Blue
His eyes weren't blue.
Not cornflower blue, not azure, not cobalt, not cerulean, and indigo was totally out of the question.
His eyes were grey.
Icy grey eyes that were flecked with only the tiniest specks of a slate, dull blue.
She never really noticed that.
Better things were on her mind, like that Transfiguration essay that was due in two weeks, or her past Arithmancy test were she only received 99% - Goodness, what happened to the other 1%? – and about Harry. The War loomed closer every day and she spent days juggling several activities at once; trying to listen to Professor Binns droning on endlessly, and simultaneously thinking about the Horcruxes.
So she had always assumed his eyes were a cold, unwavering grey, which perfectly suited his personality.
One evening changed all of that.
It started out as a regular week day. As per usual, she had rushed to the Heads' Common Room to quickly scribe down the conclusion of her composition on Boomslangs and their properties. Her back was bent as she wrote furiously, nose not quite touching the parchment.
And as per usual, he had entered the Heads' Common Room quite a while later, but this time, something was different. His top two buttons of the shirt weren't unbuttoned, his hair wasn't ruffled messily, and he didn't even have smudges of hot pink lipstick smeared over his face. However, as per usual, he strode to the lounge and flopped down into it, lazily leaning back on one arm.
He seemed to be – dare she believe her ears – he was saying something perfectly normal. Something that sounded like, "Good evening, Granger." She looked up, faintly puzzled.
His usual greeting would consist of a myriad of insults all thrown into a single sentence.
Determined not to give away any acknowledgement or any sign that suggested that she, Hermione Jane Granger, was impressed that he could (finally) behave like a normal, civilized human being (except for raising an eyebrow, which she couldn't resist) she went back to work, ignoring his presence entirely.
Of course, being the arrogant prat he was, he sat up angrily and asked her if she was bloody listening. That he was trying to be pleasant just this once. That she was acting like a right git. That-
She stood up, stormed over to him and thrust her wand right under his chin, daring him to continue his sentence. His face was forced up and...
That was when she had noticed his eyes properly.
They were a dark, gun-metal grey, and as she watched they seemed to grow just a touch paler as he struggled to restrain himself from throwing yet another insult at her.
She stepped forward until her face was just a few inches away from his. Her hair seemed to sparkle with an eclectic sort of energy. She repeated her question again; would he please continue that sentence, and for good measure, prodded him with her wand.
He didn't answer, and breathing heavily, she slowly lowered her wand. She had turned around to storm away when a cold hand caught her wrist. Seeker's reflexes. She turned around, and his lips collided with her own.
It was a passionate kiss. Never could it have been described as loving or gentle. It was powerful and vigorous, and delicious. Painfully delicious. She was determined not to respond, but how much longer could she last? She noticed how nice it felt when his hands were tangled in her hair, caressing her head. Oh, whatever, she thought resignedly, kissing him back just as forcefully.
Abruptly, he shoved her away and strode quickly back to his room, slamming the door shut.
Just for a sliver of a moment did she look confused. But being the practical person she was, Hermione sighed and turned back to her essay once more.