A Dangerous Game
The problem with obsession was that it never stayed quiet.
It started as a whisper in the back of the mind, something easy to ignore, something manageable. But then it grew. It dug itself deeper, curling into the spaces between thought and reason, twisting, consuming, until it was impossible to separate from want.
Lucius had told himself he was in control.
He wasn’t.
Not anymore.
Because Narcissa Black had smiled at him.
It was a fleeting thing, subtle, nothing anyone else would have even noticed. But he had noticed. And it had wrecked him.
Because now, he needed to know—was it real? Or was she playing him the way he had played so many others?
And worse—far worse—if she was playing him… did he even care?
The firelight flickered against the dark stone walls, casting shadows that stretched and twisted in the dimly lit common room. The usual murmur of voices had thinned to a low hum, students scattered in small clusters, some immersed in quiet conversation, others absorbed in their books.
Lucius sat in his usual chair near the fire, legs crossed, fingers idly toying with the silver ring on his hand. He wasn’t reading the open book before him—hadn’t turned a page in nearly twenty minutes.
His mind was elsewhere.
Across the room, Narcissa sat with Andromeda, her posture elegant, her expression composed. She was listening to something her sister was saying, though her focus seemed distant, her gaze flickering occasionally toward the flames.
Lucius exhaled slowly, dragging his knuckles along the curve of his jaw.
She had smiled at him.
And now she was ignoring him again.
He should have expected it. Should have known she would pull away after giving him even the smallest piece of herself.
Still, something dark curled in his chest at the sight of her—at the distance she was keeping.
He wanted to close it.
And yet, for the first time, a thought crept in, unbidden and unwelcome.
What if she doesn’t want you to?
The idea burned, sharp and unforgiving. He had never doubted himself before—never questioned his ability to win when he set his mind to something. But Narcissa was different.
She was not impressed by his charm, not easily swayed by his attention.
And what if—what if all of this, every lingering look, every shift in her carefully measured demeanor—was nothing more than his own delusion?
The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He was losing control.
And he hated it.
The wind was colder than it had been the last time he stood there, sharp against his skin, biting through the fabric of his robes. The sky stretched endless and black above him, the stars scattered like shattered glass.
Lucius had come here for clarity.
It wasn’t working.
The memory of Narcissa’s fleeting smile still haunted him, twisting in his ribs, demanding his attention. He had spent years mastering restraint, perfecting the art of holding power without ever seeming to grasp for it.
And yet, here he was, standing alone beneath the empty sky, aching over a girl who refused to be his.
The thought was infuriating.
And yet—
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
And yet, he knew the truth.
If she ever let him in, truly, if she ever chose him—
He would burn the world for her.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Lucius wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring out over the vast, empty grounds. The cold didn’t bother him. It should have—his hands were numb, his breath curling in the night air—but he barely felt it.
All he could feel was the weight of his own thoughts, pressing down on him like iron chains.
It wasn’t just frustration. It wasn’t even about winning anymore.
It was about her.
Her silence. Her distance. The way she could make him feel as though he was the only thing in the world that mattered in one moment, only to vanish like smoke in the next.
Lucius prided himself on control. On never wanting anything more than he allowed himself to.
But Narcissa had never been something he allowed.
She had become a part of him without his consent, had rooted herself in his mind so deeply that he could no longer remember what it was like not to want her.
And it was starting to hurt.
He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening against the stone railing.
He hated this.
Hated that he had let himself get tangled in something he couldn’t manipulate, couldn’t predict, couldn’t force into place.
And worst of all—hated the quiet, terrifying thought creeping in at the edges of his mind.
What if you’re never enough for her?
Lucius had never questioned his worth before. Never doubted that he could have anyone he wanted.
But Narcissa wasn’t anyone.
She was the only one.
And she was slipping further and further out of his reach.
A sharp gust of wind tore through the tower, ruffling his hair, and Lucius let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He needed to stop.
This wasn’t him. He wasn’t some foolish schoolboy pining over a girl who barely acknowledged him. He was Lucius Malfoy.
And yet—
His fingers curled tighter against the railing.
And yet, no matter how many times he told himself to walk away, to let it go, to forget her—
He couldn’t.
The night stretched on, and Lucius remained on the Astronomy Tower, his thoughts as tangled as the wind howling through the high windows. His gaze was locked on the dark, sprawling grounds below, though his mind was far from the quiet emptiness of the landscape.
