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Summary
"I need to speak to your lousy, great-great-whatever grandson!"
The dark-eyed Malfoy laughed. "Close enough. Down the stairs, take three lefts until you see a painting of a Griffin Hunt."
Hermione nodded, mind already on cursing Malfoy when the portrait's low baritone halted her.
"Oh, and Dolly?"
She glanced back despite herself, unease coiling in her gut.
"It's good to see you here."
Later, she wouldn't be able to recall whether she had marched towards Malfoy, or had fled from his ancestor's grin.
--*--
Hermione Granger thought attending the Malfoy Gala was going to be a one-night affair, but Malfoy Manor never intended to let her go. Isolated and alone, she is forced to face a system where personal freedom is up for deliberation, and continuity always prevails. Her only hope lies with Lord Draco Malfoy, an utter arse caught in a perpetual power struggle with his father, and an overly accommodating Narcissa, who seems to understand the Manor better than any Malfoy man ever could.