He fell in love with her hands first.
The hands that, at eleven years old, demonstrated the wonder of magic through the graceful maneuver of swish and flick.
The hands that secretly held the answer to the mysterious monster attacking the school, in spite of putting herself in grave danger to discover the truth.
The hands that manipulated time to save the life of the closest person to family he'd ever known.
The hands that clung to his robes in panicked fear for him, as he faced a dragon, a lake of dangerous creatures, a hazardous maze, a resurrected madman.
The hands that joined his in leading the rebellion against bigotry and that he clung to desperately as she lay unconscious in a hospital bed, her life far more at risk than his.
The hands that squeezed his tightly as he mourned the loss of what he'd never fully had, and attempted to soothe him as his anger raged at the injustices of the world and of his life.
The hands that waved exasperatedly in the air as his potion was awarded top marks, though later he realized her response wasn't entirely jealousy; she was beyond concerned at the temptations he was ignorantly falling prey to.
The hands that grasped his shoulders and vowed to traverse the entire world if need be, by his side, if it meant eradicating the darkest evil they would ever know.
The hands that were now, years later, stained with ink, nails bitten down, a muggle plaster wrapped around her right ring finger, a small diamond and ruby ring embracing her left.
The hands that had started out reaching for him affectionately but which now had the power to stroke and caress him to new heights, both physically and emotionally.
...
He fell in love with her hair next.
The hair that, even on its best day, hung in frizzy waves and coiled curls.
The hair that grew bushier the shorter it was worn, and so experimentation dictated that it remain well past her shoulders, which is how he thought she wore it best.
The hair that crackled when she was frustrated and actually sparked once when she was too angry to speak during one of their more epic rows.
The hair that required two bottles of Sleekeazy's to control when she wanted a smoother finish for one of the myriad Ministry functions they were required to attend.
The hair that tangled in his hands when he pulled her lips toward his in passion.
The hair that nearly strangled him in the night when their bodies inevitably wrapped around one another in their bed.
The hair that he prayed to the gods would grace their child's head, as he lovingly rubbed his large hands over the small but growing life in her abdomen.
...
He fell in love with her mouth after that.
The mouth that corrected every damn misspoken word, spell, or idea he and anyone else she was near spoke.
The mouth that frowned in concentration, making her look much older than the teenager she was as she attempt to solve puzzles and riddles and mysteries in order to protect him and save their world.
The mouth that opened into a small "o" of surprise when he did something right or responsible without prompting.
The mouth that chattered incessantly when she was nervous or lacked confidence.
The mouth that railed vehemently when one of them suffered any wrongdoing.
The mouth that smirked when those who tormented them received their due.
The mouth that grinned widely when immensely pleased or thoroughly amused.
The mouth that shared a private smile, only for him, when they were too far apart to whisper their thoughts to one another while standing among a crowd.
The mouth that murmured reassurances in soothing tones close to his ear when his doubts crept in.
The mouth that spoke eloquently when required, passionately when desired, and filthily when beyond herself in the throes of their lovemaking.
The mouth that fit perfectly against his, igniting fires and fanning the flames of love with its touch.
…
He fell in love with her eyes shortly after.
The eyes that widened in surprise and fear, but narrowed in suspicion or anger.
The eyes that glared until her opponent bowed to her demands.
The eyes that blinked rapidly three times when she needed to buy herself time before responding to someone.
The eyes that wept for those they'd lost and those who'd suffered and those who could not be helped.
The eyes that glowed a whiskey color when aroused, in body or in mind.
The eyes the darkened to molten chocolate when sated, physically or intellectually.
The eyes that spoke volumes in the silence, assuring him of her devotion.
The eyes that brightened when the Healer confirmed that in spite of her physical traumas, two would in fact become three.
The eyes that sought his for comfort, joy, and love every day of their lives.
The eyes he sought for comfort, joy, and love every day of their lives.
…
He'd always been in love with her mind.
Her incessant need to know, to learn, to do.
Her unending thirst for answers which only lead to more questions which require further exploration.
Her tendency to multi-task, thus finishing nothing quickly, but everything thoroughly.
Her huff of impatience when her audience failed to follow her train of logic.
Her feign of ignorance when he was that audience.
Her inability to grasp that his affections had shifted from friendly to romantic.
Her eager acceptance and reciprocation when she finally did.
Her tiny, handwritten annotations scribbled on anything available to her to write on, which he found everywhere in their home, everywhere - used serviettes, old receipts, the back of her hand, a square of toilet paper ("Because it just came to me, you know?"), even once his
stomach, in chocolate syrup, during a rather adventurous bout of…
Her ability to think louder than anyone ever, even as they lay in peaceful silence in their bed.
Her desire to change the world, not just the small space she occupied, but the entire damn world.
The fact that he knew she would.
...
He fell in love with more of her everyday.
He loved her.
Harry loved Hermione.
Harry Potter loved Hermione Granger Potter.