They descend the stairs, and Draco is quiet as she takes it in. The attendees in the room number close to a hundred, maybe more. They’ve broken off into little circles of conversation, with some making rounds—working the room. Trays of nibbles float around them, nimbly avoiding party guests, and pausing intermittently. She has, at least, dressed appropriately—she sees other women in similar cuts and colours, and it eases some of her nervousness. Wizarding formal dress is not something she’s had much experience with, and in this crowd, the smallest of social faux-pas is spotted.