A/N - Written for the "Sell me a Story" Challenge.

Title: Rainy Days

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1272

Warnings/Notes: None

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It was a moment of content. It had been so long since she had felt it.

She found herself feeling happy as she stayed just as she was, sitting on the floor of a room filled with cans of paint, her back against a wall, while the person who she cared about the most was lying across her, his head resting on her thighs. And the mess they were in didn't take away from that feeling; it just added to it. She was very much aware that her loose shirt - borrowed from Harry, of course - and jeans had paint blobs around it; that her hair, which was piled high and clipped, still didn't keep her curls from freeing themselves and having a bit of paint on the ends; and she was also aware of the streak of paint on her chin from when Harry decided that horseplay was a better option than painting the wall.

Harry had been pining for a break ever since they started the manual work. She, on the other hand, insisted on doing at least one wall before any break was to be taken. She knew him. If he wasn't pushed, he wouldn't have ever gotten around to doing even this basic thing for his new house. And now she sat on the floor, her limbs aching and the afternoon sun streaming through the window causing her eyes to droop shut.

The scene was so normal, it made her smile.

It had been a near nightmare trying to pick the light yellow they had used to paint the opposite wall. Harry wanted something darker, which looked like the exact same colour the wall was before; and she wanted something lighter, a new colour to signify a new beginning. Ultimately, this colour was a compromise between the two of them. And if she was the deciding factor, so be it. He was horrible at designing anyway.

She was still thinking about all the drama they had to go through to pick this colour when the person using her as a pillow shifted slightly. Hermione sighed happily as she started lightly running her fingers through Harry's hair.

"Tired?" she asked softly.

Harry scoffed, his eyes closed as he enjoyed this moment of rest. "I wouldn't be if I was allowed to paint this room using well known enchantments. It's funny how when I actually have the power to take the easy way out, I'm not allowed to use it."

"I told you," she said sternly, "it's so much more meaningful if you paint the colour yourself. When hard work goes into it, you appreciate it a whole lot more."

"Oh yeah, my body really appreciates the pain I'm putting it through," he said, his voice drifting softly.

Hermione smiled as she continued to eye the one wall they had painted as she leaned comfortably against the still-to-be-painted opposing wall; her fingers continually moving against the dark, messy strands thoughtfully. "I like this colour."

"You should," Harry mumbled, his tone one of utter laziness. "You picked it."

"I mean..." She squinted at it. "It's a happy colour."

"I didn't know colours could be... unhappy."

Just for that statement she tugged on his strands a bit roughly only to soothe his head with a gentle touch in apology. "What I mean is, I can just picture it," she said wistfully. "Sitting here and reading on rainy days while the gentle rain drops pitter patter against the window. That would be nice."

There was a moment of silence before Harry mumbled cautiously, "You inhaled the paint, didn't you?"

And just for that statement, she flicked his ear, earning a satisfying 'ow' in response. "Honestly, Harry, I'm trying to justify picking this paint colour."

With a gentle grunt, he sat up slowly, twisting his body so he could face her. "You know I don't care about what colour it is."

"But you should. This is your home now. How can you not care what it looks like?"

He shrugged lightly. "I just don't."

Hermione sighed again, this time in frustration. "I don't know why you agreed to paint the house if you didn't care what colour it was before."

He looked at her then, his expression serious. "You cared."

If he thought he was being romantic, he was wrong. "You know how I hate it when you do things for me without consulting me first." She narrowed her eyes at him to show exactly how serious she was.

Instead of being apologetic, as she hoped he would be, he grinned cheekily at her. "I do a lot of things without consulting you first," he whispered hoarsely before he dipped his head and placed a lingering kiss against the soft spot below her ear.

Hermione couldn't stop the smile that broke through, a small giggle escaping her at what he was obviously getting at. "You know I'm not talking about that."

Harry moved back so he could face her, a large grin across his lips. "Then what are we talking about?"

She placed a hand on his chest to keep him at bay, knowing very well from past experience that he would try to kiss her just to shut her up. "What I'm talking about, Mr Potter, is your utter disregard for your feelings. You're always thinking about me over you. And as much as I love that quality of yours, I feel horrible when you do things like this."

"I can say the same thing about you," he said seriously.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. She knew he was right. But that didn't take away from the fact that she would still like him to be selfish just once in a while. Giving up on this topic for now, she lightly patted his chest. "Come on. We have a room to finish painting." She stood up quickly, moving over to the can of paint.

She had just picked up the brush and was about to put a second coat when he said it.

"Marry me."

Surprised, she turned around, vaguely aware that the instant thudding that blocked out all other sounds was her heartbeat. "What?"

Harry was already getting to his feet, his eyes looking at her hopefully. "Marry me, Hermione."

Dear Merlin, she hadn't been dreaming it. "Harry...I...what?" she sputtered. Did he have to ask her? Did he really?

He came towards her nervously, raising a hand to her cheek and brushing his thumb gently against the dried paint there. "The reason I told you to pick whatever colour you wanted was because I was hoping you would be spending more time here." He leaned even closer, his eyes pleading with her to say yes. "It doesn't feel like home when you leave."

She stared back at him incredulously, her surprise causing the paint brush to slip through her fingers and fall to the floor. She found herself unable to breathe, unable to speak. Instead, she opted for the best thing she could think of; she kissed him. Harry immediately responded by circling his arms around her and pulling her towards him.

Slowly, he pulled back, a small grin playing on his lips. "Sorry, didn't quite catch your answer."

She nodded, vigorously. "Yes! Yes, I will," she said softly, hating the fact that she was close to tears. Why was she such a crier?

He pulled her even closer, his grin widening. "You won't be here only on rainy days then?"

Hermione let out a small laugh, shaking her head slowly. "No. Not just on rainy days."

"Brilliant," he whispered before he kissed her again.

Hermione kissed him back passionately, ecstatic that she hadn't been the only one who felt like she belonged in this house.

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