Author's Note: A bit of fluff that I felt like writing. Not sure why I decided to do this but I liked it. Maybe it's a Valentine's gift for you all! Let me know what you think, please!
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Inexplicably in Love
There weren't any words he knew of to describe what he felt for his wife, even in the six other languages he had studied and the additional one he'd made up. There weren't any symbols he could string together to describe in simple formulas or complicated equations what made her and him fit together. If someone had asked him—and there had been people in the beginning who had questioned him—if someone had asked him to do this, to communicate why, in such a way that anyone could understand, he would have found himself stumped.
He had found himself mystified by it once. He'd made an attempt, only one, and never did he truly try again. She had found him some time later, crumpled attempts of pathetic prose piling high next to him, used nubs of pencils scattered amongst drained cups of tea, and (when that had failed to stir his senses) jugs of coffee.
She'd simply laughed and kissed him on his unshaven cheek, his long nose, then had run a small hand through his dark curls before waving her wand and whisking the mess away. She told him that she knew he loved her and why and to hell with others trying to define them. She'd already spent most of her life living outside the box that most found themselves in. What was the point in trying to make themselves fit now?
But, he did find himself trying to describe her, them, sometimes.
She was the air he breathed, the sun whose warmth he basked in. From the fine hair as silver as the celestial body she was named after to her unique mind that was willing to explore possibilities and see what most wouldn't see; she was beautiful through and through.
When she cried he was there to wipe her tears, to bring a smile back to her face. When she laughed it was his arms that caught her and spun her around in delight, reveling in her light frame against him. He was the man who stood at the end of the aisle as she walked towards him, dressed not in the traditional white, but in a bright cheerful yellow. He made her tingle and ache with his hands and lips.
When she was with their children, running through the sprinklers of their front yard in search of mischievous Wrackspurts and shy Fizufians, blond hair sparkling with drops of water, he'd put down the latest text on magizoology and just watch them. His two little boys, their curly hair gleaming in the sunlight, screams of delight escaping as their mother scooped them up, one in each arm, kissing them until they wiggled out of her grasp. They'd run a small distance before they'd again slow and look back at their mum, to make sure she was still there, still coming for them. Which she always was, she always would be.
Or there would be times when he'd find her in the pond, her skirts hiked up past her knees, her stockings and shoes thrown carelessly on the grass. She would be up to her elbows in the water, digging for a glittering rock that had caught her eye. He would sigh and take off his own boots, roll up his pants and wade in after her. She'd turn to greet him with a sweet smile, the tips of her hair wet because she'd forgotten to tie it up. And then her eyes would widen in surprise as he'd scoop her up with a growl, throwing water everywhere and over him, but not caring as he kissed her, tasted her and grinned against her lips.
He stocked up on these moments. Snapped a mental picture and filed it away in a spot of his mind that was filled with lightness and love. It was a spot that was spilling into other parts, the darker, unhappy ones. The spots which she had already done so much to heal.
It had been at a naturalists' convention when she'd found him, where they'd bonded over a manticroc, a rare water animal said to be spotted off the western coast of South Africa during the fourth rotation of an adverse moon. He'd always believed they existed though there had only been one sighting in 120 years. He'd gone off about his theories and it was only after half an hour did he realize that he was ranting and had been able to shut himself up, expecting her to scoff at him. Instead, she'd agreed and offered her own proof to the existence of these creatures.
He'd looked at her then, saw in her wide blue eyes an innocence rarely seen in fighters of the War and a surprising awareness that he'd always assumed wasn't there, an assumption from when he had grown up around her in Hogwarts. And in that long glance, there'd been a spark that had danced between them. It was a spark that had soon burst into an amazing firework display that both awed and blinded him with its magnificence.
But he never looked away, not once, and he hadn't been able to tear his gaze away from her since.