He loved her eyelashes, especially when she slept next to him. Ron would sometimes wake up before her and just let his eyes wander over her face, drifting over the feather-light smattering of freckles on her nose, the constant flush on her cheeks and of course, the eyelashes. Ron didn't even know what he loved so much about them- to anyone else, they were just that- eyelashes. He loved when she looked up at him through them when she had her head in his lap, he loved when they pressed down under her eyes when she laughed, as much as he was ashamed to admit it, he loved the heavy, rich, darkened look they had when saturated with her tears. Hermione's eyes opened, and she squinted adjusting to the sunlight. Ron took her in one more time and smiled- after seven years, she was his. Hermione gave a contented grin and closed her eyes. Ron leaned down to her, feeling the peaceful hum of her morning breathing against his chest, and placed a fragile kiss upon those eyelashes.