Chapter 1: Do not test me

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"You can't leave," his words were piercing ice. "If you do, I'll hold them all responsible," his unwavering eyes held her gaze, not letting her look away. "I will kill whoever I think might have helped take you away from me, and when I find you, your chains will be cut tighter." The back of his hand caressed her cheek in a soft touch that did not match the harshness of his words. "I will become the villain everyone thinks I am if that means keeping you. Do not test me, Hermione."

Hermione felt herself trembling, of dread and longing. How had this happened? At what moment was her fate sealed against her will?

"Please..." she whispered. She did not know what she was pleading for. "Please, Draco." She was begging for mercy. For him to stop consuming her, for him to let her be. Otherwise, she was unsure anything would be left of her. Of the girl with dirty knees who picked wildflowers and dreamed of smelling the sea.

"Please, she whispers," he mocked, "you should know by now we belong to each other." His other hand stroked down her arm, reaching her fingers and squeezing them with his own, "you will be safe here, little lion; stop fighting." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Mother thought you should see the world," the mention of Narcissa felt like a hollow down her throat. "I will let you see it; all those descriptions from your books will pale in comparison when you walk down the streets of Rome and smell the perfumes of Cairo. Yes, that would have made her happy, too". His eyes glazed; he was far away for a second, and suddenly, he was back. Ruthless and precise. "But you need to understand; It will be under my terms. When I am sure you will remain safe."

Safe? From whom? She wanted to scream. She had been safe. Safe until him. The only protection she needed was from him.

He was his father. He had become what Narcissa had feared all along. Greedy. Oppressive. Unyielding.

But maybe he had always been like this. Hermione just had been too blind to see it.

She was desperate but not stupid. Crying would not give her an exit; he would dry her tears and call them pretty. No. She needed to outsmart him, to leave the country and never look back.

But what about the others? He knew she cared. Would he really use them against her to make her stay? Yes, he would. She could not live with the guilt. It would haunt her.

Overwhelmed, she did not resist when he bent his head and kissed her—soft, cruel lips they were. He roamed his hands down her neck, down her back as he held her tighter. "Little lion, sweet and mine," he murmured between hungry, deep kisses. "One day, you will realize I do this for you too," his tongue persistently pressed against her lips. "You will hate me less one day, but even if you don't, do not worry. You don't have to love me back; I will love you enough for the both of us."

And then, he laid her gently.