She was everywhere. In his thoughts, in his dreams, in every carefully curated conversation he had with anyone else.
And now, he was so consumed by her, by the idea of her, that he wasn’t sure he remembered what it was like to be free of the weight she carried.
A faint noise—a rustle of robes—caught his attention, and he turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
Narcissa stood just behind him, her posture regal, her eyes unreadable. The shadows from the night cast across her features, making her look more like a vision than a real person.
Lucius stiffened, his heart thrumming in his chest, but he forced his expression to remain composed.
She must have known he was here. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know where he always retreated when the world became too much. But there was something unsettling about her being here now—something raw in the way she stood, just close enough to be dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice betraying none of the turmoil twisting inside him. He had learned the art of calmness long ago.
Narcissa’s gaze shifted briefly to the horizon before meeting his, her eyes almost unnervingly focused. “I could ask you the same thing.”
The words hung between them like a delicate thread, and Lucius felt the subtle tension in the air, like something was about to snap. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid of that happening—or if he was longingfor it.
“I came for quiet,” he replied, though it felt like a lie the moment it left his mouth. His pulse was erratic, his mind racing in ways he couldn’t control.
She took a step closer, her presence pulling him in.
She took a step closer, her presence pulling him in, every inch of her like a magnet that refused to let go. The distance between them was mere feet, but in that moment, it felt like a chasm—something unspoken, unacknowledged, but heavy all the same.
Lucius had never been afraid of silence. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to exist in it without discomfort. But now, in her presence, silence felt like an impenetrable wall, one that kept them both locked in a delicate standoff neither of them fully understood.
Her voice, when it finally broke the quiet, was soft—almost too soft. “Are you always so careful with your words, Lucius?”
Her use of his first name sent a jolt through him, unexpected and intimate in a way he couldn’t quite place. It felt like an invitation—and a warning.
He turned to face her more fully, his gaze narrowing. “Why? Do you think I’m hiding something?”
For a brief moment, a flicker of something—something unreadable—crossed her face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only her quiet composure. “Perhaps you don’t need to hide anything,” she said, her tone calm, yet there was an edge to it, a sharpness that cut through the distance between them. “Maybe you just don’t know what to say.”
Lucius felt the sting of her words, sharper than he expected, but he couldn’t bring himself to back down. He never backed down.
“I know exactly what to say,” he replied, his voice low, almost a whisper. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, it felt as though they were alone in the universe, everything else fading into the background. “The question is whether you’ll listen.”
Her breath caught, just for a split second. But then she was back to her usual icy composure, her gaze unwavering. “I’m listening.”
Lucius took a step closer, closing the small gap between them, his eyes searching hers for something he couldn’t quite define. There was something there, beneath the surface of her cool indifference. Something that had always been just out of reach—and for the first time, he found himself wondering if he would ever truly understand her.
“Then hear me now,” he said, his voice dark with intent. “I don’t play games, Narcissa. Not with you.”
For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered, and he could see it—just the tiniest crack in her armor, a vulnerable edge to her otherwise perfect composure. But it was gone almost instantly, hidden behind a veil of ice.
She took a step back, her gaze hardening. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Lucius.”
The words hit him like a slap to the face, but they didn’t stop him.
“No,” he said quietly, a twisted smile playing at the corners of his lips, “I don’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that you feel something.”
Her gaze hardened, her expression unreadable. But her lips parted, just slightly, as though she were about to say something, something that might tear away the last of the distance between them. But then, just as quickly, she closed her mouth, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“You’re wrong,” she said sharply, her voice tight. “You have no idea what I feel.”
Lucius’s chest tightened at the sharpness in her tone, but he stood his ground, refusing to back away. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
“I know exactly what you feel,” he replied, his voice calm, though there was a steel edge to it. “Because I feel it too.”
Her eyes widened slightly, the smallest crack in her facade appearing for just a fraction of a second before it was once again smoothed over, hidden beneath layers of restraint. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
And for the first time, Lucius felt a pang of something that resembled regret.
He had pushed her too far.
But the more he watched her—the way she held herself back, the way she shut him out—the more he realized that he couldn’t stop himself.
This dangerous game they were playing, this tension, this slow-burning need between them…
It was too much.
And it would either consume them both, or it would destroy him.
But he couldn’t walk away now.
Not when the taste of her was this close.
Not when the sting of her rejection had left him aching.