satisfied | l. malfoy x reader & d. malfoy x reader
request; “Ok so imagine Lucius falling for the reader but the reader likes Draco and vice versa. It’s kinda satisfied from Hamilton. MAKE IT WHOLE ANGST MY FRIEND!!!”
author’s note; a friend of mine requested this, and I gave in…she actually wanted it to be a series at first, but should I? I think this is one of my longest thing that I wrote. I hope you enjoy this and REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
Lucius Malfoy strode through the vast grounds of Malfoy Manor, his polished shoes crunching softly against the frost-dusted grass. Every inch of the estate gleamed with perfection. The ornamental fountains sparkled like liquid diamonds, their gentle melody blending with the crisp winter air. Wrought-iron arches, adorned with pristine white roses, stretched elegantly across the pathways, while enchanted fairy lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow over the scene. This day was monumental. It was the wedding of his son, Draco—his legacy.
Lucius paused, letting his gaze sweep over the preparations. Everything was immaculate, as it should be. And yet, despite the flawless execution of every detail, a gnawing sense of unease settled in his chest. He refused to acknowledge it fully, pushing the thought away, insisting that it was simply the weight of tradition and expectation pressing down on him. For this was no ordinary union.
This was the wedding of Draco Malfoy and her—Y/N L/N.
The girl who had once been nothing more than a name whispered in his son’s letters from Hogwarts. A Gryffindor—how quaint. A union between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, opposites in every conceivable way.
Yet it wasn’t just her house that unsettled Lucius.
No, it was her bloodline.
Y/N was a Muggle-born—the daughter of non-magical parents. An anomaly that had once been unthinkable to Lucius Malfoy, a man who had spent most of his life upholding the purity of wizarding bloodlines. And now, that very belief seemed to crumble before him, challenged by the undeniable truth: his son loved her.
He forced the thought down, refusing to let it take root. She was an intrusion, a complication, something that didn’t belong in the carefully constructed world he had built for his family. Yet, despite his denial, the unease lingered—a bitter ache beneath the surface, clawing at him with every glance toward her. It was a discomfort he couldn’t shake, a reminder that some things could no longer be controlled.
The wedding reception was nothing short of spectacular. The grand hall of Malfoy Manor had been transformed into a glittering masterpiece. Guests mingled beneath floating chandeliers, their soft golden light illuminating the room. A string quartet played softly in the background, their music weaving through the conversations and laughter.
At the center of it all stood Hermione Granger, Y/N’s childhood friend and maid of honor. She took the center with her usual confidence, a wide grin spreading across her face as she addressed the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hermione began, her voice carrying over the noise, “may I have your attention, please?”
The crowd quieted, their eyes turning toward her. “It is my honor and privilege to introduce someone very special. A man whose presence needs no introduction, but whose words we are all eagerly awaiting. Everyone, give it up for the groom’s father, Lord Malfoy!”
The hall erupted into applause, and Lucius rose to his feet. His presence was commanding as always, his tailored robes immaculate, his platinum hair gleaming in the warm light. With measured steps, he made his way to the front of the room.
“To the bride,” Lucius began, raising his glass.
The crowd followed his lead, echoing his words in jubilant unison.
Lucius’s gaze shifted to Draco and Y/N, who stood hand in hand, their faces glowing with happiness.
“To the groom,” Hermione prompted with a warm smile.
Lucius inclined his head slightly before continuing, his voice steady. “To the groom, my son, who has always carried the Malfoy name with pride. To your union,” he said, glancing at the happy couple, “and the hope you bring. May your happiness be everlasting.”
The applause swelled once more, but Lucius barely heard it. The room around him seemed to blur as his thoughts drifted to the past.
“And you must be… Miss L/N,” Lucius had said, his voice as smooth as silk, though tinged with coldness.
“Draco has told me… all about you.”
Y/N had stood before him, her chin lifted slightly in defiance despite the nervousness flickering in her eyes.
“And your parents,” he had continued, the words heavy with meaning.
“They’re good people,” she had replied evenly, her voice firm. “Non-magical, yes, but kind, decent, and supportive.”
