Old Flames Rekindled

Molly Weasley stood at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water, scrubbing dishes with a force that spoke more of frustration than necessity. The Burrow, once a bustling home filled with the constant noise of children and chaos, now seemed quieter. Too quiet, even with the ever-present ticking of the clock on the wall that charted the whereabouts of her family. The silverware clinked under her fingers, a steady rhythm that was the only thing keeping her grounded in the moment.

She glanced over her shoulder at the open door to the living room, where Arthur sat hunched over one of his latest obsessions—some Muggle contraption that beeped or buzzed, Merlin knew what. He was a good man, Arthur, a loving father and a steadfast partner, but somewhere along the way, their marriage had become... comfortable. Too comfortable. It wasn't that Molly expected constant excitement, especially after so many years and so many children, but there had been a time when Arthur had looked at her like she was more than just the keeper of their home.

But now, it seemed his eyes only lit up for gadgets, not for her.

The fire inside her, the one that had drawn him to her all those years ago, still burned fiercely. She was Molly Prewett, after all. A fiery woman with more energy and passion than anyone ever expected from someone who wore aprons and waved a spoon in the air like a wand. She could still recall the way she used to pull Arthur into dark corners, kissing him breathless when they were younger, sneaking moments of intimacy between the chaos of raising their brood. But those days felt like a lifetime ago.

She sighed, drying her hands on a dish towel, her eyes lingering on Arthur's bent head. His shoulders slumped, his thinning hair illuminated by the flicker of firelight. He was absorbed, muttering under his breath as he fiddled with the small machine in front of him. Molly pressed her lips together, fighting the irritation that bubbled beneath her skin. It wasn't his fault, really. People changed over time. But she wasn't ready to accept that the best years of her life were behind her.

The knock on the door came like a sharp crack, breaking the heavy silence of the evening. Molly froze for a second, her mind immediately racing. At this time of night? Her heart thudded in her chest. The war might have been over, but it left a constant unease, like a shadow that stretched over everything.

She wiped her hands one more time and moved toward the front door, sparing Arthur a glance as she passed. He didn't even notice.

"Right," she muttered under her breath, swinging the door open. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening at the sight that greeted her.

"K-Kingsley," she stammered, blinking in surprise.

There he stood, larger than life, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Even in the dim light of dusk, his presence filled the doorway, tall and imposing, with broad shoulders that seemed to block out the night. He was dressed in his usual understated Auror robes, but there was something about Kingsley that always exuded power. He had an effortless command, not just of magic, but of a room, of people. His skin, dark as the night sky behind him, gleamed faintly in the low light, and his eyes—sharp, intelligent, piercing—met hers with a warmth she hadn't expected.

"Molly," he greeted her, his voice a low rumble, smooth as velvet and just as disarming. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Intruding? If anything, Kingsley felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling monotony she'd been trapped in lately. Molly shook her head quickly, stepping back to let him in. "Not at all. Please, come in."

He crossed the threshold with an easy grace, his presence seeming to fill the Burrow in a way that was impossible to ignore. She closed the door behind him, her mind racing as she realized she hadn't seen Kingsley in months. The last time had been... well, she could barely remember. He was always off on missions for the Ministry, handling one crisis after another. As far as she knew, he'd never really settled down—no wife, no children. The eternal bachelor, some said, too focused on his career to worry about anything else. But Molly had always sensed something more beneath his calm exterior. Something deeper. Lonelier, perhaps.

Arthur looked up briefly from his Muggle toy, offering Kingsley a distracted wave. "Evening, Kingsley," he said without standing.

Kingsley inclined his head, polite as ever, but his gaze quickly shifted back to Molly. He noticed things. Always had. It was one of the reasons he'd been such a brilliant Auror, and later, such a trusted figure in the Order of the Phoenix. He could read people with unnerving accuracy, and right now, he was looking at her as if he saw straight through the façade of the housewife standing in front of him.

"Molly," Kingsley began, his voice low, serious. "I'm sorry to drop in like this. I've been meaning to visit for a while, but things have been... hectic."

Molly forced a smile, though her stomach twisted in knots. "No need to apologize. You're always welcome here."

The tension in the air shifted slightly, something unspoken passing between them. Molly wasn't sure what it was, but she felt it, and by the slight furrow in Kingsley's brow, she knew he did too.

Arthur's chair scraped against the floor as he stood, finally pulling himself away from the gadget. "I'll just head to bed," he said, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. "Early morning tomorrow, you know."

Molly nodded absently, but her focus was still on Kingsley. "Goodnight, dear."

Arthur disappeared up the stairs, leaving the two of them standing alone in the kitchen. Molly cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the stillness between them. She motioned toward the kettle on the stove. "Tea? Or something stronger?"

Kingsley's lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with that familiar warmth. "Tea's fine, Molly. Thank you."

She turned her back to him, grateful for the moment to gather her thoughts as she busied herself with the cups. The weight of his gaze pressed against her, making her hyper-aware of every movement. What was it about him that unsettled her so much? It wasn't as if she hadn't spent time around him before. They'd fought together in the war, trusted each other with their lives. But something about having him here, now, in her home, felt different.

