For You

Where were you, when I truly needed you?

It was snowing, when I first realized I loved you. It was freezing cold, and I was standing alone by the lake, watching the snow fall onto the ice. You were home, home for the holidays. I missed you. I'm not inclined to long for the company of those who are not around me. It frightened me.

I never knew what you thought of me. Only that you'd yell, and glare, and throw insult after insult my way. And then you'd grab me, pull me close, roll me under you and make me your own.

Was it a power game, for you? I was convenient, I suppose. I never pushed you away. I thought to, in the beginning. I pulled away from you, and made some snappy comment, and you just pulled me into you again. It was too good for me to ignore.

I let you take me. I gave myself over to you, chiding you on all the way. It was the single most bizarre experience of my life. But it was enjoyable. I can remember every moment of it...the way your lips felt, your hands, the way it hurt exquisitely when you entered me. I screamed when I climaxed, and so did you. And we fell together in a sweat slicked tangle of limbs.

You never told anyone. You were ashamed of me. You would meet me at night, alone. In secret and silence. You were in turns cruel and kind to me. I was some sort of guilty pleasure for you, wasn't I?

You told me everything. Your fears, your hopes, your aspirations. You never once listened to me. You spoke of your family, school, friends, secret longings and passions. And when I tried to speak to you, you shut me out. You didn't care of my problems, my feelings. You live in the shadow of your brothers, I live in fear of my father. If I am anything less then perfect, he will kill me. I doubt you have fears like that.

But I allowed you to use me. I don't know why. I didn't enjoy it, but I endured it. For you. And for me. Perhaps I simply enjoy self abuse. And the sex was good.

We made love in the snow once. It was bitter cold, and not all that long ago. It melted under my back as you drove into me. I caught a cold.

I never told you. I couldn't. I know you never loved me. I was a passing amusement. And to this day I do not understand why I allowed it. Because I loved you. What a sad, weak excuse that is. Love is not an acceptable justification. It's just a thought, a stupid one at any rate. All it does is make me miss you, and think of you.

You are a rather bright spot in this gloomy place. I never truly wanted to be a Death Eater, it just happened. That, and I didn't want to die. So maybe I didn't love you as much as I thought. If I truly loved you, maybe I would have stayed with you.

But you didn't care. I don't think you missed me much. Would it have made a difference, if I told you I loved you?

They want you dead. It's not a pleasant thought to me. I have no desire to see you dead, but no desire to see myself dead. Maybe that's the difference between you and I. If we were reversed, and you loved me, you would risk your life to save mine.

I've never been known to exert myself. And why change now? I've never claimed to be a good person. I am only me, and that is all I ever intend.

You're resourceful. I doubt they'll be able to kill you. If they do, I'll attend your funeral. And I may cry. I'm not sure. I haven't cried in years, but sometimes I think I will. I don't take much pleasure out of life anymore. If you die, maybe I'll follow you.

There is a sort of grand feel to things now. It's snowing out now, you know. I'm watching it, out my window. Everything looks different, covered in snow. Untouchable, unspoiled. But cold. I fancy myself like the snow, but we both know I am far from untouchable. You've but to look at me, and I'm on my back for you.

I wonder where you are, now. Do you ever think of me? Do you care if I live or die? If I think of you? I sometimes think to write to you, but would you read it? Or would you see it is from me, and toss it away without reading?

This place is a prison. An opulent comfortable one, but a prison all the same. Amidst all this gilt and lace, I find myself missing you terribly. I would trade it all to be beneath you once more.

Maybe that's a bit far fetched. I wouldn't give it all up. I would make sacrifices, yes, but I couldn't give everything up. I was not made for that. What was I made for? I don't know. I was made to love you, I know that much.

I am dead to the world. They all say so. There is a lacking about me, a lifelessness. I cannot help it. You gave me fire. I am nothing without you, simply a bitter shell. I am thought and voice and movement, but that is all.

I want to do something grand. I have great dreams, you know. I want to make my mark on the world, and die a martyr. What is the use of life, if you aren't going to be remembered? But I'm not going to. I don't want to be a martyr anytime soon.

Father worries about me. He wonders what is wrong with me, why I am so quiet. He comes to me often now, to stroke my hair and talk softly to me about our glorious future. My future is nothing. A loveless marriage, a meaningless job, society's pawn. I don't want that life for me. But I am not going to revolt against it either. I haven't the strength.

If you loved me, you could rescue me. Storm the gates and sweep into my room and take me away from here. You'd take me away, and make love to me, and swear your undying love for me. But you don't love me, and so I will remain here.

I wouldn't have turned, had you loved me. If you were there, when they came to me, branded his mark into me, I would have been able to resist. I was crying, abused, wounded in body and spirit. And I searched for you, but you weren't there. Not for me. You didn't have time. You never knew, what had happened that night.

I would have been there for you. But you don't have problems like that. I do. Not that you'd know...

I dream of you. Every night now. I can't stop. I want to. I wish I could forget you, forget I loved you, forget everything. I could, if I *really* wanted to. But I'm just being self pitying and romantic. I'm prone to that now. You did it to me. You changed me.

I want to be what I was. Or be with you.

If I talk to myself long enough, maybe I can convince myself to leave. To go back to you. But would you take me in, or turn me over to authorities? I *am* wanted by the ministry. I *am* a death eater. And a known one. Daddy wants me to stay here, so I don't get hurt or caught.

I wonder now, what would you do? A part of me really wants to know. Would you protect me? Would some Gryffindor sense of honor cause you to shelter me, give me some form of sanctuary because I am your ex lover? Or would your sense of duty and righteousness take over? Would you coldly send me to a fate akin to death, watching detached as they took me away?

My lack of enthusiasm for living urges me to conduct a bit of an experiment. My life would be forfiet, but I think I've made it rather clear that isn't of much importance to me.

I suppose it's now or never. I could stay here, sitting at my window, dreaming of things that can never be, or I can make a change. How brave am I?

I'm standing up. I'm actually moving. Of my own accord. And it's not to take care of some sort of physical necessity. I suppose this means I'm going to make a run for it. I don't know how far I'll get. I my start to escape, then get bored and go home.

And here I go. Off on a grand adventure, I suppose. I don't think I was meant for adventures, but I want to see you again, one way or another. I love you, and I will love you no matter what. Should you embrace me or spurn me, I shall love you for all eternity.

Ready or not, here I come.