Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series.
Warnings: Mentioned slash later on.
Note: Utopian AU, sort of, where art is forbidden.
Paint the Skies
Harry tilted his head slightly, biting his bottom lip, green eyes narrowed in concentration. The brush in his hand steadily painting strokes and blobs of color on the once blank canvas. Sunlight drifted through the open window, white curtains billowing out with every breeze. His dark, inky hair tickled his cheeks as the sky let out a breath of air. The light warmed him, casting patterns over his body. The room was silent save for the soft fluttering of the curtains. Everything was too bright. The doors were white. The walls were white. Even his clothes were white. Harry dealt with it on a daily basis, and he often missed colors terribly. It was a bit too much for him to handle at times, but when he really needed it, Harry would lock himself in this room and simply paint to his heart's content. People, animals, it didn't matter what. Most of the time it was nature. Yet it seemed even trees were adapting to this society of theirs'. Scientists have somehow managed to find a way to tamper the plants' DNA code with a new serum, making them lose their vibrant green color to a lifeless white. It made him wonder when they would start injecting humans, too.
Sometimes he could go on for days, even weeks before noticing. Harry just fell into the dull, traditional routine of filing and sorting out paperwork. It wasn't all bad. He had his best mates Ron and Hermione. And he couldn't forget his wonderful girlfriend, Ginny. They made him forget, at least for a little while. About what he was missing. About what they all were missing.
But then he would remember. And then he would hate himself for even forgetting in the first place. Colors. Why weren't there any colors? Why were they all forced into this oppressively white world? Harry jerked his paintbrush angrily, a line of defiant red glaring back at him. He couldn't understand, couldn't fathom why anyone would want to get rid of something so beautiful. When he was painting, when he was surrounded by colors, Harry felt so alive, his emotions breaking out of a cage he didn't even know existed. It was as if his life was in black and white with no audio or color, as if his emotions were muted this entire time.
Harry should be grateful, he supposed. He was lucky Ginny hadn't left him when she found out about his little secret. It was an unspoken rule in their society: anyone that stood out would be shunned, anything that was different destroyed. Harry had been especially restless that day and hadn't been too careful in washing the stray paint away. When he heard the telltale click of the front door opening, Harry had been in the middle of cleaning his brushes. Cursing, he wiped the water off the bristles quickly with a hand towel and threw them into a cabinet, vowing to come back and fetch them. Wiping his still wet hands onto his pants, it's not like Ginny could tell unless she really looked, Harry walked down the hall calmly despite his racing heart. He knew he had been spending too much time in that room, and Ginny was bound to find out sooner or later. Harry was acting suspicious, canceling plans go out with friends on their weekly get-togethers, but he couldn't help it. He needed to paint. It was his drug, his aphrodisiac. He was hooked, and he couldn't bring himself to stop. There were some drugs out there that were more potent than this, ones that could get you killed, but some considered this even more dangerous. But Harry couldn't see how something as simple as painting was bad, illegal.
She had stood before the entrance, slightly crouched with a steadying hand on the wall as the other one reached down to tug off her white shoe. Her clothes were expectedly the same color, as it was everyday only with slightly varying styles. He twitched unconsciously. Too much white.
He stopped and examined his girlfriend of four years. A smile bloomed across his face as affection blossomed in his heart. A bright red veil covered her face as she hunched forwards with a huff when her shoe was being particularly stubborn. If he could, he would spend hours playing with her fiery hair, and he had before in the beginning of their relationship. She found it highly amusing when Harry always got distracted on their dates and lose track of time when simply caressing her hair. He was less prone to do that now that he had found multiple jars of paint in the old study room.
"Welcome home, darling," Harry called out, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
Ginny looked up at him and sent him her own smile, letting out a satisfied sound as she finally got her foot out. She tucked a strand of her brilliant hair behind her ears.
"Hello, Harry. How was work?" Boring as hell. But he couldn't tell her that.
"Fine, and you?" There were certain social etiquettes that needed to be followed with a list of forbidden topics that shouldn't ever be mentioned. Unfortunately, true feelings were in that list. When someone asked about your feelings, it was customary to reply with a positive answer. It was the only option available to him, to everyone. No one needed nor wanted to know your true answer. He smirked bitterly. Even your own emotions were determined for you.
