This is an adaptation of a Brazilian book, keep that in mind before further reading ^.^
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, nor does the original plot. They respectively, J.K's and Michelle Reid's.
Chapter 1
London. The house, ostentatious, stood in a sophisticated address, close to the Hyde Park. It was five forty-five pm, six hours after the beginning of the torment.
The tension in the beautifully decorated was palpable. People huddled together in small groups, some whispering in hushed and grave tones, others erupting in tears occasionally. Some were offering small words of comfort, while others kept to themselves, away from everything and everyone, in silence.
Hermione belonged to that last group, seated alone in a leather loveseat. Outwardly, she appeared calm, while looking at the clear carpet beneath her feet, indifferent to everything.
But the fact was that she wasn't indifferent. Each movement, each sound, made her mind throb. If she moved a muscle, her auto control, kept in such a flimsy hold, would ruin like a sand castle after the waves came crashing.
When the terrible news came, Hermione found herself in such a state of terror that it was indescribable. They tried to put her to bed. They had tried to make her take tranquilizers to spare her of the torment. They tried to keep her apart of everything.
She refused. What else could she do? How could a mother seek refuge in sleep in a moment like this?
But there was nothing more excruciating than the wait.
She had to wait for the man that was the center of that crisis, the man that would come to take control of the situation.
She had already been informed that he was on his way, but it wasn't as if it would make her feel any better. Nothing could cure her of that horror. Nothing. No one.
Therefore, there she was, eyes downcast so no one could guess her shakiness, her uneasiness, her pain, so no one would see the paleness of her skin, accentuated by the black of her shirt and stretch pants.
The sudden sound of the brakes of a car in front of the house left everyone on alert. Hermione did not move, nor did she look up.
Sounds of voices could be heard on the entrance hall, one of them standing out for it's incisive and authoritarian tone.
The steps, firm and precise, approached the closed door of the living room. Everyone inside the room turned to the door when it opened, anxious eyes craved on the man at the doorstep.
Hermione, however, kept her eyes fixed on the carpet, carefully counting the little rose buds that made the pattern of the material, in pale shades of blue and peach.
Tall, athletic, white blond hair, rigid body. White shirt, dark tie, grey suit, with the characteristic trim of silk. His face had a natural paleness, bringing out his perfect nose, his sensual mouth that was in a thin line, and his eyes. His eyes... They were the eyes of a hunter, of a predator. Grey, like steel. Cold, like his face. A man cut in marble.
He stood by the door for long and crucial seconds, keeping everyone in suspense. His cold eyes scrutinized the place until they found Hermione, seated in her lonely splendor, face down, distant.
The man approached, his movements sinuous like those of a feline, and stopped in front of her.
"Hermione?" He called, in a low tone.
She did not move. Her eyes focused weakly in his hand made leather shoes.
"Hermione!" This time, there was an authoritarian tone in his voice.
Her misty eyes slowly raised themselves, contemplating his long legs, his powerful torso. Finally, they met the grey eyes that she had wished to never see again.
How long had it been since she had saw him last? Two, almost three years? And, all this time, he had changed very little. But what would there be to change? After all, Draco Malfoy was a strong, powerful man that could give himself the luxury of having elegant houses in the bests addresses of the most important capitals throughout the world. He was born to the power, was raised in the power and used the power. When he raised his voice, people got intimidated.
He was a man that had everything: good looks, a perfect and healthy body, acute intelligence. What three years could change? His eyes, maybe? Could they have become more unmerciful?
After all, he was the unmerciful. She was the sinner.
Three years, remembered Hermione. Three years of silent resentment. Three years since he decided to abandon her. Now he had dared to come in and call her by her name, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But it wasn't. They both knew it. And Hermione was in no condition to keep going like nothing had happened.
She diverted her gaze.
In that moment, he spoke again. The message rang loud and clear. Everyone heard it.
"Leave."
Draco kept himself beside Hermione, waiting for his order to be answered to.
The people left the room silently: both of the undercover cops; the taciturn chauffeur who was without his uniform; the nanny, who was in tears, face buried in a handkerchief; the housekeeper and her husband; the doctor that was called to take care of the nanny, but had stayed fearing for Hermione's health.
She heard the door close when the last person got out, leaving them in absolute silence.
Draco withdrew himself from her side, returning a few seconds later with a tumbler.
"Drink!" He ordered, seating by her in the loveseat.
