Disclaimer: I feel emo today so here's a weird story of joy and pain. I don't ever want to own HP because I would never be able to do the characters justice.
Harry's favourite colour was red…blood red to be exact.
Most people thought his favourite colour was green. Green was the colour of his mother's eyes and his eyes and so people thought that the poor little orphan boy (now man) would think fondly of the colour green. How wrong they were! Sure Harry loved his mother. But green meant the green of his nightmares- the green flash of light that brought his happy days to an end. His mother's eyes would only pop up in his nightmares and he would wake up in cold sweat after seeing the pain and hurt in her eyes. Green was the colour of his childhood where he grew up green with envy of Dudley. Green was also the colour of Slytherin where Harry almost got sorted into. He always wondered what would have become had he been sorted into Slytherin. He had no time for 'what if' questions. Green was also the colour of vomit. Vomiting was what he used to do every time Dudley's friends punched him or hunted him down. It was safe to say that Harry hated Green.
Some people thought red was his favourite colour. Simply red. They were only partially correct. His fans knew how close he was to the Weasleys and automatically assumed that he loved Weasley red. After all, his mother, wife and daughter all had shocking red hair. Yes, he adored them. But Harry loved blood red.
He loved blood red because it was the colour of blood. It was the colour that reminded him of war, suffering and death. Death was what was real to him. After escaping its clutched twice, he frequently wondered about death. Harry knew that when the time came, he would 'welcome death like an old friend'. But that also meant that he had to stay alive. Blood red also meant that Harry accepted his past, his struggles and his conflicts. As long as he lived, Harry knew that blood red kept him going strong. It told him that he had conquered his fears and enemies. They made him thankful of his new life. Blood red was as much the colour of life as it was the colour of death. It was a reminder of his seventh year when Ron and Hermione never left him even if they themselves were streaked in bloody red. The red in his flowing blood always took him back to his parents, Sirius and Remus. Their love and protection was the reason his blood flowed. He knew that they watched over him.. Anytime he came from work with a bleeding wound, he was glad because it was living proof that he was alive. The contrast between skin and the tendrils of red blood also meant that Ginny would fuss over him and his children would come and hug him. He knew that it was his blood flowing through his veins. He knew that it was a reason for him to be strong.
Harry loved blood red. But whenever the reporters asked him what colour he liked, he always said yellow- for sunshine and happiness. It was his little inside joke. Only he would ever understand why it was actually Blood red that meant life and joy.