She poured the boiling water into the cups, her hands steady but her heart racing. There was something about Kingsley that always made her feel... alive. More alive than she had felt in a long time.

Kingsley leaned against the counter, watching her, and for a moment, the silence between them stretched longer than it should have. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, more personal. "How have you been, Molly? Really?"

The question caught her off guard. How had she been? She hadn't even thought about it in months. She was always too busy worrying about everyone else—her children, the house, the family—but herself?

"I've been managing," she said, her voice carefully neutral. She handed him a cup, their fingers brushing briefly, sending a jolt of something unexpected through her. "And you?"

Kingsley took the cup, his gaze never leaving hers. "Busy. But that's no excuse for staying away."

Molly arched an eyebrow. "Away from what?"

Kingsley paused, and the air between them thickened, charged with an undercurrent she wasn't sure she was ready to name. "From old friends," he said softly. "From you."

Molly's breath hitched at his words, her hand tightening around her teacup as the warmth of the kitchen suddenly felt stifling. The way Kingsley said you—so direct, so intimate—made her pulse quicken. She searched his eyes for something more, some hint that she was reading too much into it, but all she found was sincerity.

And something else. Something that made her stomach flip.

She swallowed, breaking eye contact under the pretense of setting her cup down on the counter, though her hands were shaking slightly. "Old friends," she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady, though it came out more breathless than she intended. "It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

Kingsley took a slow sip of his tea, his gaze still locked on her, watching her every move. There was a calmness to him, but beneath it, she could sense the coiled tension, the awareness that she wasn't the only one feeling this charged atmosphere. "It does," he said after a long pause. "But some things... some people... stay with you."

Molly's heart thudded in her chest, the meaning behind his words sinking in, and for a split second, she felt dizzy with it. What was happening? This was Kingsley—her old friend, her trusted ally in the war, the bachelor who never seemed to need anyone. And yet, standing there with him now, the space between them seemed to shrink, pulling them closer without either of them moving an inch.

She couldn't help herself. "What things?" she asked, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

Kingsley set his cup down slowly, deliberately, and straightened. His broad frame seemed to fill the kitchen, making her feel small and fragile in comparison. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Molly's breath caught in her throat.

He was so close now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint, earthy scent of him—clean, warm, comforting. His hand came up, slow and measured, like he was giving her every opportunity to step away, to tell him to stop. But she didn't. She couldn't.

His fingers brushed the side of her face, trailing down to her jawline, and Molly shivered, her skin tingling from the lightest touch. His eyes, those deep, dark eyes, bore into hers, and she felt as if he could see everything—every frustration, every lonely night, every unspoken desire.

"I never forgot you," Kingsley said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words hit her like a shockwave.

Molly's lips parted, but no words came out. She was frozen, her heart pounding so hard she thought he might hear it. The world outside the kitchen, outside this moment, faded away, and all she could focus on was the feel of his hand on her skin, the heat between them growing more intense with every passing second.

Kingsley moved closer, his body brushing against hers, and her breath hitched again. His other hand came up, cupping her face gently, and Molly closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation. She hadn't realized how much she missed being touched like this—delicately, reverently, like she was something precious.

When she opened her eyes again, Kingsley's face was inches from hers, his breath warm against her lips. He paused, giving her a chance to pull away, but instead, Molly leaned in, closing the gap between them.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But the moment their lips met, the floodgates opened. Molly felt a surge of something hot and fierce rise up inside her, something she hadn't felt in years. She pressed against him, her hands finding his broad chest, feeling the solidness of him beneath her palms.

Kingsley responded instantly, his kiss deepening, more urgent, more demanding. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him, and Molly gasped as she felt the hard lines of his body against hers. His hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine, sending shivers through her.

Heat pooled in her belly, spreading lower, making her feel more alive than she had in years. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only this—only Kingsley, only the fire between them.

Molly's hands moved up to his shoulders, gripping his robes, tugging him closer, needing more. She kissed him harder, her teeth grazing his lower lip, and Kingsley groaned, his hands tightening around her waist. He turned her, pressing her back against the counter, his body caging hers in.

His lips left hers, trailing down her jawline to her neck, where he kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin there. Molly let out a soft moan, her head falling back, giving him more access as her fingers tangled in his robes. She tugged at them, pulling him closer, needing the feel of him, the weight of him.

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Preview of next chapter:

Kingsley's hands moved to the front of her robes, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons one by one. Molly's breath quickened, anticipation building as the cool air hit her skin. She knew she should stop, knew that once they crossed this line, there would be no going back. But the thought of stopping seemed impossible. She didn't want to stop.

As the last button came undone, Kingsley pushed her robes open, his hands sliding over her bare skin, sending sparks of pleasure through her. His mouth found hers again, more urgent this time, more demanding, and Molly responded with equal fervor, her hands slipping under his robes, feeling the heat of his body beneath.

She could feel the tension in him, the control he was barely holding on to. His kisses were rougher now, more insistent, and Molly's heart raced as she realized just how much he wanted her. Just how much she wanted him.