"It was good," Ginny tilted her head up, a silent sign for him to give her an expected welcome home kiss. It was robotic now. Every time he did this, it was as if his body was mechanical, like he was on autopilot. He didn't feel anything when he did this, only a numb feeling inside. He wondered when he started feeling this way, started becoming so cold to his girlfriend if only in his head. He wondered if she even noticed. Just as Harry leaned in to do just that, to do what was expected of him, she pulled back quickly. Harry blinked in surprise. She would normally quietly kiss him with her eyes shut, believing they were still in love while he stared blankly back into her content face. Harry honestly didn't know if he ever was in love with Ginny. He was sure he had at one point, but now, with these new discovered emotions he didn't even know he had. Harry wasn't sure if he even knew what love was anymore, or if he even had in the beginning. She stared at him, dark eyebrows drawing together. He had noticed before that her eyebrows were darker than her hair, a medium reddish brown compared to the passionate red hair.
"Harry," here she paused, seeming unsure of what she wanted to say, or debating whether she wanted to say it, "What's that on your face?" Ginny pointed to his left cheek.
He reached up with his right hand in confusion but he had a growing sense of dread in stomach. His fingers brushed across his cheekbone, body immediately chilling when he came into contact with a slightly wet, sticky substance. He drew his hand back slowly, freezing when he stared at the dark gray paint. Harry glanced up quickly, clenching his teeth in panic. Thoughts sped around his head. No one was supposed to find out. How could he have been so careless? What was Ginny going to do? Would she tell? But most important of all, what was he going to do? Harry couldn't, wouldn't stop, even if she told him to. But was he prepared for the consequences that came with that choice?
At his long silence, Ginny stared at him, trying to piece out what he was trying to hide from her. She wasn't ignorant, but Harry sincerely hoped that she wouldn't be able to deduce what he had been up to. When she opened her mouth, Harry fully expected her to start demanding answers from him, but she closed it with an audible click. Ginny paused before abruptly walking past him with determined eyes. Harry stood still, puzzling about what his girlfriend was thinking. Where was she going? Wasn't she going to—the room! Harry startled into action and sprinted after her. He raced down the hall, knocking over an ornate porcelain vase on the way, but he hadn't ever liked it anyway. It was a stiff present Malfoy gave him months ago, more of a jab about how uncultured he thought Harry was and decided to gift him with something classy. Harry had made it his goal to "accidentally" try to break the damn thing, but Ginny watched him with sharp eyes for any untoward action against it.
As he neared the room, Harry involuntarily slowed. He was too late. He stepped quietly into the open door, seeing the still form of Ginny staring at the colorful room. The walls were bright splashes of every paint he could find as he experimented his first week. There were more paints, canvases, brushes, anything you would find in an art store stocked under the floorboards. But Harry had a suspicion Ginny wouldn't appreciate that fact. It was a surprise he made it this long. Ginny had been understanding and considerate when he started to isolate himself. She didn't open the door and didn't pry even though Harry could tell she was worried about him. And he tried to make it up to her, to show her how thankful he was by being an engaging and caring boyfriend outside of the room. But everyone had a breaking point, and they can only handle so much.
"How long?" Ginny didn't turn around to face him as she asked her question. It was little more than a whisper but the weight it carried dragged him down nonetheless.
"A couple months."
The answer washed over her easily, and Harry could see the exact moment her shoulders sagged. It seemed they both now bore the burden of carrying the world, and Harry wished that it was Atlas instead as he watched the strong woman in front of him start to break. He wished she hadn't found out. Not just for his sake, but for hers as well. Because now Ginny knew she was living with a criminal, and maybe ignorance was better than the truth.
Harry didn't move as she scurried past him, didn't attempt to stop her. He could hear her feet smacking against the wooden floor as she climbed the stairs quickly, perhaps too quickly when a sharp thud echoed from above. Ginny didn't get up, just stayed curled up on the steps. Harry felt guilt stir in him as her soft sobs resonated throughout the silent house. When she passed by him, in that split second, their eyes had met, and Harry could see everything. The worry in her brown eyes but most of all the fear. She was afraid of him. Him, who had always protected her and stood by her. Harry tried thinking back to all the moments they shared, but his memories were always a bit fuzzy, dancing out of his reach whenever he got too close. He guessed it was about time he talked to Hermione again. Maybe she'll give him one of those healing drinks she had in stock. They always kept his mind blissfully blank. No headaches whatsoever.
