my shoulder at the Malfoy Manor right behind me. Most of the lights are out, though I see a few yellow windows. The Death Eaters never seem to go to sleep. Perhaps with their master having been gone for the last two weeks, they see no need to control themselves.
My eyes flit up to the only lit window at the topmost floor. Draco's room.
I can see his silhouette passing by the window every once in a while. I'm not sure what he's doing, and I'd like to convince myself that I don't care what he's doing, but still I stand there in the calm garden staring up at his window. Maybe I'm waiting for him to stop abruptly and look down at me.
