Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The rest is mine, for all the good it'll do me.
Author's Notes: Damn, I don't think this was meant to be fluff. I'm going soft in my old age. Anyway, it's simply too soppy for me to have written it, and yet I swear I did. The inspiration for the format comes from Pure Lunacy by xylitol (a simply excellent Draco/Hermione). Just in case you aren't sure what's going on, the text of the story is one half of a conversation - you don't hear the replies, but I think most of them are easily guessed. As is the speaker, I think - though there is some degree of ambiguity.
As stated in the summary, this is a slash story. Which means that it deals with (in this case) a relationship between two men - though it's really not at all explicit. Still, if that sort of thing bothers you, stop reading. Or don't - just don't complain to me about it.
Unfortunately Yours
I don't trust him, of course.
Oh, I love him, all right. Don't look at me like that. You can love someone you don't trust. You can love someone you don't even like. That's the worst of it. You can't choose who you fall in love with. Surely you can understand how maddening that is for me. I've never been allowed to choose anything in my life for myself. It's always been given to me, my future set in stone since before I could even speak. And then to find that I fell in love - without my permission - with him, of all people…
Well, you can surely understand that I wasn't happy about it.
And by 'him, of all people'… I mean that we're opposites in all the ways that matter - except one, and that matters as well. Damn it, why am I never good at saying the things that are important to me?
We don't believe the same things. That's one thing. And he was brought up to hate people like me, and I was brought up to hate people like him. There's another. And then there's the fact that we're both boys. Which means that I was brought up to hate people like me. And that's the point where I stop trying to understand it, and just try to lose myself in him. But he's not here now, so I can't, and my thoughts are chasing themselves round and round in my head.
He's not here, because he's off risking his life. If Voldemort finds out what he's doing, he'll die for certain. Better people than him have died for less.
Oh, stop it. Just because I'm in love with the boy doesn't mean I can't see his faults. I'm no blind, romantic fool, whatever you might be.
Surely you must know? The worst of his faults is that, despite everything, he seems to think he's invincible. And you know what happens to people who think they're invincible. They die. And I love him, you know. It'll kill me if he dies. Don't snigger. It's killing me to admit this to you. I expected you to understand. I mean, you're in love aren't you? Or are you and Hermione just in it for the sex?
You… that hurt. And it was a fair question. You were being far too cynical. I've got more reason to be cynical than you have, and I'm not. So stop it.
When I said I didn't trust him, I meant that I don't trust him not to do something stupid and get killed. I don't think he'll betray us or anything. He can't, can he? They'd kill him on sight. And he wouldn't. Dumbledore's not often wrong. He wasn't wrong about me, so he can't be wrong about him. And I love him. Shouldn't that speak in his favour?
Yes, call me arrogant if you like. People have said worse before, and will again.
You know very well that the press are fickle. Just because I'm their darling today doesn't mean they won't turn on me when it suits them.
I don't mind. I rather like being cast as a villain. You don't have to trouble yourself to hide your faults. And black doesn't show the dirt as well as white. Or the blood, for that matter.
Yes, I know that I've never actually killed anyone or been soaked in blood. It's only a matter of time, though. Don't look surprised. War's war, Ron. People die. I've just got to sort out whether I'm capable of killing them. You've got to understand – I don't want to let him down. He's off doing his bit… and what have I done?
Well, yes, I suppose so. But it's nothing compared to the risks he's taking, is it? As long as I keep my nerve, I'll be all right. But for him… there's so much that can go wrong. And I don't trust him not to make a fatal mistake.
Maybe I should have more faith in his ability. But I think he'd be happy that someone at least doesn't take him for granted and assume that he'll succeed just because of who he is. And it's not his ability or his nerve I doubt, anyway. It's just… well, it's more his judgement than anything. He trusts too easily. That's an odd thing to say about him, I suppose, but it's true. He doesn't know if someone's lying to him. So he might walk into a trap. And then… it doesn't bear thinking about.
I can't lose him. I just can't.
Didn't think I was capable of such emotion, did you? How many times must I tell you I love him before you start to believe it? Hah. I suppose you thought I was just in it for the sex? Don't shudder; it's surely not that revolting a thought. How squeamish you straight men can be. I don't feel sick at the thought of you and Hermione… not that I think about it much.
Mostly I think about him. And about not dying. I have to concentrate on not dying. And on not letting anyone know about us, not until after the war's over. Because if anyone knows, both of us are in danger. Not to mention that neither of us will be able to do our jobs properly.
Yeah. It's really hard. I love him, and yet I can't even think about him, just in case.
Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get me. In fact, they are out to get me. You know that. We're both in danger, me and him. It's a proper wartime relationship. Every time we meet might be the last…
I am not heartless. Just because I don't cry like a baby over the thought that he might not come back doesn't mean I wouldn't cry if he didn't. And besides, have you ever seen him cry? No, me neither. I don't think he does. I don't either. No point in crying if there's no one to hear you, or no one who cares.
I suppose we're more similar than I thought.
And you? Do you ever spend sleepless nights, wondering if Hermione's going to make it through the war? Though I suppose she's always with you when she's risking her life. Makes all the difference. If he dies out there, I won't be there. I won't get to see him. And that kills me more than anything, because I love him.
I know. I'm hoping that if I say it often enough you'll believe me. You still look so sceptical. Don't you believe that two men can love each other, or is it just me and him that you find unbelievable? I suppose we are, though. A couple of years ago, I'd have thought it was some sick April fool's joke. And now… ah, and now…
Now he's mine, of course. What did you think I meant?
Of course he's mine. And I'm his. Where's the problem? Love is possessive. Like it or lump it. Noble emotion, indeed. As if any emotion is noble. Except… I suppose love leads to self-sacrifice, and that's noble. I'd die to save him, you know. Not a particularly useful sentiment, I suppose, but true. I'd die so that he could live. Don't believe me? He's more important to me than I am. God, what am I saying? Maybe I am some sort of hero. I've never believed that, even when I read it in the papers.
Are you crying?
No – no, I understand. But you believe me now, don't you? You believe I love him. More than anything. More than life itself.
Good. Now all I have to do is convince him of that…
