Quiet Confessions
The days that followed that night in Narcissa’s dormitory were a mixture of sharp ache and quiet hope. Lucius was a man accustomed to clarity—he liked things clean-cut, decisive. But with Narcissa, everything had become blurred, muddied with emotions he had never allowed himself to feel before.
He tried to give her space, tried to pretend that the silence between them hadn’t eaten away at him, that the weight of her absence hadn’t haunted every moment of his days. But no matter how hard he tried, he found himself looking for her in every corner of Hogwarts—her pale blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, the soft flutter of her robes as she walked across the courtyard, the sound of her laughter echoing down the hallways, a sound that made his chest tighten.
And every time he saw her, she avoided him.
Yet, he couldn’t let go. She was too much a part of him now. Lucius knew that the pull between them wasn’t just something fleeting. There was something about her—something unspoken—that kept him tethered to her. It was maddening, it was tormenting, but it was also addictive.
It was Narcissa.
The chance for answers came one afternoon, in the secluded corner of the library, a place where no one would think to look for them. He had found her there, her back to him as she sorted through some of her books. The sight of her—so composed, so untouchable—made his chest ache with a longing that could never quite be satisfied.
She didn’t know he was there at first. He watched her for a moment, studying the way she moved, the delicate way she adjusted her robes, the quiet grace that seemed to permeate everything she did. It was both a blessing and a curse to see her like this—too far away, too out of reach. But he could feel the stirring in his chest, the way his pulse quickened when she was near.
Finally, he couldn’t stay silent any longer. He took a step forward, his voice low as he spoke her name.
“Narcissa.”
She froze for a moment, her back stiffening. Then, without turning to look at him, she spoke.
“I didn’t think I would see you here.”
Lucius’s lips quirked, though his heart was beating faster than he cared to admit. “I didn’t think you would avoid me forever.”
Her head turned slightly, her profile soft but guarded. “I didn’t avoid you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know what to say.”
He moved closer, watching as she shifted the books in front of her, as though they were a shield keeping him at bay. “And now?”
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edges of the book she held. “Now, I think… I think we need to talk.”
Lucius’s chest tightened with a mix of anticipation and relief. He knew this conversation had to happen. They could no longer continue dancing around each other, pretending that nothing had changed after that night in her dormitory. “Talk,” he said softly, leaning against the table, close enough to reach out and touch her but not yet daring to do so. “About what?”
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and there was something raw in them—something that mirrored his own desperate need for understanding. “About us,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. But then again, it was everything he had been waiting for.
“Us?” he repeated, his voice barely a breath. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that…” She trailed off, shaking her head slightly as if trying to gather her thoughts. “I mean that I can’t just forget about what happened between us. I can’t pretend like it was nothing.” Her voice was softer now, more vulnerable. “But we can’t do this openly, Lucius. Not here, not now.”
His pulse quickened, and he stepped closer, not allowing the distance between them to grow. “Why not?”
“Because of everything,” she said, almost pleading with him to understand. “My family. My future. It’s all already set in stone. You know that.”
Lucius clenched his jaw, trying to steady the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. “So what does that mean for us? Do you want to forget it? Do you want to pretend like we don’t have something between us?”
Narcissa’s lips parted, and for a moment, Lucius thought she might say something he didn’t want to hear—that she wanted to end things before they even really began. But instead, she hesitated. Her eyes softened, and she lowered her voice to a near whisper.
“I don’t want to forget. I just don’t want to risk everything.”
Lucius stepped even closer, now just inches away from her. He could feel the heat of her body, the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. His hand twitched, wanting to reach out, to touch her, to bridge the gap between them. But he held back.
“Then what do we do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile connection they had created. “How do we move forward?”
Narcissa looked down, her fingers gently brushing against the edge of the table. “We do this. We keep it quiet. No one can know. Not yet. But I can’t stay away from you, Lucius. I can’t pretend that I don’t want this.” Her eyes met his again, this time filled with an intensity that stole his breath away.
