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The Fire That Keeps You Warm

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Like a moth drawn to the flickering embers of a dying flame, my feet carried me over to the bar before my mind could make sense of the action. His gaze slid over to me and I slipped into the empty chair beside him, dark shadows vivid beneath his glaring eyes.

When he first saw me, his mouth pulled into a tight grimace, shoulders tense as they hunched towards his ears. Malfoy’s slender fingers toyed with the well-bitten straw of his cocktail, staring despondently at the last dregs of his drink.

“What do you want, Potter?” His voice was hoarse and full of disdain.

“Just getting a drink,” I replied, motioning the bartender over with a wave of my hand. “Did you want another one?”

“I can pay for my own drinks, thank you very much,” Malfoy scoffed.

I ordered myself a pint and Malfoy asked for a whisky neat, the smell of the liquor woodsy and strong as the bartender set it in front of him. Malfoy’s hand shook slightly as he lifted the glass to his lips, gulping half the drink in one go.

“I haven’t seen you much since the Trials,” I stated quietly, sipping on my beer.

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” Malfoy’s hands, set on the sticky bar, curled into angry fists.

“No,” I protested sincerely. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Saint Potter,” Malfoy muttered distastefully. “Always needing to be the hero.”

“Malfoy…” My patience began to crack ever so slightly.

Malfoy swallowed the rest of his drink, slamming the glass loudly on the bar. He rose to his feet unsteadily, swaying towards me and grabbing my shirt. He pulled me close and whispered roughly in my ear.

“You’ve saved me enough times, Potter. I don’t need or want any more of your help.”

His breath was warm against my face and when he pulled away a distraught fire burned deep in his eyes. I watched his retreating form as he stumbled out of the pub, my heart sinking into my stomach.


The flat is empty and cold when I open the front door, the glow of the streetlamps outside cast dark shadows across the livingroom floor. I rub my chilled hands together and blow warm air onto them, shutting the door behind me and stepping inside.

My robes are heavy, stubborn flakes of snow clinging to the thick wool as I hang it on the hallway hook. I cast a few spells and the lights flicker on, my boots clicking loudly against the hardwood floors. I long to sink into a hot bath and allow the warm water to soothe away the remaining stress of the day, but the air is frigid throughout the flat and lighting a fire is a bigger priority.

The logs are rough and heavy beneath my hands and I toss them onto the hearth, piling them high and compact. A swish of my wand and the logs bursts into flame, bright yellow, deep orange and fiery red all fighting for dominance. I resist the urge to collapse onto the couch and instead make my way into the bedroom, leaving the enticing warmth behind.


Malfoy’s lips were hot against mine, his tongue burning a warm, wet path into my mouth. Eager hands ripped at my clothing, undoing my flies and slipping inside my jeans.

“Is this what you wanted?” Malfoy panted into my mouth. “Why you’re always following me around?”

I wasn’t following him—not really. I just happened to frequent the same pub as him, although in the last several weeks I did pull up a chair next to Malfoy every time I saw him. How could I leave him to drink all alone, looking so wretched and miserable? He wasn’t the only one who suffered from loneliness and the dark shadows of the war.

Malfoy pulled his cock from his trousers and pressed against me, the cool metal of the bathroom stall seeping through my thin t-shirt. My hands joined his, wrapping around our hard cocks and tugging in sloppy unison.

“Be careful what you ask for Potter,” Malfoy murmured nonsensically. “You might just get it.”

I wanted it, would gladly take anything Malfoy was willing to offer me in that moment. Sparks of desire ignited in my chest, flames of want bursting from every pore and my entire body burned with pleasure.

“Please,” I groaned and our hands sped up, my thighs tensing as I chased my release.

Malfoy bit his lip as he came against me, his breath quick and shallow in my ear. The hazy aftermath of our orgasm quickly faded as Malfoy pulled away, scowling as he redid his trousers.

“This doesn’t change a thing,” he muttered, eyes hard as they glared back at me.

I watched him walk away and thought to myself: How could things ever be the same?


The bedroom is even colder than the rest of the flat and I hastily cast a heating charm. The magic slowly seeps into my bones and I sigh in relief as I remove my stiff work clothes. I pull on a worn sweater, last year’s gift from Molly, and a comfortable pair of cotton pyjama bottoms before heading back into the living room.

The Christmas tree stands in the corner, looking sad and neglected, dark green needles littering the floor. A few ornate ornaments hang from the branches, mostly Hermione’s handiwork, tiny lights strung between them. I spell them on, soft light twinkling from their bulbs, reflecting against the shiny surface of the ornaments.


Charlie was in the middle of telling me a fantastic tale about the newest arrival at his reserve; a magnificent dragon with silver and gold scales who had quite a fiery temperament. I remember thinking how this dragon sounded a lot like a certain young man I knew when said person angrily marched towards me.

Malfoy’s mouth was set in a stern line, his cheeks flushed with frustration. His fingers gripped tightly on my arm as he pulled me away, down the stands to a secluded area in the shadows.

“Malfoy.” I pulled my arm away from his bruising grip. “What the hell?”

“So, you and the tattooed Weasley, huh?” Malfoy spat.

“What are you talking about?” I laughed, the sound fading from my lips at the dark expression on Malfoy’s face.

