Disclaimer: The ideas are mine, the characters are not.
Under neon loneliness
"Under neon loneliness, motorcycle emptiness"
Motorcycle Emptiness – Manic Street Preachers
The only ones still walking down Spinner's end by that time were the muggle workers coming back from the mill after a hard day's work. Thinking again, in all the years I spied on that street from the confinement of my bedroom's window, I can't remember seeing adults talking, or children playing around. The smoke from the industrial chimney's turned the air into a hardly breathable fluid, which intoxicated the lungs and redished the eyes. Then, when the winter came and everything was dyed white by the snow, the bitter cold of Cokesworth made sure nobody stayed outside long. They gathered around individual fireplaces instead and launched greater quantities of black smoke in the poisoned air.
So we had white from the cotton flakes in the mill, filling up the lungs of workers whose dry cough announced their premature death. And we had white from the snow covering the roofs of each and everyone of the identical brick, terraced houses, killing trees, and flowers and beggars every year, in a winter season that seemed to last a great deal longer than three months. I've learned that in some cultures, white means purity, it means peace, but in the corners of Spinner's end, white had always been a harbinger of death.
Emptiness is Blue
Perhaps because everybody else preferred the interior of their smoky houses in the winter, I enjoyed the snowy landscapes, and elected them as the sole companions of my daily walks. When the locals are not speculating about how long it'll take for the mill to be dismantled, they're whispering about me. Everybody thought I would never be back. But after finishing Hogwarts, and traveling around for a few years, that old industrial town was the most logical place for me to be.
Still, sometimes as I walked by some people I had known my entire life, I closed my fingers over my wand, and it took all of my self restrain not to use it. I have killed and tortured so many others before. The killing curse is neat. Surgically precise. It lasts one second during which it is possible not to think. The Cruciatus curse is a whole other deal. It requires constancy. It requires me to think about how much pain I want to inflict even as I hear desperate cries of agony. It requires me to be strong, as I stand alone. It tests me.
I could see the reflection of my face on the glass window of the only pub in town. I looked older. Colder. Harder. Perhaps it was the pale blue neon light of the lettering above, perhaps it was the memory of the screams of my victims. I didn't know. Soon, I walked away... There was something lonely about blue neon light...
Loneliness is indigo
I used to walk all the way till the river, only to stare at its indigo depths for a while before heading back.
Someone had been found at the bottom of that river once, when I was younger. A girl, I think. Everybody was moved, death has a way of bringing what's inside people to the surface. But I don't think there's anybody in the world who would miss me if something bad happened. It wasn't always like that. I did know trust once, of course. Not the kind of trust where you know somebody won't steal your money, but the kind of trust where you know the person is not going to hurt you. It ended though, and I found myself all alone.
Still, in spite of all my complains about loneliness, I was used to it all. I lived in the shadows, listening to private thoughts and conversations, steeling secrets and extracting information. I have lied, killed and tortured people and I will do it again, because that's what it takes. I have no regrets. I'm not a hero, but I am a good guy. I was a good student at school, a good killer when I had to be. And now I am a good spy. So much for my understanding of the word good.
Regret is violet
I don't hide behind words. I don't claim not to have a choice. For every time I stood tall pointing my wand at someone who couldn't possibly defend themselves, I had a choice. I could have left. I could have died. I chose not to. And I accept responsibility for every life I have ever taken. The excuse "I was just following orders" has been used too many times already.
There were orders though. And as I ran my fingers through the violet mark carved on my arm, the dark mark that became black whenever the Dark Lord wanted to summon me, I knew I was fighting somebody else's fight.
In the beginning it was different. There was a war going on . I was young and I wanted to be a part of it. I know... "When I was young". Most twenty-something wizards have the benefit of being young themselves, but fighting in a war has a way of adding years on your shoulders. Besides, there was more to it. He-who-must-not-be-named seemed like the teacher I'd always dreamed about. A master. Powerful, ambitious, unrestrained by pseudo-ethical concerns. When he wanted to brand me with his mark, I had no objections.
But as I ran my fingers through the violet scar on my arm, I wondered if I should have.
Fear is Red
Whenever Lily walked towards me, the first thing I'd notice was the red. Red on her hair, flying on the wind as she flew over the castle in her broomstick, red on her clothes along with the golden Gryffindor lion, red on her nails, on her lips, on her cheeks... But when I looked at her, walking towards me as I stood watching the waters of that river, the first thing I'd notice were the red drops of blood falling on the snow.
"Sev!"
Sev. It had been a few years since I've heard anybody call me that. The only person who had ever called me Sev was standing in front of me bleeding all over the white snow of Cokesworth. I ran towards Lily right away, holding her in my arms just in time to catch her as her legs gave in.
"Sev!"
"Lily!"
She sounded confused and shocked, and I there was so much blood I could not find the original wound. She grabbed my overcoat pulling me closer, but the words she whispered on my ears made no sense whatsoever, and the smell of blood kept me from thinking straight. There was so much red everywhere!
Confusion is orange
It was getting late, the sunset dyed the sky in different shades of orange and it became clear I couldn't do anything standing in the snow. So I picked her in my arms, stood up where we were and apparated back to my house.
"Tergeo!" I pointed my wand at her draining the excess of blood. I knew so little about healing wounds! And I needed to know so much right about now! I ripped her shirt open, only to find a spell inflicted laceration on her abdomen, and I pronounced the proper spells over and over again, trying desperately to make her stop bleeding.
"Oh Lily." I pressed my hand against her forehead and saw she still had a fever. I might not know much about healing spells, but potions I knew well, and I immediately summoned everything I needed for an anti-thermic solution. "I'll take care of you." I said uselessly, for she laid unconscious over my bed. "I can ease your pain, Lily. Everything is gonna be alright."
Sickness is Yellow
It took some time, but I finished the proper potions, and poured them down Lily's throat. Her fever diminished, her shivering stopped, her blood pressure stabilized, and she was seeping. There was nothing more I could so, shortly from waiting her to wake up, and in that moment, when all I could do was literally nothing I felt the bitter taste of yellow bile coming up my throat.
Surprise is green
Lily was in my room again. That was the only thought in my mind as I felt the cold water from the shower cascading down my back. I was full of Lily's blood, I had vomited, I needed a bath. I needed to feel clean, I needed not to have her blood on me, reminding of how close she'd came from nothingness, but most of all, I needed to feel the water on my face, washing away my poisoned thoughts.
I missed her so much. As I buttoned my white shirt I knew it. She looked so pale and so vulnerable in my bed. The fact that she'd come to m when she needed meant the world. Even if she didn't know what she was doing, even if she seemed to be confused, even if I was not sure she would remember any of this in the morning. It didn't matter. I just wanted her to be okay.
I approached her in the bed, her peaceful face, sound asleep, and I couldn't refrain from leaning in and kissing her lips. It was nothing invasive, on the contrary, it was a soft kiss, a candid goodnight kiss.
It was not till I leaned back that I noticed Lily had opened her bright green eyes.
AN: I've written this for the skittles competition, by Louise Foxhall. It's not been beta-read yet. It's probably not my best work. The thing is that after nearly a year without writing anything new a girl simply has got to get hid of writer's block somehow, and the challenge got my mind going.