Golden Sanguine
Draco keeps a small greenhouse in the backyard of his townhouse, full of herbs for his potions. He also meticulously tends to several shrubs of Malfoy roses, a cultivar he named Golden Sanguine.
So he would never forget.
Sometimes Neville comes over, helping to harvest his herbs for their shared apothecary business. When Draco disappears, Neville inevitably finds him by the roses.
He puts a warm hand on his shoulder. His skin is cold. Always cold. “She knows you tried."
Draco laughs mirthlessly. “Everything except what worked.”
Neville looks upon him sadly as Draco prunes and coos at the roses, muttering quietly. He takes his leave.
[Image: Dark red roses]
If Neville stayed an extra minute, he would have caught the roses quivering and twisting, seemingly stretching toward the sun.
A dark rose blooms, the colour of blood. Each velvet petal opens one by one.
And if Neville stayed one minute longer, he might have seen the petals curl into a silent scream.