Inappropriate

Inappropriate.

The word flows off her tongue when she repeats it to herself, dropping like a napkin to the floor. It's like hands, clasped together, that start to unfold themselves but change their minds halfway through. It's an ugly word.

It was the word they used when they found out. They weren't supposed to find out. She hadn't wanted them to. It was supposed to stay hidden, and eventually forgotten. It was safer that way.

Inappropriate.

She hadn't thought it was. She thought it was just something that happened. Like rain, love was just something that happened.

That's what she told them. That she never 'meant' to fall for him. That she didn't wake up one day and say, 'Oh, I think I'll go fall in love with someone inappropriate, just for kicks.' And they'd cocked their eyebrows as if to ask if she were sure.

Inappropriate.

They had it wrong. That wasn't what love was. Love was beautiful, as corny as it sounds. Love was waking up in the morning and noticing the sun, it was cinnamon buns and lavender, it was violins and pianos and most of all it was him.

He was taller than her, blonder than her. He was stronger than her, braver than her, smarter than her. To put it bluntly, he was just...better than her. She didn't mind. In fact, that may have been what she liked so much about him. He didn't ever expect her to do the things everyone else did. He didn't expect her to know the answers or to do the righteous thing or to be able to hold back all of her tears. So when she failed everyone else's expectations, he was there smiling, telling her that he told her so.

Yet somehow he wasn't cruel to her. Sarcastic, yes. But never cruel. He would say 'I told you so,' and follow it up with a 'you can't be everything everyone wants you to be. There isn't enough of you to go around.' And he would hug her.

Maybe that's what they thought was inappropriate. That he touched her. Was it? Should he have stayed three feet away from her at all times? Should he have tied his hands behind his back and sat on them? She didn't think so. She liked the way he touched her. He was gentle, like she was a flower that the petals would break off of if he weren't careful, or a china doll. His hands were usually cold, but not painfully cold, and they glided over the curves of her body and the planes of her skin as if they'd once been molded there. He was confident in his touch, firm, yet there was something about the way his eyes would meet hers, and he would be asking her the questions he needed to. 'Is this all right? Where should I go next?

'Are you ready?'

And she was. She was always ready when he tried the next step, the next level of intimacy. And he always asked, never once assuming.

Inappropriate.

She supposed that she could see where they got that impression. After all, back in September, if someone had told her that they'd be having this argument, she'd have laughed. Back in September. Only now they were having this argument and she wasn't sure what to do, or say. It was an accident, that they found out, after all. She had never thought that one day she would have to deal with this. They weren't supposed to know.

Maybe that was why they were attacking the situation so blindly. Were they hurt that she didn't tell them? But, as she reasoned with herself, if she had they would've been just as prejudiced, and they all knew it. She should've expected it, someday. They weren't stupid, after all.

The library was comforting around her, the thick books spilling their titles at her they way they always have. It was quiet in her corner except for the words she whispered to herself, remembering what they had said.

"He's the enemy, Hermione! You can't imagine what he's capable of!"

"Besides, he's a Slytherin. It's completely...completely...completely inappropriate!"

She remembers an old childhood rhyme and laughs. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Words. Words were everything to a soul and spirit. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can break my heart. And they had. She was broken.

After their words she couldn't stay in the common room. She had to get out, to be alone for a few moments. The library was logical, as well as familiar. She needed to be mended but she was alone.

Then she wasn't alone, and he was there. He furrowed his brow at her torn expression and pulled her up out of her chair. "You can't be everything they want you to be," he said. "You can't live up to everyone's expectations. Just live up to your own."

He hugged her close and she clung to him, accepting him. After a minute or so she asked, "How did you know?"

He answered, "It's my business to know." He slipped his lips over hers and kissed her gently. His words lifted her spirit and his touch lifted her heart, and she wasn't broken anymore, but made anew. With a new determination, bravery, strength, and he had fixed her.

And they call it inappropriate.