The characteristic aroma of brandy invaded Hermione's nostrils. She shook her head, making her caramel curls bounce and then settle around her shoulders and arms.
He ignored her negative.
"Drink!" He repeated. "You are as pale as a ghost. Drink, or I'll force you to."
The words were more than a warning. That much was clear when Draco held Hermione's chin with a strong hand.
She drank, but sputtered when the liquid descended like fire through her dry throat.
"That's better." He whispered, without knowing that it was his touch and not the drink that caused her to sputter. "Drink a little more."
She obeyed, trying to protect herself from the horror she was facing. Her body still reacted in a violent way to physical contact from the one that caused her so much pain and disillusion.
He made her drink various sips until deciding that it was enough. Then Hermione raised her amber eyes, full of condemnation.
"Was it you who did this?" She asked, the words hurting her tense throat.
Draco wanted to deny it, using his eyes to ask silently how could she suspect he was capable of something so heinous.
"I hate you." She continued. "I despise the very ground you walk on. If something happens to my little girl, you beter watch out. I'll go after you to the end of the world, the highest cloud in heaven to the deepest pit in hell, even if it's the last thing I'll ever do!"
Surprisingly, he did not reply nor did he react to her words. He had never been a man that let himself be threatened.
"Tell me what happened." He asked, impertubable.
The image came back violently to Hermione's mind: the nanny dazedly and clumsyly entering the room, make up smudged, and crying desperately.
"Lyra has been kidnapped!" She had screamed, terrified. "They simply showed up out of nowhere and took her while we were in the park!"
The memory shook her out of her stupor.
"You know what happened!" She snarled, shooting daggers at him through her eyes. "She was the only humilliation of your life, Draco! Is that why you decided to kidnap and then later exterminate her?"
"I did not take your daughter." He stated, simply.
Hermione noticed, disgusted, that he did not acknowledge the child as his, or theirs. She was simply hers, only.
"Yes, you did!" She insisted, without bating an eyelid. "You know what? Your last name should not only mean bad faith, it shoud also mean revenge. I just can't understand why didn't they take me, instead of her."
"Think a little, use that big brain of yours. Luckyly, maybe you'll find your answer."
She diverted her eyes, hating his cruel indifference.
"For heaven's sake, you make sick!" She muttered, standing up and away from him. Hugging herself, she looked out of the window to the spectacle that the security had made around the house: men with dogs, guns, cell phones, alert eyess. She laughed scornfully. "What a big show! Who are you trying to fool?"
"That is to keep the press at bay." He explained in a dry tone. "Even though she was trained for this type of situation, that stupid nanny ran out screaming bloody murder, like a lunatic, throughout the park, for all of London to hear." He sighed, his first demonstration of anger. "Now the world knows the child has been taken. How can we get her back without alarm?"
"Oh, God!" Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, surrendering herself to the panic. "Why, Draco? She's only two! She did not mean any threat! Why did you take my baby?"
In the next instant, he was already by Hermione's side, holding her arms in a vice like grip.
"I'm going to tell you this for the last time, so listen carefully: I did not kidnap your daughter."
"But somebody... Somedy did." She sttutered, eyes watery. "Who else could hate her so much, to be able to do it?"
He sighed again. He could not answer because, in a way, he deserved the accusation.
"Come sit again, before you fall." He suggested.
"I don't want to sit down!" She refused, exasperatedly. "And stop touching me!" She struggled violently out of Draco's grasp. He pursed his lips, finally showing that, at last, Hermione's behaviour was starting to wear on his nerves. "Who else?" She repeated, in a whisper. "Who else would want to take my little baby away from me?"
"From you?" He asked calmly, turning his back to her. "It was from me they took the child of!"
"From you?" She repeated his question in a ironic and incredulous tone, raising an eyebrow. "Why would they do that? You rejected her!"
"But the world doesn't know it."
Hermione felt herself freezing inside. So her suspicions were founded!
"I'm a powerful man." He continued. "And power makes a lot of enemies."
She shook her head.
"No! That's a family thing, I know it is. I spoke with them on the tele...
"You spoke with them?" Draco turned around, a furious glint in his steely eyes.
"On the telephone." She completed, trying to forget the nausea she felt after the call was ended.
"When?" Draco huskily asked. "When did you get the call?"
"About an hour after they took Lyra. They said you would know what to do." A shadow fell over Hermione's amber eyes. "Then do something! For God's sake, do it, whatever it is!"
He swallowed a curse and took her arm, making her sit again on the same spot on the loveseat.
