Hermione had prepared herself in advance, as much as possible, for the sight of Malfoy Manor. She’d envisioned herself standing in the foyer, walking through the drawing room, sitting at the table. Still, the wave of panic came over her, and held her fast in its grip. She grasped Draco’s hand tightly and he guided her through the hall. Narcissa was talking, and Draco was apparently answering for both of them, because Hermione was entirely lost to the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. She followed him automatically, trying to stop her eyes from lingering on small snatches of remembered places.