“I don’t know why I bothered to come,” Malfoy muttered.

“Because you love Quidditch,” I answered before adding softly. “And I invited you.”

“And did you invite Weasley as well?”

“No, actually,” I replied. “His sister did. You do know Ginny plays for the Harpies, right?” Malfoy’s cheeks burned a bright red, waves of anger radiating off his pale flesh. “Charlie and I were just chatting, nothing more.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Malfoy’s expression turned stony, his lips pressed firmly together. “We’re just fucking anyway, you can do what you like.”

“Malfoy.” I stepped towards him, close enough our breath mixed in the chill autumn air. “It’s not just sex.”

“Yes it is.” Malfoy’s eyes turned cold and hard. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking we’re anything more.”

I closed the distance and pressed my lips against his, his mouth opening eagerly into the kiss. His tongue moved fiercely against mine, slippery and wet, and shivers danced along my spine. His kisses were always full of such passion, revealing the words he refused to speak.

I reluctantly pulled away at the sound of a whistle, leaning my forehead against Malfoy’s.

“Can we go watch the game now?”

“Fine.” Malfoy’s lips were swollen and pink, his expression tightly controlled.

I placed my hand on the small of his back and guided him back to our seats, smiling to myself as he didn’t pull away.


My stomach grumbles and I make my way into the kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil and summoning a few items from the fridge. Snow falls against the kitchen window and I gaze into the street, watching the road turn white. Dark branches twist against the night sky, being pushed and pulled by the billowing winter wind. Gusts of air blow against the side of the building, twirling snowflakes caught in their forceful path.

I chop several potatoes and carrots, tossing them into the steaming pot and hum softly under my breath. The fire crackles in the other room, heat slowly spreading throughout the flat and filling the cold corners. The only noise is the clicking of the clock against the wall and the steady sound of my knife against the cutting board.


Heat built between our bodies, slick and hot, as we moved together, the sheets twisting beneath us. Malfoy’s hands tangled in my hair, incomprehensible words spilling from his mouth as he sighed in my ear.

The moon rose in the night sky, streaming steadily through the open window and reflected brightly against Malfoy’s white-blond hair. It framed his pale face like a halo, gently glowing against my crimson pillows.

My orgasm crashed over me and I trembled with the force of it, shivers of pleasure prickling across my skin. Malfoy frantically chased his own release, his body taut beneath mine, mouth open and gasping for air.

Merlin, he looked beautiful when he came; face flushed and chest heaving, strands of silky hair sticking to his damp temple. I tenderly brushed the pale locks away, eyes tracing his face as I memorised every last detail.

I cast a quick cleaning charm and pulled him into my arms, his body warm and relaxed against my chest.

“Stay the night,” I spoke softly in his ear.

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was full of warning.

“Please.” I tightened my hold. “What are you so afraid of?”

He didn’t answer right away, but after several minutes of me pressing my lips against his neck and petting his hair he started to speak. We spent the entire night talking quietly in my bed, our conversation only interrupted with soft lips and gentle hands. I told him about that night in the woods, what it felt like to die and come back to life, about the losses that still haunted me. He confessed to his terrible nightmares, the memories of tragic events at the Manor that lingered at night, the disdain he received from the public, the hatred he felt he deserved.

I finally fell asleep as the moon set and the sky began to turn pink over the horizon, Malfoy’s body warm and comforting in my arms. When I woke many hours later, the sun high in the sky and streaming golden light across the room, I was alone and the bed was empty and cold.


The flat fills with the scent of fresh herbs and fragrant garlic and I adjust the stove to a low simmer. My feet are bare against the floor, the polished wood chilled to the touch. I walk into the living room and poke at the crackling logs, fresh bursts of flames licking away at the burning wood.

Standing in front of the fireplace, the heat of the fire spreads warmth throughout my body and I sigh happily as I rub my hands together. Dinner will be ready soon and I look forward to collapsing onto the sofa, a thick blanket over my legs and a steaming bowl of stew in my hands.

I’m so mesmerised by the flickering flames in front of me, the colours all twirling together in a lively dance, that I don’t even hear the sound of the door. It’s not until I feel warm breath on my neck, a solid body pressed against my back, and long arms wrapping around my chest that I realise I’m no longer alone.

“Draco,” I sigh happily, tilting my head back and resting my cheek against his.

“Happy Christmas,” he murmurs in return, pressing a gentle kiss on my temple. His nose is cold against my skin. “Dinner smells fantastic.”

“It should be ready in a few minutes.” I turn around and face him, taking in his pink cheeks and the snowflakes still clinging to his pale lashes. “You’re freezing. Why don’t you change and take a seat in front of the fire. I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Soon,” Draco promises, his chilled fingertips skating along the base of my back. “You’re warm enough for both of us.”

I shiver as his freezing hand slides beneath my sweater, frigid and cold, but I don’t pull away. Instead I lean into his touch, my mouth opening eagerly against his searching lips. Soon the chill is chased away and Draco’s body positively radiates heat. I bask in the fire building between us, exhaling softly as Draco pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.

“See? Not so cold anymore.”

“No,” I respond softly. Draco’s icy grey eyes glow with warm affection. “Not cold at all.”