He still remembered her touch.
The scent of her hair when they laid side-to-side.
How her soft skin and how he littered her with his kisses, leaving marks.
How she called his name and screamed in pleasure.
How she made him go crazy in the inside.
She was always on his mind.
And only her.
Why?
Simple.
Harry Potter, the savior of the British Wizarding World was in love with Hermione Granger, the know-it-all bookworm declared the brightest witch of her generation.
He loved how she would send him those loving smiles that were for him on those nights they relaxed in the living room.
He loved how she would comfort him, nights they stayed up together because "Harry it's okay, the war ended five years ago."
He loved how she would be the peacemaker between him and his nightmares, that always had a looming pale spindly hand that would grab him, a familiar cold high pitched laughter echoing in the darkness of his troubled mind.
He loved how she would smile brightly for everyone, even when she was down herself.
He loved every part of her.
He admired how she handled everything with ease and grace.
He admired how she pushed forward to help Muggleborns that were left with nothing in the recent war to get back on their feet.
Sure, Harry's fame seemed to always get in the way with Hermione's own nightmares of Bellatrix Lestrange carving 'Mudblood' not only on her arm but her legs, face, and back reminding her that she was lower than creatures themselves and that she didn't deserve the wonders of magic.
Harry would always squash those fears reasoning that Bellatrix was mad beyond comprehension and was dead. Killed by Molly Weasley and that he would never allow Hermione to get hurt again.
Harry's emerald eyes stared up at the ceiling.
He was too drunk in love.
A soft hand interwound with his, and he turned his head a bit, messy black hair strung on the white pillowcase.
"Harry?" Her voice was sweet, and soft like honey.
Harry hummed in acknowledgement. His hand was firmly encased in her own.
"I love you." She murmured, snuggling up to the blonde country, warmth blossoming in both of their chests.
He turned, facing the woman who had been with him for 12 years now, her eyes sparkling in the ivory moonlight.
His free arm found its way to her waist, securely holding her, their clasped hands together in between the two lovers.
Pressing a soft, fleeting kiss on her forehead, he gave her a dim yet at the same time bright smile.
"I know." He murmured, their eyes gazing at each other lovingly.
"Because I love you too."