This is for CrAzY flamINGO 's 'The two P's - Pair and Plot' competition. I had to write Harry/Ginny drabbles including a couple of prompts and a quote.

I had a bit of trouble coming up with this, so I know the beginning and end are a bit out of place. I guess I was aiming for some greater message, and it has something to do with writing and something to do with climate change and something to do with love, but other than that it's really just some pretty words that came into my head and I wanted to jot down.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

Sometimes, it's okay to lose hope. Every so often, you're entitled to indulge in despair, just for a moment. You're allowed to curl up in a ball and cry until your whole self hurts, and you're shaking, sobbing, choking because it feels as if every single particle of reality has it in for you. Sometimes, it's okay to collapse under the weight of the world.

But Ginny Weasley never believed that.

To her, the world had always been rainbows and butterflies and fairytales-come-true. Everything existed in varying shades of beauty, just waiting for her eyes to behold it all...

Red

From the moment she was born, Ginny's life was a blur of red. Fiery hair sticking up in every direction, eyes rubbed raw after too many sleepless nights, the blood that seeped from Fred's forehead when he ran into the frame of the new bunk beds – for most of her childhood, that colour had certainly predominated.

Then, as the years went by, more shades were introduced. Gryffindor crimson: the colour of strength, courage and loyalty. Blushing-cheeks burgundy: a near-constant companion of her first year at Hogwarts. Lipstick rose: stunning, subtle and (if the boys' stares were any indication) undeniably sexy.

Orange

"Mixing red and yellow gives orange."

Ginny's kindergarten teacher had told her that, and immediately after Ginny had shown her first sign of magic, promptly turning her entire palette neon green.

"That's not orange!"

And so the phenomena began.

In Ginny's experience, red and yellow never made orange. Orange was exciting, engaging, almost dangerous. Yet, when she – a vivid red Gryffindor – met Zacharias Smith – a mellow yellow Hufflepuff – the relationship was far from orange. It was more like the dull brown of suppressed contempt and resentment. Inevitably, the anger sometimes erupted, engulfing Ginny's unsuspecting victim in her vibrant green lava.

Yellow

Fifth year was different. Fifth year was full of golden-yellow sunlight, igniting her as she sped around the Quidditch pitch, dodging, ducking, diving and shooting them a grin when the other girls accused her of showing off. They'd show off too if they could fly like her.

In fifth year, there were always eyes, watching her as she soared. Dean's possessive gaze, Ron's astounded stare, and Harry's looks, so swift that she sometimes doubted their existence. But then she'd notice another flash of emerald and her heart would skip a beat, making her laugh at the glory of being alive.

Green

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The hall filled with green light and as others cowered behind the wreckage, Ginny stood tall, unable to tear her gaze away from the boy in the middle of it all, his wand held high. After all, he was still just a boy.

He was the boy who'd blushed when his hand touched her breast for the first time. The boy who'd cried as they stood by Dumbledore's broken body. The boy who'd kissed her so hard that the world had stopped turning and everything had waited, as it was waiting now, for the end to come.

Blue

"I can't live without him," Ginny whispered, glancing across the room at Harry, who was chatting with Ron by the window.

"Then tell him that!" Hermione shot back quietly.

"You mean I should ask him to marry me?"

"Sure! Why not?"

"'Cause I'm the girl," Ginny grumbled.

Yet, as much as she hated to admit it, Hermione had a point. If you want something done right...

"Hey, Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have something blue I can borrow?"

"Why?"

Ginny admired her boyfriend's confused expression for a moment before answering, "Well, I already have my something borrowed and my something new-"

Indigo

"What colour is indigo anyway?"

Ginny stared at Harry in horror.

"You don't know what colour indigo is?"

He shrugged sheepishly.

"You mean you agreed to a colour theme for our wedding and you don't even know what that colour is?"

He had the good grace to look even more sheepish.

Ginny crouched to pull her veil from its box.

"This," she said, pointing to the flowers adoring it, "is indigo."

She grabbed another box.

"And this," she indicated the teddy bears decorating the box of diapers, "is indigo."

Harry stared.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

"Probably."

Violet

By the time you're up to your third child, all that 'joys of motherhood' stuff is non-existent. The 'pregnant woman glow' is out the window too, and really the only perks are the cravings (Ginny's were usually for chocolate) and the sex. And, honestly, the cravings weren't that great.

"So," Ginny murmured, her lips tickling Harry's neck. "Do you like this colour?"

Her husband continued to stroke her hair as they surveyed the newly-painted room from their pile of blankets on the floor.

"It's not bad. For purple."

"Violet, actually," Ginny laughed. "And I'm sure our daughter will love it."

Ginny's life had always been a rainbow. The vibrant beauty of the world was so clear, so vital, to her, that she couldn't understand how others missed it.

How could people not notice the life surrounding them, the thriving activity of reality that makes it so wonderful? How could people want to change one iota of the world, the world that so carefully cradles everyone and everything that they love?

It's no one's job to hold up the world. But sometimes, by just resisting hopelessness, you'll find a million more reasons for preserving that beauty, those butterflies, and those fairytales-come-true.

So, what did you think? It felt a bit too deep for me, but it's not my opinion that I'm interested in :D

And yes, I am aware that lava is not green. Although not from any personal experience.