The Weight of Silence
Lucius spent the next few days in a state of unsettled tension, the encounter with Narcissa lingering in his mind like a wound he could never quite heal. It gnawed at him, distracting him in ways that were both infuriating and—if he was being honest with himself—terrifying.
He knew her. He knew how she played the game of distance, how she hid behind walls of perfection and composure. He had admired that about her, envied it even. But now, her aloofness felt like a barrier he could not break through, and the more she retreated, the more determined he became.
The problem was, the more he pushed, the further she seemed to slip away.
Lucius could feel it in every glance she refused to return, every conversation she carefully steered away from him. Even when they shared a room, their interactions were cold, clipped, the air thick with the unspoken things they both refused to acknowledge.
He told himself that he didn’t care. He told himself that he had played this game long enough to know the rules, that he could walk away at any time. But deep down, he knew he was lying to himself.
Narcissa was a riddle he couldn’t solve, and for once in his life, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t sure he wanted to.
The next encounter came during dinner.
Lucius sat at the Slytherin table, eyes scanning the room as the students murmured amongst themselves. He could feel the buzz of activity around him—the laughter, the conversations, the clinking of silverware—but his attention was fixed on one thing, or rather, one person.
Narcissa Black, sitting across the hall at the far end of the table, her back straight, her eyes fixed on her plate. Her posture was immaculate as always, but it wasn’t enough to hide the subtle stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands remained tightly folded, as though holding herself together.
Something in him stirred—something sharp, something restless.
Andromeda was speaking to her, but it was clear Narcissa wasn’t truly listening. Her gaze flickered briefly to Lucius, and for a moment, their eyes met across the room. There was nothing warm in the look she gave him—nothing inviting. But there was something in her gaze, something fleeting, that made his pulse quicken.
It was the slightest shift of her gaze. The faintest change in the way she held herself.
But it was enough.
Lucius leaned back in his seat, his fingers tracing the edge of his goblet absently as he let his eyes linger on her, just long enough to let the weight of his presence settle between them.
She didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t react. But the air between them grew thick with an unsaid tension.
The longer he watched her, the more his mind raced with possibilities, each one darker and more frustrating than the last. Did she know how much he wanted her? Did she know how impossible it was to walk away?
His thoughts were interrupted by a slight movement from her, a shift of her posture as she rose from the table, excusing herself with a quiet murmur to Andromeda.
Lucius’s eyes never left her.
The moment she stood, he felt the urge to follow. To walk right up to her and force the issue, force her to face him, to acknowledge what was happening between them.
But he stayed seated, his jaw tight.
The game had changed.
And for once, it wasn’t about control.
Later that night, as the common room quieted and the students drifted off to their respective rooms, Lucius found himself once again on the Astronomy Tower. The wind was sharp against his skin, and the night stretched endlessly above him, a vast sea of stars.
He had come here to think—to clear his mind—but the more he thought about Narcissa, the more his thoughts became a spiral of frustration.
He didn’t need her. He didn’t.
But it didn’t change the fact that he wanted her—more than he had ever wanted anyone.
The sound of footsteps approached from behind, and Lucius didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Narcissa,” he said, his voice low but clear, cutting through the quiet of the night.
She didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, he almost thought she might turn and leave. But then she spoke, her voice soft but laced with something that felt… fragile.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Lucius turned slowly, meeting her gaze. She stood several feet away, her figure illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. There was an unreadable expression on her face, a mix of defiance and something else—something he couldn’t place.
He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them, his breath coming out in a soft exhale. “And why is that?”
Her eyes flickered for a moment, and he could see her calculating something—perhaps debating whether to walk away, to leave him standing here like an idiot. But then, she held his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a crack in her armor.
“You don’t understand, Lucius.”
He stopped just in front of her, close enough that he could reach out and touch her, but he didn’t. The air between them was thick with something unspoken, a tension that neither of them seemed able to avoid.
“I understand more than you think,” he said softly, his voice a whisper now, meant only for her. “You think I’m playing a game, that I’m just like the others. But I’m not.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but Lucius held up his hand, stopping her.
“I’m not like them,” he repeated, his tone firm, unwavering. “I never have been. And I won’t let you push me away like I’m just another fool who doesn’t matter to you.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips trembling slightly as she fought to keep her composure. “You think you can just take me, Lucius?”
He was close enough now that he could feel the heat of her body against his, the trembling of her breath, and it made something in him snap.
“No,” he whispered. “I think I already have.”
The words hung in the air between them, and for a brief, infinite moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Then, Narcissa pulled back, breaking the tension. Her eyes hardened, the mask of indifference slipping back into place as she took a step away.
“Goodnight, Lucius,” she said, her voice quiet but final.
And just like that, she was gone.
Lucius stood there in the cold night, the words she hadn’t said echoing in the empty space between them. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t know whether to move forward or walk away.
