Rizzle

After Voldemort, there was this. The clock is ticking to create a cure to the unimaginable horror that currently grips the world. Hermione finds herself unwillingly allied with the most hated man in Wizarding Britain.

Love in a Time of the Zombie Apocalypse

Leonie

"No soft words and wooing? Straight to the main course like the predictable creature you are. If you fuck like you fight, Potter, it's no wonder you have trouble hanging on to your girlfriends."

I'm a Slytherin with all my heart and this ... this is why. 

The bleakness left his gaze. Now, there was calculation. Slytherins, thought Draco, with approval.

Ah, bloody hell, 27yo me returning to an adult and very, very morally-so-gray-it's-almost-pitchblack version of my first fictional crush (and comfort character). I'm here for it, not gonna lie. 

(And I have read published books this year that read ten times worse than this FF does, so don't ever judge just because of the format, mode of publication or stuff like that.) 

"If I had the means to do it, I would take you from this place whether you wished to go or not. I would leave your friends. I would leave Zabini and his little boy. I would abandon the chance of creating a cure. And I would do this without a second glance back, without a second thought. I would see this entire fleet sunk to the bottom of the sea, with innocent Muggle women and children, and all our fellow wizarding citizens still aboard. I would do that if it meant we could walk away, unconditionally. These are my priorities. I am not Amarov, but that does not make me one of you. I will never be one of you."

Aesthetically, he was like some sort of pale, brooding Byronic anti-hero, the sort historian Thomas Babington Macauley had once described as, " a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow, and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection." The kind who was banned from all the decent gaming clubs because he'd been caught counting cards— but would happily meet you with pistols at dawn if you dared to call him out— and who spent his inheritance on good claret and bad women.

He'd tell you about strategy (his) and wishful thinking (yours) and you'd roll your eyes, but secretly you believed that under all that ambivalence was something deep and immensely powerful that could move him on occasion.

Draco Malfoy didn't unravel like normal people. None of it leaked out, nor did he lash out at her. He folded in on himself until there was nothing left but a hard shell.

Easier to leave it to Draco. People like her used people like him when there was no black and white to hold on to, just shades of grey.

Maybe censure, distrust and low expectations only fed into some sick, self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe knives only knew to be sharp because all anyone ever wanted from them was to cut?

"I am not mad," Draco snapped, surprisingly (and almost amusingly defensive), "there were tests in prison."

Love in a Time of the Zombie Apocalypse quotes

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