Saturday, 11 pm

Granger and the Weasel are talking about me. They're sitting across the room, and every so often, one of them looks in my direction. I can't read Granger's expressions, but the Weasel looks like he would hit me with the Killing Curse if he could get away with it.

They're both worried about you. I can tell they haven't slept any more than I have these past few days, and that's not very much. I'm sure they haven't fucked in a while, either. The Weasel looks like he could use a good shag.

But enough about them. This is about you and me. About how much I need you.

How much I need you to wake up.

---

As the months went by, we talked more, but said less. I had my orders from the Dark Lord, and you had the Order to worry about. The war was upon us, and we were on different sides. We resorted to more physical pastimes.

We touched each other, slipping curious hands into our robes and down our pants, fondling each other. Do you know how good your nimble fingers feel around me? From there we progressed to sucking on each other. The first time you came for me was, in a word, amazing. I just wanted to see that look on your face more. We grew even more intimate.

We moved our nightly meeting to the Room of Requirement. By this time, it was getting too cold outside, anyway.

The room looked the same each night we came. It was small, cozy, with a big stone fireplace as the only source of light and heat; a large soft couch, and a thick quilt. There were always two mugs of cocoa on the round coffee table, yours with marshmallows, mine without.

We started this particular December night as usual, drinking our cocoa and talking about whatever came to mind. Then I put our empty mugs on the table and moved between your legs. You were propped sideways on the couch, and I just lay on top of you.

You pulled me up and kissed me deeply. What a wonderful feeling. I let my hands wander down to rub against you through your pants. I broke the kiss, and moved down, deftly undoing the button and zipper and freeing your hardness from your boxers.

As my tongue worked on you, you unclasped your robe and slid your arms out, letting it fall to the couch. You lifted your shirt over your head, then moved to unclasp my robe. I tensed as you undid the top button of my shirt, remembering why we hadn't been naked together before.

If you saw me naked, you would see the Dark Mark on my arm.

I pulled away.

You were undeterred, grabbed my arm, and pulled me closer. "I want to make love to you, Draco," you said.

Merlin, how those words affected me. My name on your lips, connected to those words. It was erotic in ways I never imagined. I felt full of lust for you and full of dread at the same time. As much as I wanted to completely give in, I had to deny you.

I want to hear those words fall from your lips again and again.

I want you to wake up.

I stumbled over my words. That does not happen to me often, mind you, but I truly didn't know what to say to you. You sat, ready and willing, with your pants around your knees, and I lay in your arms. Your warm, comforting arms. I wanted to cry.

Why is it that you make me want to cry? I suppose sometimes love makes us weak. But at other times it strengthens us. That's strange, isn't it?

I finally choked out the words, "We can't," and you looked hurt. I couldn't look at you as you asked me why. Was I nervous? Was something wrong? Did I not think of you in that way?

No, I wasn't any of those things. I turned away from you, grabbed my robe and headed for the door. But you jumped up and had your arm around me before I even got close to it. You stood, pressed against my back for what felt like a long while, one hand around my waist, the other holding up your still-undone pants.

Then you said, "Don't worry, baby. I won't hurt you." Your fingers started tugging at the buttons on my shirt. I let you, not knowing what else to do. You turned me around, and when you tried to slip the shirt off my shoulders, I stopped you.

"No," I said. "I need you to know something." You waited patiently as I tried to find words to tell you that I was the thing you hated, the thing you were fighting against in this war. Finally I said, "I understand if this upsets you. Believe me, I did not do this by choice. Voldemort would have killed both me and my mother, and my father would have watched, and done nothing. He's the one who volunteered me in the first place."

At the mention of Voldemort's name you tensed, and by the time I finished talking, I was in tears. I let the shirt slip to the floor and held out my left arm.

I couldn't look at you.