Il Corvo reeked of money and pretension. Hermione wondered if she'd ever get used to this money-with-emphasis thing that Malfoy had.  The floors gleamed with wood that had been stained so dark it looked black, and heavy black draperies folded along every wall, the velvet muffling conversations as well as proclaiming to anyone who knew to look that this establishment could afford a cleaning staff dedicated to keeping dust and doxies away.   White table clothes almost shone in the dark room, dark tapers on each one, and the tables sat as isolated rocks on the dark sea of that wood.  No one was packing diners in here, determined to make every inch of floor space turn a profit.  She stood, almost dumb stuck in the foyer, before she leaned over to Draco and whispered,  "It's so dark in here, how are we supposed to see the menu?"