Love Is

Summary: Even in its darkest moments, life in the wizarding world is full of love. A variety of drabbles of many different pairings, showing love at some of its strangest, saddest, funniest and most beautiful moments. Contains het, slash, and femmeslash relationships.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world are all the intellectual property of JK Rowling. I just take them out to play.

Rating: Drabbles range from a soft K to a hard M, but most of them level out at about a K+.

Feedback: All reviews and, of course, constructive criticism are most welcome. However, if you wish to preach at me because I write slash and you don't approve, you were warned in the summary, and therefore will be ignored.

Author's Note: This is a (surprisingly large) collection of all the drabbles I've written over the past couple years, for various reasons and people. Each chapter title will indicate the pairing and rating, in case the reader wishes to skip certain chapters or pairings they're not comfortable with. I will warn you though, not every pairing is exactly what you might expect. ;) After all, love is funny, among other things…

Chapter One: A Modest Proposal

(Oliver Wood/Hermione Granger, Rated K)

Hermione was awake the instant his hand brushed along the length of her back, which was really no different than any other night. She was a light sleeper, always had been, and had learned very early into their relationship that any significant movement he made during the night would rouse her out of sleep. But she didn't mind. Even after countless incidences of being kicked, poked, shoved and punched awake in the wee hours of the morning, she still wouldn't have had it any other way.

He was, after all, cutest when sleeping.

Almost automatically, she gave a stretch and a sigh, peeking one eye open to judge the current position of her bed partner before cuddling up next to him. She was startled, however, when a muscled arm curled around her waist to draw her closer, his head flexing to rest against her own.

"Oliver?" she asked lightly, the tips of her fingers gracing over the arm that now held her near.

"I'm awake," he said by way of answer. She was again surprised by the coherency in his words, accustomed also to the fact that her significant other was a notorious sleep talker. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "My stomach hurts."

Making the appropriate sympathetic noise, she murmured, "Ohh. Poor baby," and instantly moved to rub a hand over the smooth, flat plane of his abdomen.

He sighed into her hair, and she let her head relax against his shoulder, her hand continuing to caress a figure-eight pattern over her lover's stomach. He'd been complaining earlier about an unsettled ache in his innards, but she'd chalked that simply up to nerves. He'd been acting anxious and uneasy the whole day—likely due to Puddlemere's upcoming game against Tutshill, the current league leaders. But after being served a particularly venomous glare when she'd asked "What's wrong?" for the fifth time, she'd elected to keep quiet. He would tell her what was on his mind when he was good and ready, and no sooner. That was just how he was.

She was on the verge of slumber once more, making her first tentative toeholds into a dream, when she was suddenly jolted to the side, and found herself blinking owlishly at her beloved as he lurched out of bed. It took her a moment to collect her muddled mind before she could rise to follow, and by then, a sound was coming clearly to her through the open bedroom door.

A squelching gag, and then the heavy liquid slosh of a stomach revealing its contents to the depths of a shining porcelain bowl. There was a repeat performance, then once more with feeling, then a thick sigh as he reached up to flush the toilet, and by then her pajama-clad frame was outlined in the doorway.

"Okay?" she asked, stifling a yawn and resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the acidic odor of vomit now assailing her olfactories.

He belched, swallowed thickly, then slowly shook his head as he sank to the floor, resting his forehead against the cool tile. "Shouldn't've messed with that leftover casserole," he uttered, and belched again as he drew his knees to his chest.

A fine spray of pale reddish liquid had managed to miss the toilet bowl, dribbling down its base and across the front of his t-shirt. It was almost thoughtlessly that she found herself soaking a washcloth and gently wiping away the spots on his shirt. Then she rinsed it and pressed the damp, cool cloth to the back of his neck, raking her fingers lovingly through his hair as she did. She settled herself onto the floor next to him.

"Go back to bed," he told her, even as he leaned in to the comforting ministrations of her hands. "I'm just sick. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."

"I know," she answered, and made no signs of leaving as she drew his head gently into her lap, curling him into the supportive warmth of her embrace.

After a long moment, he sighed. "Love you, Hermione."

"Love you too, Oliver."

He nuzzled more deeply into her arms before murmuring, "I want to get married."

Half asleep again, she only replied, "Mmm hmm."

He persisted, "To you. I want to marry you."

And then she was fully awake, blinking down at him as he stared unabashedly back. "You just threw up," she said, as though this could somehow explain the startling statement he'd made.

"I know," he answered. "And I want to marry you."

For a long time she was quiet, and a million thoughts crisscrossed her mind at light speed before she could finally coerce her lips into forming the word, "Okay." And then she glanced down and found him snoring softly against her thigh, a tiny knowing smile curling the corners of his mouth.

He really was cutest when he slept.

A/N: More updates soon, and as always, all my love to readers and reviewers alike. Kind words feed a starving soul more than you shall ever know.