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Lack of Heat Equals Cold by Queen Sabreen
Chapter 1 : Lack of Heat Equals Cold
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 77

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Lack of Heat Equals Cold
By Queen of Serpents


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Honestly, need I remind you?

Authoress's Notes: *fidgets* Okay, so I'm leaving this as a one shot for now. I may add a second chapter for those of you who are probably out to kill me or I may post a sequel. For now, think of it as a one-shot.
Also HBP is not included here. Sorry.
Huge round of applause to my beta, Paprika!


A cascade of water poured through the faucet unremittingly. It was cold water. Ice cold.
He had no intention to turn the warm water tap on; he preferred the lack of warmth, of heat. It… suited him.

He raised his eyes to meet his reflection, noticing a hollowness in them that wasn’t there the last time he saw himself. Were his eyes ever that black? What happened to the blue? The gray?

He blinked and then opened his eyes again. The emptiness receded. It was cold now. Cold like the water, like his skin…cold like him.

His hands went under the faucet and he felt the icicles stab onto the palm of his hands; the force of the cold water was great. It was running for quite a while by now, yet to him, time had no value. To him, time was frozen over, just like the water, his heart, him.

His gaze flickered down to his pale hands. The water had no effect on him. He couldn’t feel the coldness of it, so it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now. If it ever did, he’d forgotten it. And now, the cold was so much a part of him, it didn’t bother him.

Back up went those eyes—empty, dark, and cold—to his face. His hands touched the mirror, tracing the outline of his nose, his mouth. The mouth that refused to say the words hot, warm, or love, ever again.

He turned the tap so the water would stop pouring, yet a drop always escaped. It was an old tap, broken; he needed to get it fixed.

He donned white robes, grabbed his wand from the edge of the sink, and made his way out of the bathroom. The ancient door creaked and then opened. He kicked it with the back of his foot; old habits die hard.

The room outside was his bedroom, yet anyone who knew him or thought they did, would not believe this was his room. Gone were the black comforters and green silken sheets. Gone were the Serpent and Slytherin themed décor. And with it, so had Draco Malfoy’s identity.

He opened a drawer of one of the only pieces of furniture he allowed to remain. He took out a small, wooden box. There was a lion engraved on the top, roaring mightily. He threw it on his white-clad bed and opened it, wincing as the objects hidden inside triggered memories he had buried deep within the recesses of his mind.

A torn Muggle photograph of a bushy, brown-haired girl, a little blue book, and a small silver chain with a locket, filled with his memories, lay inside.

His pointed face softened considerably. His cold fingers, long and elegant, brushed over the picture of the girl, feeling the heat of her memory fire within him.

He snatched his hand away from the burning objects, scolding himself for touching anything inside. He wasn’t supposed to feel. He was only supposed to feel cold, as cold as he had become the day she left. He was supposed to forget her, move on. But forgetting is harder to do when it only makes you wonder about those particular memories even more.


Her brown curls were shadowing her face, hiding the blush from her cheeks. His fingers ran over her upper arm, down to her elbow, relishing the feel of the softness of her skin. He enjoyed watching her squirm in her seat.

He had an incurable urge to touch her and always be in her presence. She did not object and for that he was glad. He had worked hard in getting this far towards her.

He slipped his other hand under her chin, bringing her face close to his, making her hair fall back from her face. Her blush deepened. He knew he had won her over today and that if he kissed her now, she would be his. She would never leave him, and he would never let her go.

His lips descended, hers parted in anticipation. Heat surged within him and he never wanted to part with this burning sensation ever again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as their mouths worked together in perfect harmony.

“Draco… why are we doing this?” she asked him when they parted. Her head was resting on his chest, near his heart. He liked the feeling of her close to his heart more than the kiss itself. He had never felt this way before, and these new feelings had him fascinated.

His heart soared.

“Because I like it, Granger. Don’t you?” he replied.

There was silence, and in those seconds of no reply, he began to worry. Perhaps he did not win her over. Perhaps his carefully made plan of making her his own forever did not work. Was there somewhere he went wrong?

“I love you,” he told her unexpectedly. He knew those words were the only ones he had left. They were the only ones that would enable her to say what was in her mind.