Ginny had left for a week. She didn't return to their house, staying at the Weasley home instead, refusing to speak to him. He had understood and gave her much needed space. The redheads were in an uproar when they found this out. Ron was constantly at his side, pestering him about what had happened. fussed between the two, urging them to talk it out. Ginny never spoke a word to anyone, keeping silent throughout the whole chaos, her lips sealed tersely. She barely glanced at him when he entered the Weasley household, not greeting him at all yet as Harry sat down at the dinner table, he could feel her bright brown gaze on him, observing him carefully.
She returned one day, much to Harry's shock. He expected her to keep quiet but not to continue to associate herself with him. Deep down he knew though that she would stick by him in the end, her heart loving him too deeply to abandon him. Bags in her hand, Ginny gave him a small, tired smile as she deposited them by the door.
"Who will take care of you if I'm gone?" she had said. Although she probably meant to come off as teasing, there was a worried glint in her eyes.
Soft footfalls could be heard behind the door. It stopped, setting something down with a clink before paddling away. This had been a new part of their routine. Ginny would drop by throughout the day and set a snack or a drink outside the door, never entering. He trusted her with his life. Harry knew she will never betray him. She knew how to think before speaking, a skill Ron had yet to learn. Even though Harry cared for Ron immensely, his secret was just not safe with him. Hermione, Harry loved her as well, but she was too involved in the new society now. There was no telling what she would do if Hermione found out.
Harry paused, brush stilling in his hands. He leaned back, observing the painting as a whole. Frowning slightly, Harry immediately started adding more contrast, darkening the shadows to show more vibrancy to the colors. It was a shame really. How Ginny refused to even set foot in this room. He had shown her once, a painting of an old castle that plagued his dreams. Ginny had just stared at him in horror and was tense the rest of the day. Harry decided not to push her. Over time, Harry's collection slowly grew. From paintings to sketches, oil pastels to colored pencils. Of course, he had also been more careful. He kept his secrets stored underneath the wooden floors, where they had been hiding when Harry found them in the first place. The brunet even bought sheets to cover the painted walls where he had impulsively painted on. No one would ever know.
"Good evening, Harry," Hermione smiled at him from her place behind her desk, wearing a lab coat that designated her as one of the researchers. She shuffled some papers before setting them neatly aside. "Tea?" she gestured to the pot, already pouring it into a cup.
Harry shook his head. "No thanks." As he sat down in one of the chairs across from her, Harry glanced up, catching a brief frown mar her face before it disappeared, replaced by another smile.
"Are you sure?" she insisted, pushing the cup toward him. "It's good for your health. I know Ginny has been worried about you lately." Sharp brown eyes bored into him, the same way a scientist would examine a specimen.
"I'm fine."
"You've never refused a cup before." Harry wondered why she kept insisting on the tea. He simply shrugged before changing the subject.
"How was your day?"
Hermione pursed her lips, obviously aware at his attempt to evade her probing but allowed the topic change. "Good. And you?"
He leaned back in his seat. "Same old, same old."
Hermione was simply too intelligent for her own good. She was suspicious of his behavior lately, but Harry couldn't find it in his heart to pretend to be something he wasn't.
"The annual ball is coming up," Hermione suddenly brought up, staring at him intensely.
"So it is." Harry stared at the ceiling, taking in the perfect expanse, not a crack in place.
"Ginny is excited for it." Harry didn't say anything. The rest of the visit was filled with silence.
Harry stood pensively, lost in his thoughts. His suit clung to him unsettlingly. He adjusted the collar. His dreams, or rather nightmares, have been plaguing him lately. There were people that were familiar, but some weren't. Mischievous gray eyes, dangerous red, and twinkling blue. Harry was sure he had never met them yet he felt like he had at some point or another. His mind soon grew foggy again. He shook his head, trying in vain to dispel the haze. Soft steps descending the stairs alerted him to his girlfriend's presence. Her dress trailed behind her, sparkling as the light shone down on her.
"You look great," complimented Harry, holding out his arm out for her to take. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but Ginny didn't seem to notice, flushing happily as she held his arm. It seemed his lies grew more and more every day. He didn't tell her that she would look better in darker colors instead of the pallid white.
