The breaking point
The castle was alive with the quiet hum of winter settling in. The air had taken on that crisp, sharp bite, and though snow had yet to fall, the sky beyond the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling promised its inevitable arrival. Students had begun layering their robes with thick scarves and gloves, lingering closer to fireplaces, seeking warmth in the common rooms and tucked-away corners of the library.
Lucius Malfoy had always enjoyed this time of year. There was something about the cold that sharpened his focus, something about the way the castle dimmed into a quieter version of itself that suited him. But this year, his patience was thinner than the frost beginning to gather on the windows.
It had been two weeks since the Slug Club gathering. Two weeks since Narcissa had watched him leave with Ophelia Burke’s laughter lingering in the air. Two weeks since that split-second hesitation, that flicker of attention she had been so determined to withhold.
And still—still—she had not given him an inch more.
Lucius had never worked for anyone’s attention before. He had never had to. His presence commanded it. His charm ensured it. And yet, here he was, playing a game where the rules shifted every time he thought he had gained the upper hand.
But he was done waiting.
The firelight cast long, wavering shadows across the stone walls, the emerald-and-silver banners hanging above them shifting slightly in the low warmth. The common room was half-full, a handful of students scattered across the space, speaking in hushed tones, studying, playing quiet rounds of wizard’s chess.
Narcissa sat near the fire, her posture perfect, her hands resting lightly on the open book in her lap. She was not reading it. He could tell.
Regulus Black sat beside her, murmuring something low enough that Lucius could not hear. It didn’t matter. Narcissa nodded slightly, but her expression remained impassive, untouched by whatever the younger Black had said.
Lucius did not approach immediately. He let himself be seen first.
He was not alone.
Ophelia Burke sat beside him, her dark hair swept over one shoulder, her lips curled in a lazy, knowing smile. She was speaking, something about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, but Lucius was only half-listening. He allowed himself to lean in slightly when she spoke, let his fingers skim the edge of her sleeve when she passed him her glass of firewhisky, let his gaze flicker—once, deliberately—toward Narcissa.
And there it was.
The faintest stiffening of her shoulders.
Regulus said something else. She turned to him, but her response was slower this time, more measured.
Lucius smirked to himself.
Ophelia, ever perceptive, followed his gaze and let out a soft, knowing hum. “You’re impossible, Malfoy.”
He glanced at her, amused. “Am I?”
She swirled the drink in her glass. “She’s never going to play into this.”
Lucius tilted his head. “We’ll see.”
Ophelia sighed, shaking her head, but there was no real irritation in her expression. “You do realize,” she murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear, “that she’s not one of your usual conquests.”
Lucius’s smirk did not waver. “No. She’s not.”
Which was precisely why he refused to let this go.
It was late, the castle hushed in the way it only ever was after curfew, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and candle wax. The library was mostly empty save for a few diligent Ravenclaws tucked away in their usual corners.
And Narcissa.
She sat alone at one of the long tables near the Restricted Section, a single candle flickering beside her, her quill moving in smooth, practiced strokes across the parchment.
Lucius had been waiting for this.
He approached slowly, his footsteps deliberately quiet against the stone. She did not look up when he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, though he saw the way her fingers hesitated ever so slightly before she continued writing.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Lucius watched her, the steady rhythm of her quill, the way the candlelight cast a warm glow against her fair skin. She was exquisite in the way that only someone entirely unaware of their own effect could be.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“You’re running out of places to avoid me.”
Narcissa did not pause. “Am I?”
Lucius smirked. “We both know you don’t need to be here this late.”
At that, she did look up. Her gaze was cool, unreadable, but there was something in it that made his pulse quicken. “And yet,” she said smoothly, “here you are as well.”
Lucius leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “You must know by now, Narcissa—I don’t chase people. I don’t have to.”
A flicker of something—amusement?—passed through her expression before she set her quill down. “And yet, you’ve been chasing me for months.”
Lucius tilted his head. “Have I?”
She exhaled softly, not quite a sigh, but close. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
He considered her for a moment, letting the weight of the question settle between them. Then, quietly, he said, “Your attention.”
There was no jest in his tone this time. No arrogance, no game-playing. Just the truth, laid bare.
For the first time since this had begun, Narcissa hesitated.
Lucius saw it in the way she averted her gaze, in the way her fingers curled slightly against the parchment, in the way the air between them seemed to shift.
But then—just as quickly as it had appeared—it was gone.
She picked up her quill again. “You mistake persistence for importance,” she murmured, resuming her writing. “You’ll tire of this eventually.”
Lucius studied her, his smirk returning slowly.
“We’ll see.”
And with that, he stood, taking his time as he walked away, knowing full well that for the first time—perhaps without meaning to—she was watching him leave.
Lucius did not return to the Slytherin common room immediately. Instead, he took his time walking through the dim corridors of the castle, his mind preoccupied with the way Narcissa had hesitated. It had been the briefest of pauses, a split-second fracture in her carefully constructed indifference—but he had seen it. And in a game like this, even the smallest advantage could be turned into victory.