She stared at him for a moment once again.

you?” he asked her.

Her silence was killing him slowly inside.

“I do,” she replied uncertainly. She kissed him softly on the lips. “I do,” she repeated more firmly, stroking his cheek and staring in his eyes with a smile. “It just seems so ...unreal.”


Women were not to be loved. They were not to be trusted. But Draco Malfoy made the mistake of trusting a girl whom he thought would be the one person to ever love him. As a boy, he was known to get whatever he wanted, but it was never genuinely his. It was because of his wealth, his power, and the fear he instilled within the hearts of those around him.

When his father was sent to Azkaban, he was hit with an epiphany. People did not sincerely love him and from then on, he carried out a new mission, to get someone, anyone, to truly care for him. To see if he was capable of being loved.

He then came across a girl, a girl he would never really think twice about, and realized she was the only person that could possibly care for him without being biased, without caring for his wealth, for his exterior. He wanted to know if there could be a way for someone to love him and his target was the bushy haired Muggleborn witch. A challenge indeed, but the only person he knew for a fact that would give him a chance and whom he knew would not give him an act of caring for him. It would be real.

But during this mission, he failed to foresee that he would fall in love as well. These feelings of love, caring, and trust were new to him. They were unmarked territories and he was a blind traveler in them. His guide was Hermione Granger and when he had fallen in love with her, he did not know. But he trusted her more than anything.

And that girl broke his trust.


They lay wrapped in each other’s arms, by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The first time she took him there, he did not want to go. He was scared and didn’t admit it openly, but she convinced him that it was no big deal. She taught him there was nothing to fear. And she taught him how to love.

“Draco,” she said. She turned on her side, still laying on the grass to look at him. He failed to notice the serious tone of her voice. He failed to see the dried tears on her cheeks.

He was in paradise. He found that someone loved him and that he was capable of the same feelings. He found that she was his and it was all he needed. He did not care about blood and he did not care about the world. He cared about himself and this feeling of happiness he acquired by being with her. He was selfish to not see that his happiness was causing her grief.

“Yeah, Granger.”

She sat up, with her back to him. There was silence and in that silence there was doubt.

He sat up as well; wrapping one arm around her waist as his other hand pulled her bushy hair to the side. He skimmed his hand over the silver chain that adorned her neck, the chain that marked her as his, the symbol of their love. He touched it in hopes she would remember her feelings toward him and not say something that would bring them to an unwanted situation, for he knew by now that whenever she not reply immediately, her next words would be serious.

“What is it, love?” He snuggled his nose into the side of her neck and inhaled deeply, loving the feeling of heat surge into his body once again. She was naked in his arms, but warm. Ever so warm…

“We have to end this.” Her voice was like ice and he broke away from her immediately, shocked by her words, her tone of voice.

“What?” he asked her. He grabbed her bare shoulders so that he could turn her around. He did, but her skin felt like shards of ice under his fingertips. Her hair was hiding her face again. His heart was pounding in anger and in fear.

“Yes, Draco. You heard me. I can’t keep on doing this. This is too unreal. We’re living in a world of fantasy and we must end this dream and go back to reality. There’s nothing we could give each other but unhappiness. We’re fine now but we fight too much. You get jealous too easily and you don’t have your priorities straight. We’re young. We haven’t seen the real world yet and we can’t hide our relationship in front of everyone else. And if we do ever reveal ourselves, Harry and Ron will hate me forever and I cannot live with their anger and their hatred.”

He was getting angry. His heart was turning colder with every word she said. “What about me? Can you live without me?”

“It’s for the best, Draco.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Can you live without me?”

Again there was that silence. The silence that surfaced the fear within him.

“Yes,” she whispered and from that moment on, he refused to feel again.


He put the photograph of her back inside the box, ran his fingers over the burning locket, and closed the little blue book that held the details of his pain. He thought about burning it to rid him of this pain forever, but ever since she so coldy departed from his life, he lost faith in any type of heat.

Without the warmth of her love, did it all matter, did it matter whether he was hurt? No, nothing did, because he wasn’t supposed to feel any emotion.

Lack of heat equals cold and that was the only feeling this Malfoy was ever able, ever allowed, to feel.


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