Lucius had raised a brow, his silence speaking volumes.
“I witnessed it during Care of Magical Creatures! Malfoy, your son—a git, as he often is—refused to listen to Hagrid. He insulted Buckbeak!” she insisted.
“That beast, with its propensity for violence, has no place near children. Perhaps an execution, hmm? I will ensure it is handled appropriately,” he said, and she had no doubt that he meant it.
It was a clash of ideals that neither seemed willing to back down from, and she could see the disdain in his eyes as clearly as he could see the fire in hers.
At the Quidditch World Cup, where the final match was overshadowed by the Death Eaters' attack on Muggles, leading to a riot. She was there.
“This isn't your place! Leave. Go that way, Y/N!" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.
He watched as her instincts kicked in, and in a flurry of movement, she scrambled to her feet and darted into the woods, moving quickly in the direction he had gestured.
There was a brief pause, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but she continued without hesitation. He let her go, watching silently as she disappeared into the trees.
After the war, they grew closer, and he could still hear the echo of her laughter, vivid in his memory as she shared stories about Draco during school.
Beneath the gentle rays of the sun, her presence seemed to glow, illuminating everything around her.
Her eyes sparkled with a playful, yet disarming, charm—a twinkle that softened the harsh edges of his thoughts.
Lucius found himself captivated, though reluctantly so.
There was an honesty to her candid nature, a quiet resilience that defied the weight of past ideals.
She spoke of hope and renewal in a world still mending from the scars of war, and in those moments, he couldn’t help but question the rigid beliefs he had once clung to with such conviction.
Then there was that day in the gardens.
Y/N had sought him out, her determination clear even as her hands trembled slightly with nerves. She stood before him, her expression unwavering despite the vulnerability beneath the surface.
Her voice was soft, yet firm as she spoke, the words carrying an authenticity that made him pause.
“I do love him, Lucius,” she said quietly, her gaze steady.
“He makes me happy—even though he’s a git most of the time,” she added with a small, self-assured laugh that lightened the tension in the air.
Lucius regarded her with a thoughtful, calculating gaze, his mind unraveling her words with precision. Yet, it was her next statement that struck a deeper chord, one he hadn’t anticipated.
“He’s changed,” she said simply, her voice calm and resolute.
In that moment, Lucius found himself reflecting on his own journey—the changes he had gone through over the years, the burdens he had carried, and the rigid beliefs that had once defined him.
“So have I,” he thought quietly, though the thought remained unspoken.
Admitting such a thing aloud was a step far beyond his comfort zone, but the realization lingered in his mind, unsettled yet undeniable.
The memories came rushing back like a flood, each one more vivid than the last.
Draco’s declaration—“Father, I asked for her hand, and she said yes!”—struck him with the force of a curse, though it wasn’t just any curse. It was as if he had been struck by the Cruciatus once again, but this time the agony was different.
It wasn’t a physical torment, but something deeper—hot knives sinking into his heart, twisting with each passing second.
The sheer weight of the moment left him breathless, questioning everything he had once believed in.
Every ideal, every belief he had built his life upon crumbled beneath the force of that single declaration. It was a wound that ran far beyond the surface, leaving him reeling in a sea of doubt and reflection.
But now, as he stood before the crowd, watching his son with his bride, Lucius felt something he hadn’t anticipated: pride.
Draco had chosen love over legacy, passion over prejudice. And Y/N, the Muggle-born who had once been an embodiment of everything Lucius had opposed, had somehow become a part of his family.
“To the bride!” Lucius called out once more, his voice firm yet tinged with a bittersweet undertone.
The crowd raised their glasses again, their cheers echoing through the hall.
As Lucius looked at Draco and Y/N, who were lost in their own little world of happiness, he felt a complex tangle of emotions—sorrow, pride, longing, and a flicker of hope.
"May you always be satisfied," he finished, his voice low and resolute.
Lucius knew he would never be satisfied. Satisfaction was a luxury for those unburdened by the weight of their past. But perhaps, through this union, through Y/N and Draco, there was a chance for something greater: redemption.
For now, all Lucius could do was watch, silent, resigned, and just a little bit changed.
