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Malfoy Manor was a spectacle of winter magic on Christmas Eve, draped in garlands of enchanted holly and illuminated by floating globes of golden light. The centrepiece of the evening’s festivities was the great Christmas tree, stretching nearly to the vaulted ceiling, its ornaments shimmering like stars. Pansy Parkinson leaned against the marble banister of the grand staircase, a glass of fire whisky in her hand, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd below with a look of faint amusement.