            As they climbed to the second floor, Hermione thought back to Grimmauld place, whose draftiness and darkness paled extraordinarily to Malfoy Manor’s dripping luxury. She was startingly out of place here, especially in her tennis shoes and denim, but felt enchanted all the same. To be swept through its ornate halls, with the lord of the manor on her arm, was a thrill as much as it was a shock. It was like walking into the fairy tales she’d loved as a girl, one born of darkness and misery, yet beautiful all the same.