Disclaimer: Do not own. Anything, really.

She was in no way perfect; she had her own series of faults. She sometimes snored at night, mostly when she was on her back. She had a bad habit of murmuring aloud when she read. She also enjoyed humming while in the shower, and was horribly off tune. She couldn't cook, burning anything she tried to make including Mac & Cheese, which was funny, because she was the best damn potions student ever in Hogwarts history, surpassing their esteemed Potions Master Severus Snape.

Her hair was too long and bushy and her hips too wide. She had slight bags under her eyes from staying up too late reading a fascinating new book, and she had dried ink coating her index and middle finger of her right hand.

She liked cats and wasn't too fond of dogs. She hated Quidditch with a passion and couldn't stand for someone mocking her precious library. She was a speed-reader, knowing that for every question raised, there would be an answer found in a book.

She reveled in telling people "I told you so," and hated being proved wrong. She liked feeling wanted, and needed, not like in her sixth year where she was alone and unwanted.

She was a firm traditionalist in décor and style; she wasn't hip or cool or modern. She liked penny loafers and kitten heels if she wanted to be sexy, and disliked miniskirts. She didn't like oversized sunglasses or large tote bags. She didn't compare herself to models and when she bought Cosmo UK on a whim she did it for their wonderful sex articles and quizzes.

She disliked Ikea and enjoyed browsing Ethan Allen. She liked clean space, open-air layouts and wide windows. Function, mobility, simplicity.

She could recite poetry, stanzas, Hogwarts: A History, Ministry laws and guidebooks, history and entire speeches back to you with a keyword, especially under academic pressure. Unfortunately, she froze and forgot most of her knowledge in the face of danger, which had been cut her life, and her best friends' lives a little short sometimes.

She didn't like jokes, especially made at the expense of someone else. She liked being serious and professional.

She liked sex and the thrill and power that came with it; she liked being on top and controlling the game. She liked certain toys and disliked others. She wasn't fond of doggy-style or sixty-nine, and disliked vibrators, especially the pink bunny one she had seen once on TV late at night.

She loved her husband; he made her feel special, pretty, unique and cared for her and put up with her. She was whiny and bossy and sometimes demanded too much of his time and he spoiled her rotten anyway.

She loved his calloused hands, rough from holding a broomstick and tanned from being out in the sun. She loved how his nails were short and square, with dirt sometimes still stuck under them when he was getting particularly down and dirty.

She loved his lean but stocky body. She loved how you could see he was fit and took care of his body, was sinewy and healthy but underneath, you could see all his muscles flex.

She loved how he could wear Muggle attire almost effortlessly, putting together the right combination for any event. She loved how he could pick up the right accessory for just the right occasion and make her feel as if she were the most beautiful woman in the room.

She loved how his eyes would twinkle and sparkle in the candlelight as he held her close, murmuring in front of the fireplace how much he loved her, how much he desired, needed her.

How much she completed him.

He, on the other hand, was very different from her.

He would sit on the couch, eat crisps and drink Stella and burp, never listening to her chidings about polite manners. He would sleep in on the days she needed him to wake her up, making her late, only to make her later by kissing her senseless. He was extremely perplexed by dentistry and pestered her parents horribly all the time about their techniques.

He was a bit on the shorter side, stockier more than a beanpole; his hair was too windswept and his smiles too broad. He walked with a slight limp that wasn't too noticeable unless you looked for it – an old Quidditch injury – and had a scar just off to his left eye from the Snitch.

He didn't like cats much but put up with Crookshanks because he loved his wife. He liked dogs, but not the small yappy kind, but the large dogs with thick fur that he could bury his face in. He liked sheepdogs, actually, or maybe huskies.

He loved Quidditch – what red-blooded British male didn't? – and thoroughly enjoyed thrashing his friends every weekend when he got the chance. He wasn't a large reader, unless it was a Quidditch magazine, or his secret vice: a cooking magazine. Since his wife couldn't cook, someone had to feed them.

He didn't mind being told he was wrong, and loved learning new things (something he shared with his wife), but when proved correct in something he took it with good grace and never appeared as haughty as she could be. He was independent and existed without his best friend, and didn't mind not being needed.

He was a modernist with a traditional family twist. He enjoyed walking through that Muggle story Ikea, and disliked the stuffy classic era furniture his wife so enjoyed. Clutter, misplaced items, and chaos screamed his name in their house.

He was stylish and sexy, a wanted man. He enjoyed fancy Italian shoes and high-quality suits and knew he was fine. He did, however, dislike low rise jeans with boxers shown and socks with holes. He was compared to the big name 'hotties' of the wizard world, considered a 'fine catch' and a member of much speculation.

He liked a good joke and an even better prank on someone. He liked it even more when it caught someone unaware and made them look silly, if only briefly. Long term pranks where the outcome was harmful, he disliked.

He liked sex; what man didn't? He liked regular missionary, up against the wall, off the edge of the bed, on the floor with rug burn, off the kitchen counter, straight fellatio and loved going down on his wife.

He loved his wife very much.

He loved her small, delicate hands that were smooth and pale. He loved how her nails were always done in a French Manicure, except for that one time when she lost a bet and had to paint them black. He loved how she scoffed whenever he read her palm, only to get a starry look in her eyes when he'd kiss it after.

He loved how she would coil her hair up into this perfect twist only for it to come undone half an hour later. He loved it even more when she was busy in her garden, or researching in her library or Floo-ing in and out of the house to the Ministry, coming back disheveled and looking properly shagged (he'd get to that later).

He loved her curves, all of them: hips, breasts, thighs, the dip and small of her back. He loved how smooth and continuous she was, he loved how wavy and flowing her body acted.

He loved her tiny, dusky brown nipples that peaked even if he just stared at them; he loved how her breasts would move when she heaved in heavy breaths.

He loved how they could snuggle in the late evening, or early morning, silent and content. He loved how he could say "I love you," and she would say it back or murmur a heartfelt, "I know, silly. Ditto!"

He loved how she completed him.

Hermione had wanted to say all those things to him during their wedding, but felt most of it, especially the end, wouldn't have been entirely proper. His parents were sitting in the front row and within hearing range, after all.

Instead, she told him about his qualities: what she hated and loved, and how she hoped he would never change.

And she told him he looked sexy in his traditional Scottish kilt, jacket and hose. She did tell him however, that he wasn't allowed to poke her with his Skean Dhu until the honeymoon.

He told her the exact same: how insufferable she could be, how fascinating and so unique.

They were both so different, so unsure that they could last.

But Hermione Granger was adamant.

"If I can save the world, and single-mindedly read every single book in Hogwarts' library, I can sure as hell make this relationship work!"

And he agreed. Oliver Wood was a Quidditch fanatic, a single-minded sports minion. But he loved her every little habit and twitch, and loved her for it.

"And if you can put up with me and my Quidditch and still talk to me about other things, then I can make this relationship work, easily."

And they could, and did.

After all, it was all those differences that made the other special in their hearts. It was those differences that brought out the best and worst in each other.

It was those differences that brought them together in the first place.

Because they were different, and similar, but they were still different and special.

And they loved each other all the more for it.

Some sappy Oliver/Hermione fluff for Valentine's Day. Enjoy it with your significant other, like I will, or with friends. Also dedicated to my sweetheart, who although not Scottish (he's from the Netherlands), can pull of the best British & Scottish accents I've ever heard. Mwah, handsome!