Chapter Text
I feel the weight of a warm body next to mine. I should be scared; last night, when I went to bed, I was alone, just as I have been every night for years. However, I allow myself to sink into the sensation. I suppose it’s a dream, because it feels far too good to be real.
The softness of the sheets isn't what I’m used to; the scent of my bed, usually flooded with a soft, delicate perfume, has been replaced by a masculine fragrance—delicious and intoxicating. Yes, it’s definitely a dream.
I timidly reach out my hand to stroke his arm. His skin is firm, the muscles tense under my touch. I seek more of that contact, and the sight of a toned, sculptural chest forces me to open my eyes. When my vision focuses, doubt transforms into an electric certainty: standing before me is Lucius Malfoy. The one from the movies, but much more imposing. Who would have imagined he’d be so muscular under those robes?
A sweet shiver runs down my spine. I don’t want to wake up; I want to devour this dream until there’s nothing left. I don’t waste any time. I climb on top of him, and my hair falls over his chest. It distracts me for a second to notice that my strands are a near-platinum ash blonde, when in reality my hair is light brown, but I ignore it. My weight wakes him, and his gray eyes watch me with a surprise heavy with questioning. I don’t give him time to speak. I kiss him, savoring his thin lips while I rub against his body.
I feel his hardness, his immediate arousal responding to mine, but I also feel his hands grabbing my shoulders to pull me away. Obviously, I don’t let him. This is my dream, and I’m in charge here. I tighten the grip of my thighs, forcing total contact, while I roam over his chest and shamelessly nibble on his nipple.
“Narcissa…” His voice sounds like a long groan, a restrained plea.
I can't help an internal smile. So, in my dream, I am Narcissa Malfoy. At least my subconscious has principles: I don’t even consent to infidelity in my dreams. I don’t answer him; it’s not worth wasting time on words. I guide his member and, in a single movement, I sink him inside me. I begin to move, slowly at first, savoring every millimeter. No real man has ever felt as good as this imaginary Lucius. I pick up speed, losing control. His hands, which before tried to stop me, now cling to my hips to help me move with more firmness.
He moans, whispering my name breathlessly. I hold back; I have an irrational fear that if I scream with pleasure here, I’ll end up screaming in real life and wake up. The climax hits me with exquisite violence. I cling to his chest, digging my nails in as I lean in to seal the moment with a kiss. It’s the most incredible orgasm of my life.
We stay like that, mouths pressed together, sharing our racing breath. Sweat makes our skin stick. While I try to catch my breath, my tongue traces his neck and goes down to his chest. Lucius finally speaks, his voice regaining that lingering elegance.
“You’ve woken up insatiable,” he says, sitting up in bed with a satisfied smile. “I’m glad you’re so willing to sire a spare heir, but I need a moment to recover.”
His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. In that instant, I realize I haven’t woken up. The heat is too persistent. The perspiration is real. And, between my legs, I feel the sticky wetness of his semen, reminding me that this hasn't been a mental fantasy. I turn my head and observe the room. The decor is sharp, the structure of the furniture is solid; there is no typical dream-like haze. I feel the echo of my own body, the muscle fatigue, and the trace of arousal.
“What’s wrong?” Lucius asks. I notice the concern in his gray eyes.
My desperation must be obvious. I try to pull myself together. I remember that the Malfoys are described as cold and restrained, so I force a soft smile.
“Nothing... it was just very intense,” I say, resting my hand on his arm; feeling the firmness of his skin, I can’t help but stroke it. “I’m going to rest a little longer before getting up.”
I give him a short kiss and lie back down, closing my eyes. I count the seconds, waiting for him to leave or for the real world to finally reclaim me. But none of that happens. Instead, the cry of a baby pierces through the doors of the room. My body reacts on instinct. I get up, cover myself with a black silk robe that feels expensive, and head toward the sound.
“What are you doing?” he interrupts me.
Honestly, I don't know. I’m terrified, but the crying drills into my ears. I assume it’s Draco; according to the books, they didn’t have any other children. And even though I don’t like children, and I’m never going to want to be a mother, I can’t ignore that scream.
“I’m going to see the baby.”
“That’s what the elves are for,” his eyes roam over my figure. “Your beauty inspires me to fulfill our duties soon, come back to me.”
I see his hand outstretched, an invitation heavy with desire, but his words make me nauseous. Lucius is sexy, but in the face of a crying baby, my body knows what it has to do.
“The baby is mine, not an elf’s.”
This time I don’t worry about the feelings showing on my face. From what I know, disdain is a normal expression in this family. Let Lucius draw whatever conclusion he wants about who my expression is aimed at. When I leave the room, I close the door softly. I try to project calm, no doubt about where I’m going. Although honestly, I don’t know where I am. I just hear the crying and head toward it.
When I pass two doors and still haven't reached Draco's room, I’m surprised by so many things. What amazes me most is that child's ability to make noise, though it could also be because of the echo of the mansion, which feels empty and cold. I’m also surprised that no elf has calmed him; he’s been crying intensely for several minutes now. If all this is real and it’s the elf’s responsibility to calm the baby, it’s no wonder they get punished for being incompetent. But the most serious thing is Lucius and Narcissa’s abandonment. How can they have their son so far away? Besides, Lucius still hasn't left his room to see what’s happening to his son. I can’t believe how neglected he is!
Finally, I find the door open. Inside, a creature that looks like something out of a nightmare is holding a bundle that is shaking violently. I almost scream in fright. The creature is horrible; I assume it’s an elf. It’s three feet tall, with high, pointed ears. Its face is flat, like a human’s, but the eyes and the mouth full of teeth take up almost the whole head. It’s dressed in a rag that, although torn, is clean. Its skin is like ours, but I don't see any hair.
If I were a baby, I’d cry too if a monster like that grabbed me. I’m an adult and I want to run away, but I’m not going to leave the child with the creature. I’m not even sure if it’s an elf. When it sees me, the creature starts to tremble.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” it says, levitating a bottle. “Dobby is a bad elf. He cannot make Master Draco take his milk. Dobby does not deserve to eat for a month!”
Is that Dobby? My God! Poor Harry when he wakes up and sees that face.
“Give him to me,” I order.
“Yes, Mistress,” he hands me the bundle. “Is there anything else the Mistress needs?”
“Stay,” I say, remembering how noisy they are in the books, and add: “quiet and still.”
Dobby stays pinned against the wall while I hold Draco. As soon as I held him, he stopped crying. He looks at me. He’s a cute baby. Chubby with ash-blonde curls; I’m surprised how well the color suits him, considering it could look like gray hair. His eyes are gray with tones of blue. It’s a beautiful color.
I look up to see our reflection in the mirror. And I see a woman who is me, but isn't. She looks like my face; I have large breasts and hips, balanced with my waist. That’s fine, I was always like that. But my hair, even though it’s slightly wavy as always, is now an ash-blonde color like Lucius’s and Draco’s. I always wondered if he married Narcissa just to keep the Malfoy color.
There is one difference that strikes me and makes me move closer to the mirror. My eyes... they are my eyes, I can recognize myself in them. But they aren't brown, they are blue. Never in my life did I imagine, or want, to have blue eyes. But they are my eyes.
And with that, the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything feels too real. I can’t define what makes something real; I think it’s the textures, the substance of things, how defined everything feels. All my senses perceive things very sharply. I am very sure it is real. And it scares me. Because it means I lost my life—the one that, even if it was monotonous and normal, was safe and peaceful. I liked it that way. Instead, Narcissa Malfoy’s life is horrible. And there’s a war coming!