Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. If you recognize none of it, I recommend you read the Harry Potter series and not just the fanfiction built around it.

It was the little things, he found, that made him love her.

It was the way she would whisper to him when he first woke up, running her hands through his hair as she whispered "I love you."

It was the way she cried when it rained because she couldn't stand not seeing the sun.

It was the way she scolded him when his robes were wrinkled or he criticized Weasley or he was grouchy or lazy or he clung to his mother like a little boy.

It was the way she understood and never, ever judged.

It was the way they teased each other, making light of topics like blood status, Voldemort, and other matters that had landed them on opposite sides of the war.

It was the way her voice got high when she was nervous or deepened when she was angry.

It was the way she laughed, naturally and easily and not at all properly.

It was the way she looked when she was about to be very, very stubborn: that spark in her eyes and the way she would lift her chin just a fraction higher and state her opinion quite loudly and he knew there was no way she would ever give in.

It was the way she danced so easily and horribly in Potter's arms at his wedding, making it look like the most fun anyone could ever have.

It was the way her nail polish was always chipped because she couldn't resist touching things.

It was the way her children learned very early on that Mommy couldn't cook without burning the house down.

It was the little things that made her her.


A/N: That was just a short little thing that has been sitting forgotten on a flash drive forever.

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