Venom and Its Cure

"Met Rookwood, have you?"

Hermione yelped, whipping her head around so fast she got whiplash.

Standing a few yards behind her was none other than Draco Malfoy. Tall, blond, broad. He had a new scar across his cheek. His lips were carved into a smirk that met his eyes, staring at her like she was the most amusing thing in the world. The pale skin of his hands and neck peaked out from dark robes that likely cost more money than Hermione had ever seen. But it was like he didn't care if they got ruined; his shoulder was leaning against the mossy trunk of a tree, and the bottoms were sweeping the dirty ground. Infuriatingly, he still managed to look exceedingly elegant. One hand was tucked in his pocket, the other carelessly twirled his wand between slender fingertips.

He looked so casual. So normal. As if the last time he'd seen her hadn't been at battle. Like he wasn't here to capture, torture, and kill her.

******

They had missed a Horcrux. Harry Potter, the Order's only hope, is dead. But Voldemort isn't. And now he is invincible, unless Hermione can figure out what the ninth Horcrux is.

Slowburn, post-war Dramione. Warning for dark material (sexual content, death, gore, torture, rape, self-harm, and psychological torture). This book is heavily inspired by Manacled.