Midnight Confessions
The castle was steeped in silence, its towering halls cast in shadow, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight along the stone corridors. The air was crisp, cool with the lingering breath of winter, and yet Narcissa barely felt it as she stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, her hands resting against the ledge, her gaze lost in the vast expanse of stars above.
She had come here alone, needing the quiet, the solitude, the space to breathe. And yet, even in the stillness, her thoughts betrayed her. They curled around the same presence, the same silver-eyed gaze, the same hands that had learned the art of touching her in ways no one else ever had.
Lucius.
She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the cold night air. She had spent the past few weeks convincing herself that she could control this—this carefully concealed affair, this hidden part of her life that no one could know about. But it was slipping from her grasp. Lucius was slipping further into her, making it impossible to keep him at arm’s length, impossible to pretend she didn’t crave him in the same way he so unapologetically craved her.
The sound of footsteps behind her barely registered before a pair of familiar arms slipped around her waist, pulling her back into warmth.
She didn’t startle. She didn’t have to.
Lucius pressed his chest against her back, his breath warm against the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
His voice was deep, low, threaded with something dark and knowing. He knew why she was here. He knew she had been thinking of him.
She exhaled slowly. “Neither should you.”
His grip tightened slightly, his fingers splaying against her waist as he leaned in, the scent of him—cigarettes, worn parchment, something inherently him—wrapping around her. “If you wanted to be alone,” he said, his lips ghosting just below her ear, “you shouldn’t have let me find you.”
Narcissa swallowed, her hands curling against the stone. “I didn’t let you do anything.”
Lucius chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Didn’t you?”
And then, before she could form a response, his lips brushed against the side of her neck.
A shiver coursed through her, though not from the cold.
Lucius felt it. He always did.
Slowly, deliberately, he kissed her again, just beneath her jaw this time, his mouth warm against her skin. “You’re always running from me, Narcissa,” he murmured, between kisses, between the soft press of his lips trailing lower, just to the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder. “Tell me why.”
Her breath hitched, but she refused to answer.
Lucius didn’t seem to mind. If anything, her silence only spurred him on. His hands slid down, gripping her hips, holding her firmly against him as he pressed another kiss to the side of her throat, slower this time, letting it linger.
She should stop him. She should turn, push him away, remind him of why they couldn’t let this go too far.
But she didn’t move.
She didn’t want to.
Lucius smirked against her skin, feeling the way her breath caught, the way she leaned into him just the slightest bit before catching herself. It was always like this—a battle between her restraint and his persistence, between what she knew she should do and what she wanted.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing her skin between words, his voice low and coaxing. “What are you thinking about, princess?”
She inhaled sharply when he pressed another kiss to the curve of her neck, just beneath her ear, lingering there, letting his lips part slightly as if he might bite down, just enough to leave a mark. She stiffened at the thought, her fingers gripping the cold stone ledge, grounding herself.
“This,” she finally said, her voice softer than she intended. “Us.”
Lucius stilled, though his hands remained firm on her waist, his fingers flexing slightly. Then, after a moment, he hummed. “And what about us?”
Narcissa hesitated, her thoughts a tangle of desire and dread. She could feel him waiting, pressing for an answer—not just with his words but with his touch, the way his thumbs stroked idly against the fabric of her dress, the way his breath fanned against her throat.
“We’re getting reckless,” she finally admitted. “People will start to notice.”
Lucius exhaled a soft laugh, his hands tightening just slightly before he turned his face into her hair. “Let them.”
She shook her head. “Lucius—”
He cut her off with another kiss, this time to the slope of her shoulder, dangerously close to bare skin where her cloak had slipped. “No one sees what we don’t let them see,” he murmured, his tone smooth, confident. “And if they did? What would they say? That Lucius Malfoy is hopelessly devoted to Narcissa Black?” His lips curved against her skin. “Let them say it.”
She closed her eyes, frustration and longing warring within her. “It’s not that simple.”
“It could be.”
Narcissa turned her head slightly, as if to argue, but Lucius was there, his mouth barely a breath away from hers. His hands slid from her waist, one settling at her hip while the other traced up her arm, fingers trailing over the inside of her wrist, up the length of her forearm, until they curled gently around her chin.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Say it, and I will.”
She parted her lips, but the words didn’t come.
Lucius smirked, tilting her chin up slightly. “That’s what I thought.”
And then, before she could change her mind, before she could remind herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t—he kissed her.
It wasn’t hurried or desperate, but slow, deep, full of the control he always wielded so effortlessly. His lips moved against hers with purpose, teasing, coaxing, making sure she felt every second of it.
And for the first time in weeks, Narcissa let herself stop thinking. She turned in his hold, pressing into him, her hands gripping the front of his robes as if she could anchor herself there.
Lucius groaned against her mouth, his hand sliding into her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss. It was dangerous, intoxicating, the kind of thing she should have pulled away from.
But she didn’t.
Because here, in the quiet, hidden from the world, there was no reason to.
Lucius pressed her back against the stone ledge, his body flush against hers, heat radiating between them despite the cold night air. His hand tangled in her hair, fingers curling at the nape of her neck as he kissed her deeper, more insistent now, his lips parting against hers, coaxing, demanding.
Narcissa had never let herself feel him like this before—never let herself surrender to the way his mouth claimed hers, the way his hands explored, slow but deliberate. He wasn’t just kissing her; he was learning her, memorizing the shape of her lips, the curve of her spine as he pulled her closer.
Her fingers clenched in his robes, breath coming in shallow gasps between kisses, but Lucius didn’t relent. His lips left hers only to trail back down to her jaw, her throat, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “You drive me mad, Narcissa.” His voice was rough with restraint, like he was holding himself back from taking too much.
She swallowed hard, tilting her head slightly as his mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her ear again, his teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver. She should stop this. She should tell him this had gone far enough.
But then his hands slid down, gripping her waist, pressing her further against him, and her resolve shattered.
Her fingers found the nape of his neck, threading through his hair as she pulled him back to her lips, taking control for the first time. Lucius groaned low in his throat, his grip tightening, like he’d been waiting for her to finally let go.
His hands roamed, slipping beneath the folds of her cloak, finding the shape of her waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress, mapping her like she was something precious, something worth worshipping. He kissed her harder now, lips parting against hers, tongues meeting in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that sent heat curling in her stomach.
Lucius exhaled sharply through his nose, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead against hers, breath uneven. “Tell me you want this,” he murmured, voice dark, unsteady.
Narcissa hesitated, her pulse hammering in her throat. This was dangerous. This was reckless.
But she had never wanted anything more.
She exhaled, her fingers still gripping his robes. “I do.”
Lucius made a low, satisfied sound before capturing her lips again, this time with a possessiveness that sent a shiver straight through her. And Merlin help her—she kissed him back just as desperately.