I have always liked the gardens the Manor possessed, especially in the spring when the flowers start to bloom.
I had not been able to enjoy the gardens with the war over my head, and I found it especially difficult to sample their delicacies while the Death Eaters occupied my home. They previously had been an escape, but during that time they only served to remind me of the confinement I had been ordered into.
Once that period was over, I gradually started to explore them once again.
Things seemed different than before, more beautiful, yet more delicate. I guess that was because I had learned that life was delicate; even a flower's. They bloomed, died and then bloomed once again the next year, teeming with life. Humans were like that, too. We may not die after one season, but we go through periods of hardship and we come out at the end of it with a renewed sense of life to prosper better than we had before.
My favourite part of the gardens has always been where the rose bushes grew. A rainbow of colours filled the area: pinks, reds, oranges, a range of colours to brighten up one's day when they needed it. I don't need it as much now as I did back then, but it still makes my day happier.
I was shown this area on my very first visit to the Manor by my husband, who was then my fiancé. He had picked a white rose off one of the bushes and handed it to me. He told me that he would give me a white flower every day that we were engaged. It signified my purity: that I had never felt the touch of a man. It was a Pureblood tradition that had been dwindling as many brides had given themselves to their affianced before their wedding night. It showed that his family valued the old ways, the ways where he would always put my safety as well as any of our childrens' above his own, where being pure on your wedding night was something which was to be desired rather than cast aside.
I will never forget when my sister stopped receiving white flowers from her affianced. I had never seen our father so angry. I will never forget when my sister stopped receiving white flowers from her affianced. I had never seen our father so angry. He told me that I should never give myself up before I was in the marriage bed. And I never did.
My bridal bouquet consisted of white roses picked from the very same bush that I received my first rose from, and my future daughter-in-law will have her bridal bouquet picked from there too. It seems as though it may be the start of a tradition for many years to come.
I walk through an archway into a different part of the garden, a place I rarely venture. It was where my husband and I had an explosive argument nearly leading to our separation. I had found out that he had been having an affair with one of my friends, and I had confronted him about it. He told me that it was not my business, and that he was free to do as he pleased. I couldn't believe him. I shook with anger, fighting to hold back the tears. I had borne him an heir only a month before and he was already warming someone else's bed! He never did it again though: I think he may have realised what would have happened if his indiscretion ever came to light.
I shiver, feeling slightly cold. It is only now that I realise I have spent the entire afternoon wandering around the gardens. I walk back to the Manor and take one more look at the gardens before I dine with my family.