If Thou Must Love Me

If Thou Must Love Me

"If thou must love me let it be for naught Except for love's sake only."

"What?"

Draco looked up from his book. "I said, 'If thou must love me let it be for naught Except for love's sake only.' It's the first line of a sonnet by Elizabeth Barrett Browning."

Ron blinked. "Aaand... um... are you trying to tell me something?"

The blond pushed his glasses, which he wore solely for reading purposes, up the bridge of his nose with one slender finger.
"Why do you love me, Ron?"

Ron blushed slightly and eventually put the Quidditch jumper he was about to darn aside.

"Draco..."

"No, really. Why do you love me?"

Silence.

Ron looked plain at Draco, still not sure whether the question was of rhetorical nature. Yet Draco's expectant eyes denied that.
"I mean, you already told me that you love me," he pointed out matter-of-factly, "You actually used the word. Shouldn't be to hard then to tell me why."

"Well, it is hard! I mean, why do people actually love others?"

"That's the question, yes. Or, better, part of it, for the original question still remains, why do you love me?"

"Smarty pants!"

The Gryffindor felt somewhat embarrassed. They had never talked about "it" so openly before, and Draco's reoccurring mentioning of Ron's love for him clung awkwardly to the atmosphere in the room. Draco could hide behind his matter-of-fact tone, his glasses and the book, but if Ron was to tell him why he loved the boy, he could not hide; he would be exposed.

"You actually want me to put this into words?" he asked by means of gaining time.

"Yes."

"Well..."

Draco laid his book aside, left the desk and came over to sit in front of Ron on the floor. Looking down on him from his higher spot on the bed, Ron thought he looked like an expectant five-year old waiting for the occasional evening fairy tale. Except for the glasses, of course, which actually made him look like a scholar.

Ron reached out for the glasses and took them carefully off.

"First I love to see your eyes," he said silently, almost thoughtfully.

Draco grew a wide smile, but he kept silent.

"I love that tiny scar about your left eye. There." He gently passed a finger over the scar and the other boy closed his eyes for a fleeting moment. "How did you get it, by the way?"

But Draco shook his head. "Hush," he whispered, "Later. Just go on now."

"Well..." He pulled his hand away from where it had rested on Draco's face. "I love the feeling that remains on my hand after I've passed it over your skin. Sometimes it stays there for only seconds, then I want to touch you again the moment it wears off. And sometimes I can feel you still hours afterwards, as if the touch was still barely a split second ago." Ron reached out one hand to meet Draco's in midway - their fingers entwined.

A thought rushed through the Gryffindor's head. If anybody entered now... they hadn't closed the door. If anybody found them holding hands...

"And I love part of the secret about this 'us', the danger about it - the danger about you!"

The Slytherin chuckled. "The danger about me? Am I really that dangerous?"

"Yes, you are. And you've proven so more than once. You're a danger to your enemies as well as your friends, and sometimes you're even a danger to yourself!"

"I am not," Draco said playfully.

"Yes you are."

"Can we go into detail about this?"

Ron's eyes became one shade darker. "Hush," he whispered, "Later. Let me just go on now.

"I love the way how our minds seem to at times link and at others, clash. It's never too easy and never too hard, and through each other we both get to know something new but can rely on something familiar at the same time."

"Ever thought of writing a poem or a sonnet yourself?"

"And I love that teasing cat-habit of yours, though it can be pretty annoying at times - like this." Trying to fake offence, the blond pouted slightly. "And I love your lips," Ron continued. He touched the objects of his yearning mildly with his index finger, which was immediately sucked in. Draco's eyes smiled childishly - still the seeming five-year-old, who was just finally given a long awaited sweet. It was pleasant to see him out of his usual cool, controlled manner for once.

Ron sighed in a satisfied way. "And I love what you do to me, how you make me feel. Simple gestures and thoughts... you can literally make my day, you know.

"And I love to never have to explain myself when I'm with you. You never make me feel as if I have to apologize for my flaws or simply for the way I am. And I love it. You never try to change me as long as I don't try to change you. I love the feeling of ease you offer me.

"Umm... Draco?"

*mumble* "Yeth?"

"Can I have my finger back?" And Draco released it, but before he did so, he bit it playfully.

"Ouch!" Alas, the sweet reality of pain. "Oh my..." The blond said no word, just took the finger in his free hand and played tenderly with it, stroking the slightly worried flesh with his fingertips.

"And I love part of the pain you cause me, and I love it that you release me from it."

Ron watched the other boy in silence for some moments. Some rays of sunlight caught in Draco's hair as he looked down at the finger he caressed. Ron let his view trail over the seemingly flawless skin, semi-tanned by the sun, yet still uniquely fair in its own way.

"And I love your beauty," he spoke softly, his words not truly cutting the heavy summer silence in the comfortably cool room. "I love how you can be fair and dark at once so very natural that it's just life."

Draco looked up. "What are you saying there, Ron?" he asked gently in a somewhat slower manner than his usual.

"I love you, Draco."

Led by their still entwined hands, never letting go, Ron unhurriedly came down from the bed to level his lover. Their eyes locked. Very slowly the child vanished from the Slytherin's eyes, leaving only Draco in them for the other boy to see. Then Draco leaned in to meet Ron in a soft, tongueless kiss. When he pulled away again, he found Ron smiling, his eyes closed, a silent, pleased 'Hmmm' resting on his lips. He watched him, as he gradually opened his eyes.

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Will you read out the rest of the sonnet to me?"

"I can recite it."

Ron smiled and began, "If thou must love me, let it be for naught -" And Draco took up the line.

"Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love him for his smile - his look - his way

Of speaking gently, - for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day' -
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed or change for thee - and love so wrought
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!"

He paused and allowed silence to take its effect.

Then, "And do your find your own words in the poem?"

"Partly," Ron admitted, "But I also see several major differences."

"Which are?"

"I do not love you for all the characteristics I mentioned, I love all those characteristics in themselves and I love you.
"And, of course, I never pitied you in any way."

Draco said nothing. There was nothing to say about it. He just closed the distance once more to kiss the boy he loved. This time gentleness turned a bit more passionate though and Draco slipped his hands underneath Ron's shirt and passed them over his back, succeeding in gaining a soft moan against his lips. Not so soft, but ever so passionately, Ron dug his one hand into Draco's hair and gripped hard, a little painfully, but in a satisfactory way, nonetheless.

He smiled. He bit Draco's lip. He grinned. "And I forgot something. I love to make love to you!"

Draco pulled away and blinked. He looked at Ron with a mixture of surprise and striking realization.

"Draco?" He blinked again. "Umm... will you give me the last two lines of the sonnet? A sonnet always consists of fourteen lines, if I remember correctly."

"Maybe that's actually what she meant...," Draco said his voice sounding excited and absentminded at the same time.

"What?"

"The last two lines, I mean. Listen.

But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on through love's eternity."

"Um... and?"

"Well, 'love me for love's sake', she could mean making love, couldn't she?"

Ron chuckled, then smiled. "That would give it a whole new meaning, wouldn't it?" he breathed near Draco's neck, about to give himself into a game of kissing and teasing and about to start right there at the sensitive spot of Draco's neck.

"Yes it would, but you know how these poets are. They're not only writing about 'love', you know."

Ron chuckled softly once more, this time the sound coming slightly muffled from directly underneath Draco's ear. "I know, Draco, I know."

fin