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Harry was only eight years old when they lost their apartment and had to move to his grandmother's old house. That house was horrible. The floor creaked, the windows kept slamming their shutters making a disgusting squawking sound. There were spiders in the corners and a strange chemical smell everywhere. But most frightening of all was the basement. There was something bubbling and exploding in all the colors of the rainbow. But as scary as the house was, so beautiful was the garden behind it. Only for some reason his grandmother had forbidden him to go there after sunset. Every evening, sitting in the kitchen with hot cocoa, his grandmother would tell him incredible stories. About the delicate rose who was always embarrassed when the proud daffodil paid her compliments. About the peony and the chrysanthemum always fighting each other. So many beautiful, scary, sweet, crazy stories. Harry never believed them. Only until he went out into the garden after sunset.