He would not rush her.
No, he had learned by now that with Narcissa Black, patience was not a weakness—it was a weapon.
The next morning at breakfast, he ignored her.
It was a calculated move, one that did not go unnoticed. For weeks now, his attention had been unwavering, his presence lingering at the edge of her world, an ever-present shadow in her periphery. But today, he did not glance in her direction, did not position himself near her, did not give any indication that their late-night exchange in the library had unsettled him in the slightest.
Instead, he allowed Ophelia Burke to slide into the seat beside him, let her laughter ring a little too loudly, let his attention drift entirely to his own conversation.
He did not need to look to know that Narcissa was aware of it.
And when she stood from the Slytherin table earlier than usual, her posture rigid, her chin lifted ever so slightly higher—Lucius knew he had struck something.
But that was not enough.
It was the first snowfall of the season, and the village of Hogsmeade had transformed into something out of a winter postcard. Snow coated the rooftops in thick layers, lanterns glowed warmly against the cold, and the scent of butterbeer and freshly baked bread drifted through the crisp air.
Lucius had never particularly cared for the Hogsmeade weekends—at least, not for the same reasons most students did. He did not relish the crowded pubs, the loud chatter of students eager to escape the castle. But today, he saw an opportunity.
He did not seek out Narcissa immediately. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he allowed fate—or rather, careful planning—to do the work for him.
It was nearly an hour before he spotted her, walking out of Tomes and Scrolls with Andromeda and a few other Slytherin girls. She was bundled in an elegant dark green cloak, her pale hair pulled back into something simple yet impossibly regal.
He did not approach her, but he did make sure she saw him.
Standing at the entrance of The Three Broomsticks, he let Ophelia loop her arm through his, allowed her to pull him slightly closer as she whispered something against his ear. He laughed—low, quiet, enough to make it seem intimate. And just as he had planned, when he glanced across the street, his gaze met Narcissa’s.
She did not look away immediately.
Lucius smirked.
That was all he needed.
But he was not done.
-
He had never once set foot in the place before. The very idea of it—the frilly pink décor, the lace doilies, the saccharine scent of enchanted rose petals—was nauseating. But it was also the perfect place for what he needed.
Ophelia, of course, had been delighted.
“Honestly, Malfoy, I never would have guessed you had a sentimental side,” she teased as they stepped inside.
Lucius only smirked. “Let’s not get carried away.”
He didn’t care for the tea. He didn’t care for the atmosphere.
He cared that Narcissa was here.
She sat toward the back, her table occupied by Andromeda and another Slytherin girl, but her attention was elsewhere.
Because she had seen him.
Because he had made sure of it.
Ophelia leaned in, resting her chin against her palm, watching him with an amused expression. “You’re cruel, you know.”
Lucius took a sip of his drink, letting the warm bitterness linger on his tongue before responding. “Am I?”
Ophelia chuckled, shaking her head. “She’s going to hate you for this.”
Lucius’s gaze flickered toward Narcissa again. She was doing a remarkable job of pretending not to care, of keeping her expression smooth and indifferent.
But he saw the way her fingers tightened slightly around her teacup.
He smirked.
“No,” he murmured, more to himself than to Ophelia.
“She’s going to love me for it.”
That Evening – The Astronomy Tower
Lucius had expected Narcissa to come to him.
But what he had not expected—what made his pulse quicken in a way that was entirely unfamiliar—was how she did it.
She did not confront him in the common room. She did not seek him out in the library.
Instead, she made him follow her.
It was nearly midnight when he saw her slip out of the castle, her cloak billowing slightly as she disappeared toward the tower steps.
For a brief moment, Lucius hesitated.
This was new.
This was her making the next move.
The thought sent a thrill through him, sharp and intoxicating.
He followed.
By the time he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, she was waiting.
She stood near the edge, her back to him, the wind lifting strands of her pale hair as she gazed out over the snow-covered grounds.
For the first time since this had begun, Lucius felt something akin to caution.
He approached slowly, his footsteps deliberate, measured. “I assume this is not a coincidence.”
She turned then, her blue eyes sharp, unreadable.
“No,” she said simply.
Lucius stopped a few paces away, watching her carefully. She had always been controlled, always composed—but there was something different about her now. Something electric.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, voice calm but edged with something dangerous.
Lucius arched a brow. “Immensely.”
Narcissa exhaled softly, shaking her head. “You think you’re winning.”
Lucius smirked. “Aren’t I?”
She held his gaze for a long moment, the wind whipping around them, the night pressing in with cold, sharp silence.
And then—before he could react—she took a step closer.
It was small. Barely anything. But it was enough to send a pulse of heat through his veins.
“You should be careful, Malfoy,” she murmured. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Lucius tilted his head, his smirk never wavering.
“So are you, Black.”
She didn’t deny it.
And for the first time, he realized—this was no longer just his game.
It was theirs.