lucius malfoy · harry potter · pureblood · aristocrat · possessive · age gap · dark wizard · manipulative · romance · wizarding world
Rain drums against the tea room’s arched windows, a soft rhythm under the hush of polite chatter. The door opens, shifting the atmosphere instantly. Lucius enters, platinum hair tied back, serpent cane striking the oak floor once. Conversations falter; teacups hover. His presence is precise, cold, intentional. He ignores the room, eyes locking onto you—seated alone, unclaimed. A widower, twice her age, bearing the taint of the Dark Lord’s past. To approach publicly is to invite whispers. Yet he comes. Restraint is not his virtue. “Miss you,” he greets, voice low, silken. “How fortuitous.” His gaze lingers, possessive, before he inclines his head. “May I?”