Paint by Szaranea

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/04/2004
Last Updated: 06/04/2004
Status: Completed

A senseless little something, with lots of fluff, and lots of paint.




1. Paint
--------

**Paint**

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and
Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.

**Summary:** A senseless little something, with lots of fluff, and lots of paint.

**Author's notes:** I got into the spirit of writing H/Hr yesterday, so here's
another one to torture you with :P Much thanks and huggles go to Bec, for beta-ing this! Also, this
was inspired by me painting my room, and Nielle's opinions on furniture.

He could not believe his eyes. Here, he, Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world for far too
many times, the boy who lived and feared nothing, was kind of afraid for the first time in his
life. He had never seen anything like this in his life.

He had known that it had probably been one of the most dangerous decisions he had ever made in
his life, but Harry had not expected it to turn out like it had. He could have never imagined
*this*.

He was not sure what the scariest thing about the whole situation was. The nightgown and the
music were competing for first place here. He was vaguely aware that the band must be famous, for
Hermione had almost had a fit when he said that he didn’t know them. But he wasn’t really
surprised, since the Dursley’s were not the kind of people who listened to music from a band whose
lead singer had apparently died in a bathtub from an overdose of heroin, and who had long hair, to
boot.

The music wasn’t bad per se. It was just the way that she was singing to it that made him wonder
whether she’d had a little too much coffee this morning. She was cranky when she didn’t have it
every couple of hours, but she sometimes tended to react strangely if confronted with too much of
the diabolic substance too.

He wasn’t quite sure where the singer wanted to break through, although he suspected that it had
something to do with drugs. It always had, back then. That didn’t change the fact that Hermione had
to be the worst singer in the world. The way she was bouncing around the room in that *thing*,
wailing to the lyrics made him reconsider whether asking her to move in together had been such a
good idea. He quickly dismissed that thought though. He would just suffer a few more hours of this,
and then they would move to the next room, and the next, and the – at this point he groaned, and
sank to the floor in desperation.

Hermione seemed to have noticed this, because she sank down beside him, giving him a curious
look. “What is it?” she asked, making swimming motions with her hands to the music.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said, taking one of her hands in his. “This is just a lot of work, and you
look positively silly,” he added, grinning.

At this, Hermione took a look at her clothing, and nodded smiling. She was wearing a pair of
cornflower blue socks, pyjama bottoms that didn’t even reach her ankles, and had quite a lot of
holes in them, a white undershirt that looked like it was out of fashion in the 1960’s already, and
her grandmother’s favourite nightgown – which was see-through, of a pale pink colour, and quite
frilly.

“Well, would you rather have me wearing that nightgown I bought last week for painting the
room?” she asked mischievously. “The one that reaches just above my knees and has that-”

“I get the point” Harry interrupted her, before he got entirely inappropriate thoughts of said
nightgown, which was really just barely more than a few scraps of fabric.

“Good... shall we continue then?” Hermione suggested, getting up, and holding out her hand for
Harry to get up too.

They had finally found a flat that was not too far away from Diagon Alley in Muggle London, and
that they liked a few weeks ago, and were now trying to turn it into something you could live
in.

Harry had never been so bored in his life when Hermione had dragged him from shop to shop,
deciding on colour’s they could paint the rooms in, and then looking for furniture that would go
nicely with said colour’s. After they had found a colour for their bedroom (it was called 6.06.2.
He had just barely managed to convince Hermione that he didn’t want Comet Haze) he had stayed long
enough to decide on the bed they would buy, because that was something that mattered to him. But
when Hermione had started to talk to the clerk about whether that mahogany closet would look good
with 6.06.2 he had sneaked off to take a nice at some nice, shiny brooms, and came back just in
time for both his girlfriend and the clerk to reach the conclusion that the closet would look
weird.

And now she was standing their future bedroom, waiting for the ceiling, which they had just
painted white to dry. The other walls were still the horrible turquoise-greenish colour that they
had been when they had bought the flat, although the wall that faced the windows had the name
*Hermione* written on it in big, white letters.

Harry, after finally getting his lazy bum off the floor, made an irritated noise as a droplet of
paint fell from the ceiling on his nose.

Hermione giggled, and took the cloth they had used to clean the windowsill, which had gotten
some sprinkles of paint on it. She gently ran it over Harry’s nose, effectively cleaning the white
spot away.

“That’s just disgusting,” he whined, drawing back a little.

Hermione laughed again, and put the cloth away again. “No, that’s not disgusting,” she corrected
him. “*That’s* disgusting,” she added, and kissed him on the nose. When she tried to do it
again, Harry quickly grabbed her and moved a little, so that her mouth would land on his this time.
*Much better*, he thought, smirking a little into her mouth, and then nibbling at her lower
lip.

Hermione sighed and opened her mouth a little to deepen the kiss. Harry eagerly took the
invitation to run his tongue along her teeth, teasing her a little. Things were just starting to
get interesting when Hermione leaned back a little, and hit her head on the ladder that was
standing behind her.

“Damn,” she swore under her breath, making Harry gasp. Had she just *cursed*?

“I guess this snogging session was not meant to be,” she grumbled, leaving the security of his
arms and rubbing her head gingerly.

Harry sighed. He had actually hoped that they might give their bedroom a little initiation
ceremony, but Hermione had already grabbed the pail with 6.06.2, moving it to the nearest wall.

“I just wonder how somebody could get the idea to paint a room in such an ugly colour,” Hermione
said, giving the walls a critical look.

“Well, Mrs. Nielle did say that the woman who lived here, what was her name- Szaranea or
something, was a little on the strange side,” Harry answered, silently adding that he also thought
that Mrs. Nielle, who had sold the flat to them was not somebody he’d call exactly sane either. She
would always give him these really weird looks whenever they would talk.

But he guessed that it didn’t matter, he’d most probably never see her again anyway. Her and her
strange co-workers.

It was still a little hard to believe, but from now on, all the letters that would be sent to
them would be sent to

*Harry Potter and Hermione Granger*

*Wonk Street 54*

*London*



