Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe belong to JK Rowling. I only do this for my own amusement, and possibly some others.

AN: I just found this on my computer…I wrote it over half a year ago and I think I was planning on working on it some more. Now that I have just reread it though, I can't find anything wanting…

I know, that probably sounds conceited. It probably is. But I like this as it is, so I'm posting it. Hope you enjoy.

The nature of love

His point of view

I wake the second your finger touches my skin.

Even if it is one of the softest touches anyone has ever seen fit to bestow upon me. I was not made for soft touches. I am not used to them. They make me feel uncomfortable.

Normally I would push your hands away.

You are looking at me with that curious gleam in your eyes again. No-one but you ever looked at me like that. It's barely describable.

There is warmth in your eyes. Hunger maybe. Tenderness as well. You do not look away. You never look away.

Even when we had nothing but a professional relationship, you dared defy me. Most grown men lack such courage. For that alone, I would admire you.

You are such a small person, really. When we stand in the bathroom barefoot, side by side in the morning, you hardly reach my shoulder. But when we are here, in my bed, all of that goes away. It's inconsequential that I am taller than you. It doesn't matter that I am more powerful than you.

Because in here, in private, we are the same. Whatever power I have over you, you wield equal power over me.

No-one, but you has ever been tender to me. Some have tried, but I never let them. You refused to be discouraged though. You waited until I was more vulnerable than ever before. I had just been informed that the events I had been hoping to witness for decades had come to pass. The desperate longing, the bitter fighting, it had all come to an end. My emotions were a complete mess and I did not know what to think. And then you came to me. I couldn't have made you leave unless you chose to go. I was at your mercy then.

And mercy it was. For you asked me whether or not I wanted you to leave. You would have gone too, if I had said yes. I could see it in your eyes as clear as day.

There was something else in your eyes that day, however. I had some difficulty realizing what it was, since I had had little opportunity to study that emotion in the people around me.

Hope.

You, infuriating, stubborn, irritating little woman. Loving, caring, brave, incredible woman. You were looking at me, the monster out of children's nightmares with hope. You didn't want me to send you away.

You would let me...but you didn't want it.

I never did.

Through the years I have been called many things, few of them flattering. Most of them true. You never seemed bothered by that.

With you I discovered what it was like to not hold back. You offered me freedom.

So now that I find myself, waking in a bed that has been mine for as long as I care to remember, a bed that holds many memories of cold and haunted nights, to see you looking at me as if I were the one most precious to you, how can I do anything but hold still?

How can I not hold your gaze, hardly breathing, drinking in the aching tenderness in your touch?

Even though I am frightened.

I am not used to tenderness. And I am not used to giving a damn myself.

While your hand flutters about my face, bestowing sweet caresses and butterfly kisses of skin on skin and I let you, I feel like I am more vulnerable every second. Like a flower opening up to show it's heart… it could be ripped out just like that.

Not that I am anything resembling a flower. The unflattering things that have been said about me not seldom concerned my appearance. Lord knows those were true as well. Again, you don't seem to mind. And while my skin tingles and hums with your ministrations, I don't mind either. It doesn't matter.

Your eyes never leave my face and hold an expression of disbelieving wonder. I understand. I never let you touch me like this. If nothing else, the nervous churning of my stomach tells me as much.

Nobody ever gets this close to me.

I don't let them.

No-one but you.

I have to suppress a shiver as your fingertip traces my lips. The look of concentration on your face is one I know well. I have seen it many a time when you are working or reading. You seem a bit anxious too, if I read you correctly.

Don't worry, my sweet, I am afraid too.

Your finger looses contact with my skin. I wonder what I look like to you. I know you don't find me handsome. You do not believe in Shakespearian truths. Yet the way you look at me, so intense, almost blissful, I cannot shake the feeling that you find pleasure in studying my features.

I do, by the way. Believe in Shakespearian truths, that is. I always knew you were pretty, but since I have fallen in love with you I find you the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.

I freeze.

There's a barely perceptible touch of your skin just above my nose. It's silly I know, but that particular feature has been the target of taunts for such a long time that I have grown quite self-conscious. I hardly realize I have stopped breathing altogether.

Your finger slides along my crooked nose in the sweetest attention it has ever been given. Your eyes by now are luminous. In the cold grey light of the early morning, they manage to light up the semi-darkness that surrounds us. They are overflowing with emotion.

Before I have time to analyze them, you have grasped the back of my head and I feel your lips pressed against my forehead in an urgent kiss.

"I love you so much."

Your whispered words are harsh and intense and quite possibly the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. There is no mistaking the raw feeling beneath, no mistaking the honesty and truth behind it. If I ever doubted your love, the doubt would end now.

An avalanche of feelings wash over me, so intense I can hardly breathe. I never once thought I could have this. Hell, before there was you, I did not know this existed.

Unable to articulate the love surging through my chest, the immense gratitude towards life, fate or any deity of your choosing for granting me this, I keep still, locking gazes with you once more.

I don't even know where to start, to explain what you mean to me.

Then again, as our eyes keep staring into the other's, I imagine I do not need to say anything. Unless I am very much mistaken, my eyes say it all.