Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the Harry Potter Universe, they belong respectfully to thier rightful owners, I'm just borrowing them to play pretend.

When I was a child I would bury my face into the snow, seize a mouthful, and hold it inside me as the sweet pain of melting ice slowly trickled down my throat. When the last dregs had been reflexively swallowed I would open my mouth wide, as wide as my childish muscles would allow, and would breathe in the virgin air of winter greedily into my lungs, until I was purified.

I told you that once, professed my selfish need to return to my childhood to perhaps forget all of the injustice I had seen, forget the lives I took. But you, you shook your head, took my hand and kissed my forearm directly upon the spot of flesh that still bore the mark of my enslavement, even though my master was long dead. You whispered that if I did that I wouldn't become the man that you loved.

We made love that night, for the first time, and when it was done and over with you held a glass of ice water to my lips, made me drink, and blew your warm breath into my mouth. Then you pulled my head to your breast and whispered 'you are absolved of all transgressions; you are purified.'

It became a ritual, after that night, to melt ice, or snow if we were lucky enough to get it, in our mouths. We called it sweet water, and sweet water it was, enhanced with the taste of you, a taste that lingered in my senses, and made me high.

But there were days when the darkness would settle in thick layers, and nights when I would awake panicked, clawing at the burned flesh of my forearm or the scars at my neck and no amount of sweet water could calm the ache in my bones and heart. I would scream at you those days, I would curse you for loving me, order you to leave, only to return clutching at the hem of your dress begging you to stay. When I came to you like that, a broken shell of a man, you would make me stand, lead me to our bedroom, and would hold me long into the night catching my tears upon your thumb as you whispered 'I love you… I love you…' in a heartbreaking mantra.

I don't know what made you love me, but every time I kissed you, every time I dwarfed your hand in my own, every time I held your trembling body and your voice ragged, breathless, whispered my name I knew you did. It was your love that made me who I am today, a man who has spilled his inkwell six times because his fingers were trembling, a man who paced a straight worn line in the rug before the fire, and most importantly a man who now has two things in life to live for.

You are asleep now, in our bed; your body is curled up so tight I can hardly see where you begin or where you end. Between your hand and your knee there is a small gem, a tiny bundle, that moves periodically and edges closer to you. She has your eyes, all gold and honey and your nose, thankfully, but if you look close enough, you can see the bits of me that make her whole. She has my hair, only finer, straight and black as the night sky and my cheekbones, but her lips belong solely to you, and they form the most perfect bows.

I will edge into that bed tonight, pull you against me and as I nestle my face into your hair, my lips will find your ear and I will whisper three words slowly, softly, into it. Three words that I have tried to tell you, three words that purify me more than sweet water, three words that I have never said before.

I love you.

A/N: This is the first story I've ever written for the SS/HG fandom so please excuse any errors you find, I'm still learning. Leave a review on your way out!