There's nothing I love more than her laugh, even if she's laughing at my ignorance. Muggle objects bewilder me, but that makes her chocolate mane throw back in laughter, curls flying and whipping into her face. I love the way her warm eyes are bright and alive, even in the earliest hours of the morning, they're so alert, calculating, like everything that happens is something she needs to figure out. Her hands are so soft against my skin, warm and comforting; no one's hands have ever made me feel so at home, but just with one touch I can let myself believe I've always been this in love, and there was not one time where I ever felt alone.
She looks the most beautiful at four a.m when her wild hair is even more tangled than ever before, spread across her bare shoulders, she lies across me and she snores so faintly that I can hear her cat purr in the background. Her fingers grasp my own and she pushes closer to me, and if her mouth ever parts, she drools, just slightly. She's the most beautiful then, unguarded and un-calculating, when the world is no longer a mystery and all she does is dream. At four a.m knowledge holds no value and she's just a woman who is comfortable and safe, but just happens to be the brightest witch of her age.
Marrying her was the best thing I could have ever done, it saved everything good within me. Even if our wedding consisted of bewildered stares and whispered sneers, she didn't care about my last name; she even took it on as her own. No one knew why Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio would ditch a war hero Weasley to marry a Death Eater Malfoy. And yet, here she was, wrapped in my arms, whilst her finger was wrapped in a ring that I had slid so gently on, as I whispered "I do." She'd told me she didn't care what other people thought, and I could only believe that was a lie, how could she not? Over time she proved that she really did not care about the opinions of others, she knew she was terribly smart, and her own instinct ruled how she lived. That's just another thing I loved about her. It's hard for me, at four a.m when she looks so innocent in sleep, to forgive myself for every bad thing I've ever done, images taunt me against the grey early morning light but when she wakes and looks at me and kisses my lips gently I realise she doesn't give any of those things a second thought. They're the past and we're living right now, she'll look at me like she knows what I'm thinking and smile sadly, she knows there isn't anything she can do but still she tries as she whispers in my ear, all the reasons why she loves me. Soon my eyes start to close, whilst she gently combs her fingers through my hair, and laughs when I ask how to turn off the al-arm next to the bed as it beeps furiously. There's nothing I love more than her laugh.