"Now listen. I need to know exactly what they said and how did they say it.
"You want to know if they were German? Yes, they were! Just like you!" She answered accusingly. "I recognized the accent and the contempt for whoever does not have the same blood!"
Draco ignored her comment.
"Man or woman?"
"Man." She muttered.
"Young, old?"
She sook her head.
"The voice was muffled, I couldn't tell."
Hermione a move to cover her trembling lips with her hands, but Draco held them.
"Did he speak your language?"
She confirmed, nodding her head.
"With a german accent. Let go of me..."
Draco ignored her request.
"And what did they say?" He insisted.
"We are... We are with your daughter." She related, word by word. "She is safe... For now. Call Malfoy. He will know what to do. We'll get in contact... Again... At seven thirty p.m." Hermione looked around, terrified. "What time is it?"
"Calm down. It's not even six yet." He whispered, trying to calm her. "Focus, please. Did you hear anything else? Some background sound, a plane, a car..."
She shook her head.
"Nothing." She freed one of her hands to cover her eyes. "My baby... My poor baby... I want her here!" She turned to Draco. "In my arms..." Then she hugged herself, like embracing the little girl. "Oh, Draco... Do something!"
"Go to your room and try to rest." He recommended. "I'll tell you if they call again."
"Will you take care of everything?"
"Isn't this why I'm here?"
It was the only reason for him to be there.
"Where were you?" She asked, suddenly curious. "When you received the news, where were you?"
"New York."
Hermione was surprised.
"New York? But it has only been six hours since..."
"I flew in a Concorde, the faster plane of the world. Do you still suspect I kidnnaped your daughter?"
Hermione raised her chin defiantly, eyes cold like ice.
"We both know what you are capable of."
"Why would I wish to do that?" He argued in a reasonable tone. "Lyra does not represent a threat."
"Oh, no?" Hermione challenged him with her eyes. "Untill you get rid of me and find a new wife, Lyra is your legitimate heiress even without ever having had her father's attention, that wasn't man enough to assume her."
The provocation went too far.
"Be careful." He warned, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Watch your tongue around me!"
"Well then you take care to have my daughter returned to me safe and sound. Otherwise, God help you." She warned him. "I'll throw the Malfoy name in the mud!"
"What can you accuse me of? Didn't I give you and your daughter everything you could ever wish for? I gave you my home and my money, not mentioning my name!"
"Why Draco? To protect your stupid german pride!"
"What pride?" Abruptly, he raised himself to his full height and turned his back to her. "You destroyed my pride when you slept with another man!"
Hermione felt her chest tighten, in a torured compassion for the man that lived with that belief for almost three years. Simply believing that that could be true was a fatal blow to that enormous ego.
"Argh!" He waved one of his hands dismissively. "I will not argue with you anymore. I despise you. And I despise myself for giving myself go through the trouble of talking to you."
He walked decidedly to the door.
"Draco!"
He stopped, his hand on the handle.
"Yes?"
"Please... Even if you don't believe in me, Lyra did not commit any crime!"
"I know." He agreed, once again impertubable.
"Then please... Please, bring her back! Alive!"
He turned around and looked at her intently. His hard and cold grey eyes took on her long hair that reached to her waist, loosely tied with a string of black velvet. Hermione was not tall, and her simple stile of clothing only served to accentuate her slim body.
She was a delicate creature the kind that seemed more breakable than the finest crystals. Like a word said in a little more harsh tone would snap her in half. But he knew it was not true. She might be fragilized in the current sutiation, but she was far from breakable. If anything, she was destructible.
If possible, his grey eyes became even more harsher.
"The child has been kidnapped because it has my surname." He said coldly. "That being said, rest assured that I'll do everything possible and impossible to rescue her."
The door was closed, leaving Hermione fuming. He kept addressing to Lyra as 'the child', like she was a rag doll! A mere inanimated object that was stolen!
"Oh!" She burried her face in her hands, trying to keep the hurtful thougths at bay.
Her little girl, at the hands of a madman! What kind of heartless monster would take a baby girl from her mother? What made a person so cruel, so evil?
She raised her face when a dark thought crossed her mind. She knew only one person that was capable of such cruelty: Lucius Malfoy.
He was so many times worse, colder and harsher than Draco. And he hated her. Hated her because he thought she was unworthy of his precious son. If Draco considered himself omnipotent, Lucius considered himself a God.
She straightened herself. But she was still trembling. A terrible fear flooded her motherly heart.