Taking a moment to regain her senses, Hermione felt a shiver pass through her. Dobbins had brought them just inside the tall gates of Malfoy Manor. The grounds of the mansion had a foreboding mood to them, even on Christmas Eve. Just like Azkaban, the structure itself was haunting and intimidating–its many towers and dark stone facets sent a message to turn back. The skin on Hermione’s forearm twitched as she recalled the memory of being sliced and carved by Bellatrix. Last time she had been here, her cries for help had fallen upon deaf ears. Folding her arms around herself, Hermione looked out beyond the gates. If she were in trouble, no one would know.