But he couldn’t walk away. Not now. Not when the silence between them felt like the heaviest thing he’d ever carried.
Lucius remained motionless, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. He could hear the soft rustle of her robes as she moved away, but the sound seemed distant, as though she were already far beyond his reach. He stood there, staring into the darkness, as though he could will the space between them to shrink with just the force of his thoughts.
But the silence stretched on, heavy and impenetrable, suffocating him with its weight. He felt the bitter sting of frustration clawing at his chest, the overwhelming desire to close the distance between them once more.
But something stopped him.
The certainty he had always carried, the belief that he could control everything—manipulate any situation, bend anyone to his will—was slipping away, unraveling in the face of Narcissa’s quiet resistance. The way she had dismissed him, not with anger, but with a calm, implacable distance, was unsettling in ways he hadn’t expected.
She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t want him the way they did. And it terrified him.
He had never been afraid of rejection before. But this wasn’t rejection. This was something deeper, something that couldn’t be forced or bargained for.
And for the first time, Lucius didn’t know how to fight it.
A shadow passed over his features as he slowly turned and leaned against the cold stone of the tower’s wall. His breath fogged in the night air, but it didn’t soothe him. Nothing did. He felt like a thread pulled taut, stretched to its limit, ready to snap.
He had come so close.
The words he had said to her—the confession he hadn’t realized he was making—hung in the air like a challenge. But he knew it had been reckless. She had seen it. She had seen through him in a way no one else ever had, and it shook him.
Lucius’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides. What had he been trying to prove? What did he think would happen?
A part of him wanted to walk away, to cut his losses and retreat. To save face, to preserve what little dignity he had left. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t just leave it like this, not when the taste of her—of the possibility of her—was so close, so vivid in his mind.
His thoughts spiraled downward, a suffocating whirlpool of desires and regrets. He was aware of how desperately he was clinging to the idea of Narcissa, of winning her, when perhaps the true battle was not one he could fight.
Lucius let out a long, shuddering breath, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t define. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold stone against his back, the cool night air brushing against his skin.
Get it together, Lucius, he scolded himself. You’ve never let anything slip through your fingers before. Don’t start now.
But the words felt hollow, empty.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts, but eventually, the sound of soft footsteps broke the stillness.
He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Narcissa’s presence was unmistakable. The very air seemed to shift when she was near, as if the world itself recognized her beauty, her poise.
She stopped a few feet behind him, her voice soft but cutting through the silence. “I didn’t come back to listen to your self-righteous thoughts, Lucius.”
Her words were like ice, sharp and precise, but they didn’t stop the tightness in his chest from deepening. It wasn’t anger in her voice, though. It was something else. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He turned slowly, his heart racing, his breath steady but heavy in the air. “Then why are you here, Narcissa?”
Her gaze locked onto his, and for the first time, he saw something raw in her eyes. Something that flickered beneath her usual mask of indifference. She wasn’t looking at him like the others—like an obstacle to be overcome, like a challenge to win. No, her gaze held something far more dangerous.
Regret.
Pain.
And something far deeper than mere attraction.
“I wanted to make sure you understood,” she said quietly, her words carrying weight. “I wanted you to understand that this… whatever this is, it can’t continue. It’s not fair to either of us.”
Her words hit him like a physical blow, but they didn’t knock him off course. He steadied himself, forcing his emotions down, even as the pain of her words seemed to settle heavily in his chest.
“You think I don’t understand?” Lucius’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the rawness behind it was undeniable. He took a step toward her, his eyes searching hers desperately. “You think I don’t know what this means? What you’re really saying?”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was thick enough to cut through with a knife.
“I’m not like them,” Lucius said again, this time with more conviction, as though the words themselves were a defense against the very thing he feared. “I’m not like all the others you’ve let come and go. I care.”
She flinched at the words, and for the briefest of moments, Lucius thought he saw something flicker in her expression. Was it hope?
But just as quickly, the flicker was gone, replaced by a cold wall he could never breach. Narcissa took a step back, pulling herself further from him, and the space between them felt like an entire universe in that moment.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking, Lucius,” she said, her voice quieter now. The edge was still there, but it was tinged with something else, something deeper. “I’m not a prize to be won. And I don’t belong to you.”
It was a statement, not a challenge. A declaration of finality.
Lucius’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t control. The world seemed to tilt for a second, as though the ground beneath him was shifting.
But he couldn’t let her go. Not like this.
“I’m not asking for you to belong to me,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I’m just asking you to stop pretending we don’t belong together.”
Her eyes flashed with something akin to anger—or was it pain? He couldn’t tell.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The wind howled around them, carrying the weight of their words into the night.
And in that silence, Lucius understood.
There was no easy answer. No quick fix. No simple solution to the tangled mess that was their relationship.
But he wasn’t going to give up. Not yet.
Because if Narcissa was the game, then he was prepared to play it until the very end.
And this—this—was only the beginning.