Lucius’s heart pounded in his chest, and he nodded slowly, understanding the risk they were taking, understanding the consequences. But he was willing to take it. “I’ll wait,” he whispered. “As long as it takes.”
And in that moment, a new kind of tension settled between them—one that was soft, simmering, quiet. A secret. Their secret.
Days turned into weeks, and their interactions became a dance of subtlety and restraint. In the hallways of Hogwarts, they would pass by each other, their eyes meeting in fleeting glances—just long enough to make his heart race, just short enough to avoid suspicion. When their paths crossed in the courtyard, Lucius would reach out with the smallest touch—a brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand, the gentlest of gestures that sent electric currents racing through his veins.
They never spoke of it openly, never discussed their secret, but it lingered in the air between them like a weight neither of them could bear to shake.
Lucius would sit in the Great Hall during meals, watching Narcissa from across the room. She would glance over at him occasionally, her gaze meeting his in a way that sent a shiver down his spine, as if her eyes were telling him everything that her lips couldn’t. A slight tilt of her head, a barely-there smile that only he could notice. No one else knew. No one else saw.
And sometimes, when the moment was right—when they were alone in the library, when no one else was around—she would reach out and brush his arm, her touch so light, so careful, that Lucius couldn’t help but shiver under the warmth of it.
Their secret was their only reality now. It was a bubble that kept them protected, a world they could escape into. But it wasn’t without its complications. Each secret touch, each stolen glance, each brush of her fingers against his skin was both a blessing and a curse. It was a promise, a bond that neither of them could break—but one that neither of them could fully embrace yet.
And so, they lived in the silence of it, in the quiet chaos of their love that no one else could understand.
The secrecy of their relationship became second nature, an unspoken game of restraint and stolen moments. Lucius had always been a man who took what he wanted, but with Narcissa, he had learned patience. He had learned to savor the small things—the way her fingers brushed against his in passing, the way she lingered just a second too long when handing him a book in the library, the way her gaze softened when she thought no one was looking.
There, in the quiet corners of Hogwarts, they found ways to exist together. In the library, while the others buried themselves in their studies, Lucius would sit beside her under the guise of sharing a textbook. His arm would rest on the table just close enough to touch hers, his fingers would curl ever so slightly when their hands brushed, and when he was sure no one was looking, he would lean in, just enough to let his lips ghost over hers in the lightest of pecks. Quick, fleeting, but enough to leave her breath hitching.
She never scolded him for it. She never pulled away. Instead, she would glance at him beneath her lashes, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she returned to whatever page she was reading, as if he hadn’t just stolen another piece of her attention. It made Lucius smirk every time.
Late at night, when the castle was quiet and the risk of being caught was low, they would slip away to the Astronomy Tower. It became their place—a haven where they didn’t have to be Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, heirs to pure-blood dynasties, but just two people figuring out what this fragile, careful thing between them meant.
They didn’t always kiss there. Sometimes, they would just sit together beneath the vast expanse of the sky, their shoulders brushing, their voices hushed. They talked—about expectations, about the future, about the things neither of them could say aloud anywhere else.
“I think Andromeda is in love,” Narcissa murmured one night, her fingers tracing absent patterns against the cool stone of the ledge they sat on.
Lucius glanced at her, arching a brow. “With who?”
She hesitated, biting her lip before sighing. “Someone my parents would never approve of.”
He studied her for a moment, considering the weight of her words. “And you?” he asked quietly. “Do you approve?”
Narcissa was silent for a long moment, then turned her gaze to him. “I think I understand her.”
Lucius exhaled, reaching for her hand. He traced the delicate bones of her fingers, marveling at how something so small could feel so essential in his grasp. “Would you ever do the same?”
Her fingers tightened slightly around his. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I do know that I wouldn’t want to live a life where I had to pretend to feel something I don’t.”
Lucius leaned closer, pressing his lips against her knuckles. “Then don’t.”
Narcissa’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her hand in his, her fingers brushing against his palm before lacing them together.
These were the moments Lucius lived for—the quiet, stolen pieces of time where she was truly his, where she let him in just a little more. Where she allowed him to believe, even for a moment, that they could make this work.