Lucius Malfoy
@SilverSerpentM
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Lucius Malfoy #HPRP #NSFWRP #MVRP #21+ 🚫No Drama Please🚫 FC- Jason Issacs
Wiltshire, England
Joined October 2024
//I am pleased to know I could contribute something… sweet to your evening. Seems I found the right audience for them. Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear.
|| well that was utterly adorable & absolutely brightened my evening these two are too cute
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𝑺𝒊𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 The flask had long since stopped being passed with ceremony. It simply lived between them now—tilting lazily from one set of fingers to the other, silver catching starlight as if it too were amused. Narcissa was laughing. Not +
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he said quietly. “I have a reputation to maintain.” And then he kissed her again—just because he could.
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trip. “Well,” she murmured. He brushed a thumb along her cheek, mock solemn again. “Well.” Her smile bloomed slowly, brilliantly. “You are,” she said, voice soft and a little unsteady, “insufferably romantic.” He allowed himself the smallest smirk. “Do not tell anyone,” +
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slightly onto her toes to meet him properly. He deepened it—not hurried, but certain. As if sealing something unspoken between them. When he finally pulled back, her giggle did not return. Instead, she looked at him with that wide, breathless expression that made his pulse +
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and something that was uniquely her. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, steadying her as though she might tip into the night itself. For a moment she stilled completely. Then her fingers curled into the front of his robes, pulling him closer, rising +
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asked. He leaned down, brushing his nose against hers first—slow, deliberate. “This.” His lips met hers. Not the clumsy, breathless collision of earlier teasing. Not the tipsy press of experimentation. This was slower. Intentional. He tasted faint whisky and winter air +
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softly. “You may mock my diction. You may accuse me of implying dessert.” She smiled. “But you will not say I did nothing for Valentine’s Day.” Her eyes searched his face—still bright with mischief, but softened by something deeper. “And what exactly are you doing?” she +
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could speak again, he stepped closer—close enough that the parchment slipped from her hand and fluttered to the stones at their feet. “Narcissa,” he said, dropping the theatrics now. The flask hung loosely from his fingers, forgotten. “You may laugh at me,” he continued +
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brushing his. He watched her read it—watched the smile grow, watched the teasing dissolve into something quieter. “You wrote this?” she asked. He shrugged lightly. “It seemed appropriate.” Appropriate did not begin to cover it. He had rewritten it three times. Before she +
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salvage my reputation.” From his pocket he produced a small, folded square of parchment—silver-edged, charmed so that faint constellations shimmered across its surface. Her laughter stilled. “You didn’t,” she whispered. “I most certainly did.” She took it from him, fingers +
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Ravenclaw had hovered a little too long near her in the corridors. Pretended he hadn’t been waiting for tonight. He reached into the inner pocket of his cloak. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?” “I am attempting,” he said with exaggerated gravity, “to +
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made her luminous—cheeks flushed, eyes bright as frost under moonlight. He studied her for a moment longer than necessary. Valentine’s Day. He had pretended not to care about it all week. Pretended it was sentimental nonsense. Pretended he hadn’t noticed the way boys from +
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glanced toward the spectacle and made a face. “Vulgar,” he muttered. Narcissa tipped her head back to look at him. “It’s Valentine’s Day.” “Yes, and that does not require weaponised cupids.” She giggled again, softer this time. The whisky had turned her bold, but it had also+
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windows glowed amber in the distance, Valentine’s banners charmed to drift lazily above the courtyard—pink and silver ribbons looping through the air like slow-moving serpents. Somewhere below, a cluster of younger students shrieked as enchanted cherubs burst into song. Lucius +
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laughed against his shoulder. And he held her there, pretending to be offended— —but not letting go. He let her laughter settle against him until it quieted into soft, breathless little huffs against his collar. The night had deepened without them noticing. The castle +
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again.” She leaned forward, nearly nose to nose now. “I don’t want you serious,” she whispered. And then she giggled again—soft, tipsy, delighted with herself. Lucius let out a quiet, theatrical sigh. “Very well,” he murmured. “I suppose I shall endure being adored.” She +
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intolerable this evening.” She smiled, eyes bright. “Then why are you looking at me like that?” He stepped closer, feigning indignation even as his hand settled at her waist. “Because,” he said quietly, “if I do not maintain appearances, you will never take me seriously +
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a doll she had misaligned. “You love that I’m right.” “I do not.” “You do.” “I absolutely do not.” Her hand lingered at his throat. Her laughter faded slowly into a breath. The world tilted—not from drink this time, but proximity. He softened his voice. “You are +
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faintest smile. “I will have you know I always speak like this.” “Tragic.” He drew himself up again in mock offense, shoulders back, chin angled perfectly. “You wound me again, Miss Black.” “Oh hush,” she laughed, reaching up—bold now—to adjust his collar as though he were +
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