Harry led her to the car, the chill encasing him already, opening the door for her as a boyfriend was expected to, shutting it softly when she was properly tucked inside, dress and all. He stood outside a second longer, breathing in the crisp air before exhaling, a cloud of mist trailing out of his mouth. The car ride was relatively silent, with Ginny staring out the window and Harry not offering any words.
As they neared the banquet hall, Harry parked the car as close to the building as he could, minimizing the distance they would have to walk. He quickly crossed the lot as he escorted Ginny, flashing polite smiles and nods at the various greetings. As they engaged in conversation with an acquaintance of theirs, or more like Ginny was talking with him while Harry stared into space, he turned when a loud shout called his name.
"Harry!" Said brunet glanced blankly at Ron's excited waving, beckoning them over. Harry nudged his date quietly, walking over to the table, hearing Ginny excuse herself from her conversation before hurrying after him.
"Good to see you, mate!" Ron immediately clapped him on the back once he was close enough, standing up to greet him. Hermione stood as well, giving Ginny a brief hug before pulling her aside to talk on their own.
Ron sagged back into his chair. "Bloody boring, isn't it?" he gestured to the crowd of milling people, all chatting idly with a glass of champagne in hand.
"It could be worse," Harry found himself saying, frowning when a scene flashed before his eyes, of a younger Ron, seething at Hermione's date, an unfamiliar foreign student, and Harry, glowering at Cho's escort, a happy blond, who he couldn't recognize either, completely ignoring their own dates, a set of twins, looking absolutely bored out of their minds. That couldn't be true though, Harry would definitely have remembered that moment. He had looked so positively sullen and Ron so livid that he was turning the same shade as his hair. Were his memories merging with his dreams now? Should he see a psychiatrist? This couldn't be healthy.
He was brought out of his thoughts by Ron's snort. "I doubt it could get any worse than this."
Harry shrugged noncommittally. "I swear," the redhead continued, "these balls were designed to torture us."
The conversation trailed off to a companionable silence as the two gazed on at the mass of artificially smiling people.
Harry stared incredulously at the innocently sitting animal on the floor, panting happily as it rolled around the room. He opened his mouth and closed it with a click, glancing at Hermione with wide eyes.
"Is that a dog?"
"I'm afraid so," she shrugged. "Ron insisted we keep it after finding it on the streets, but I absolutely refuse to leave it home alone. Who knows what trouble it'll get into?"
Harry nervously shifted when it pawed at his legs. After a moment's pause, he kneeled down and cautiously pat the dark head, crying out in alarm as it attacked him with a series of relentless, enthusiastic licking. The fur was really soft, Harry mused, relaxing as he stroked up and down the dog's body.
Harry smiled softly. An image of a pale, gaunt face appeared in his head that would have once been considered handsome, a set of smiling gray eyes, and a pair of warm arms enveloped around him. His emotions suddenly took a dramatic turn as the figure that had once been holding him fell, fell out of reach, staring at Harry horrified as he dropped further and further. His mouth opened, preparing to scream, extending his hand outwards to catch, to do all he could to catch him. Why couldn't he catch him?
No! No! Don't leave me! Don't leave me, Siri—!
"Harry!" was Hermione's alarmed shout.
He blinked, feeling a distinct wetness on his cheeks that was not just from the slobber. He brought his hand to his face, staring at his tears in wonder. Why? Why did his heart hurt so much? Who was that person? He fisted his shirt, right over his heart. Closing his eyes in pain as a wave of sadness washed over him, letting out a shuddering breath, missing the calculating look Hermione gave him.
She ushered him into a chair, fussing over him worriedly. Harry ignored her concerned questions and let out a quiet whimper, still clutching his shirt. He silently sobbed, refusing to let any other sound escape his lips. A searing burn soon developed in his throat. Hermione bustled around her office, hurriedly pouring him a cup of tea. Harry gazed down at the cup blankly, spotting some specks of tea leaves slowly swirling in small circles in the misty tea. He dazedly took it from Hermione's waiting hands, taking a small sip before setting it down despite her disapproving frown. He leaned against a wall, hand resting atop the dog's back with the mass of black fur draped over his lap. Harry tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling and the endless white stared back.