You love me.

Sometimes, it hits me, overwhelms me. You love me.

Some men show their affection with flowers, or chocolates, or an expensive night out in a romantic resturaunt. Not you. You died for me. And because you did that, because I know you love me so much, I'm perfectly content to spend a special night - Valentine's Day, my birthday - being held in your arms, in our home. Just us. You and me.

You not only died for me, you left me because you loved me, and even though I was mad at the time, now, I am glad. I heard from you what that year on the run did to Ron and Hermione, and even though it made them - as a unit - stronger in the end, it tore them apart, too. If I had been there with you, us might not have survived.

I am glad, because you loved me enough to ignore what I wanted. Twisted, mad, but true. You knew I wanted us to be together. You wanted us to be together. But you loved me, so you broke us up.

I am glad, because it made that first kiss after the battle, the first kiss in almost a year, so much better.

You love me, and I know you love me, but I wonder occasionally whether you know. Whether you know that I love you so, so much, so much it hurts, sometimes, and I would do anything for you. I love your messy hair, and your awkwardness. I love the fact that you are a world-wide hero, and yet you still leave your smelly socks on the bedroom floor. I love that you are heart-stoppingly handsome to me, and not many others, because you are mine.

I love that you never let me beat you at Quidditch. I love that you seem to like playing with my hair, night after night, while I read. I love your total ignorance when it comes to women. I love the fact that you still seem slightly scared of Hermione when she's in full-on bookworm mode, even after all these years. I love that sometimes you just stare at me, like you've never seen me before, a look of complete awe on your face. I love how much taller you are than me. I love that we could be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, and I would just have to hold your hand and I'd be completely calm.

I love how girls will come up to you and flirt with you, and you'll just turn and stare at me, looking panicked.

I love how you still keep trying to count all my freckles, even though you know you'll just lose count after twenty-five.

I love how perfectly happy you seem to be when you're with me.

I love you.

Little drabble I've had on my computer for a while: thought I'd post it today! Enjoy!