Page 56 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I step inside.

The smell hits first—copper and bile and the lingering ghost of her perfume. That vanilla-laced citrus blend she wears like armor. It’s everywhere now, tinged with sweat and panic and the tang of what she became tonight.

The scene is... something.

A masterpiece in emotional carnage. She didn’t just kill him. She decimated him. Overkill, some would say. But not me. No, I’d call it righteous. Long overdue. A little clumsy, sure. But passionate.

She made a mess.

A glorious, chaotic, feral mess.

And now it’s mine to clean.

I crouch by the body, eyeing the arterial spray on the far wall and the delicate little paw prints that trailed through it.

She’ll never know it, but she wasn’t the only one planning to spill blood tonight.

I already hated this bastard before he slipped that photograph into her office mail.

But that? That changed everything.

You don’t threaten her. You don’t even look at her. She’s mine. My bright thing. My purpose. You touch her, and you die.

It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. It was something else. Something worse. I didn’t want his attention redirected. He was supposed to stay fixed on his usual victims—easy, predictable, distant.

Not turn his hunger on her.

Her prints are everywhere.

Of course they are. Mixed into the blood, the footprints, her vomit. A literal handprint smeared across the concrete.

It’s almost impressive how completely she blew every possible cardinal rule before fleeing a murder scene.

I chuckle under my breath. “You beautiful disaster.”

But it’s okay. I’ve cleaned worse.

In my ear,Manacledis being recited like I don’t nearly have this chapter memorized. Draco threatens to burn the portraits as Hermione walks into his library.

I start to mentally catalog the list—entry points, fibers, surfaces. It’s not just about wiping things down. It’s about erasing her. Scrubbing this place so thoroughly it’ll feel like she never breathed here.

Because there’s no limit I won’t go for her.

Not one. Not ever.

It’s whyManacledis my favorite Dramione fanfic. The way Draco worships Hermione from afar—protecting her, suffering for her, waiting for her to finally look up and see what was always standing guard.

It’s not just fiction. It’s instruction.

Because just like Hermione eventually claimed her dragon, Poppy will claim me.

She’ll say the words I’ve waited so long to hear.

The ones that will bind us. Forever.

Soon.

But first—this.

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