And So She Loved

And So She Loved

It was complicated. There was no telling how it started, really. It just was.

It felt natural when they were together - not a morbid professor and a know-it-all student, but a woman giving a man what he has needed for so long. It wasn't cute, it wasn't sweet, but it was what they liked, and it was what they wanted.

He was different around her. She knew that sounded stupid, even to her, and she would never let him know it, but it was the truth. It was partly why she stayed in his arms, invisible late at night, why she closed her eyes in bliss every time he kissed her. And it was partly because he loved her. Truly loved her for who she was. He loved how she always had an answer to every problem, and never wanted her to change, like Harry and Ron did.

And she loved it when he let her know that he loved her when he chastised her in class with that hidden flicker in his black eyes, because it must be unseen. She loved secrets.

And she loved his hands, his long, pale fingers, especially when they roamed her body for thoughts.

And she loved his awkward smile, his first smile, like sunshine on a rainy day. And she loved how he saved it for her.

And she loved it when he held her waist back for one last kiss when she rose to leave in those frantic, gray dawns.

And she loved when he said that he needed her without the words. And she gave into him silently, because she also loved the silence.

And she loved how they were so much alike, how he taught her something she didn't know every time she was with him. He taught her thoughts and longing by day, and she taught him loving by night.

And she loved it when he would take her to a special place in the castle when all the others had gone to Hogsmeade. She loved how the places were theirs, and only theirs.

And she loved how he loved her, dark and smooth. Deep and hidden. Because no one must see.

And she loved his handwriting - elegant and spidery, not unlike himself. She loved his handwriting in his letters to her, sent by his spidery and elegant Great Horned Owl, the letters that asked her to love him, begged her to come in that spidery and elegant way of his. And she loved that she could not resist, with handwriting like his.

And she loved his bedroom. The dark, cold furniture and the high, cold ceilings. She loved how she was cold whenever she entered the room. She loved how as soon as she got into the bed with the cold, dark sheets he kept her warm. She loved cold and dark.

And she loved how he whispered her name softly in her ear in the black of night, when she could not see him, but feel him, hear him.

And she loved his scent - distant and spicy, like faraway pine trees.

And she loved how he walked - with a purpose; he never wandered. And she tried to walk like him, walk into his arms like that - full of purpose.

And she loved the way he kissed her - lips teeth tongue mashed together crashed akimbo in perfect harmony.

And she loved the way he made love to her - careful wanting and tasteful taste pushed together with half-loving and half-consciousness.

And so she loved.