To Harry, green had always been the most vibrant colour.
Green represented his eyes, the ones his mother had given him. They shone in the trees, the grass, the clovers. Harry used to roll down the green plains as a child, clutching remnants of daisies and sunflowers as Aunt Petunia chased after him.
Pink, orange, and yellow were sweet colours to Harry. He liked them, for their shades of pastels and dull lack of vibrancy. They were very nice, when it came to wallpaper colours and aesthetic drawings. But green remained his favourite.
"Why green?" Hermione had asked one day, arms struggling to carry the massive stack of books she was holding.
Harry had just shrugged his shoulders, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "I dunno. It's the colour of my eyes.."
"That's a stupid reason," Hermione answered, dumping her books on the library table nearby. Harry frowned at her response, as the three of them took their own seat around the table.
"I don't think so," he muttered, looking down at his hands. His cheeks were flushing with embarrassment. Ron rolled his eyes, leaning back into his chair.
"Why are colours such a big deal, anyways? Everyone's always talking about them, but I don't see why they're so important. I mean, they're just colours."
"It's about your soulmate, Ron. God, keep up," the bushy-haired girl snapped. Ron looked downcast at her harsh tone, slumping in his seat. Harry winced. He knew that Ron had a huge crush on Hermione.
Harry sent a look of pity to Ron, before turning back to Hermione. "What do you mean by that?" he asked curiously. There was a lot he still didn't understand about the wizarding world, and he wasn't much of a reader like Hermione.
"You know, like how you and your soulmate see colour. Until one of you…" she trailed off. Harry bit his lip, before looking away. He didn't like the thought of his colour going away. He didn't so much care about the thought of his soulmate dying. He had never met anyone he could really consider a potential soulmate, and he was beginning to suspect he'd be looking forever.
As though Hermione could sense what he was thinking about, she sent him a reassuring look. "You'll find her eventually," she murmured gently, brown eyes oddly comforting. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Harry ignored her and turned back to Ron. "How do you know when you've found your soulmate, though?" Harry asked him.
"I dunno, really. I guess you just..know?" Ron shrugged, swinging his legs underneath the table. "I mean, Mum and Dad have been together for ages. If they weren't soulmates, they would have split a long time ago. When you meet her, you'll know."
"Yeah," Hermione hummed softly, eyes scanning the library. "Want to know something Lavender told me?"
"What?" Harry asked curiously.
"She told me that sometimes, you can have more than one soulmate."
His face must have shown some of his confusion, because Hermione hurried to explain.
"I don't mean like at once, but-" Hermione shook her head, bushy hair flying with the motion. "Lavender told me about how she'd met this girl over the summer. Her mom had passed away a while ago, and her dad had stopped seeing colour after that."
"Obviously," Ron interjected. Hermione sent him a scathing glare, before continuing.
"You'd think so. But a few years later, her dad started dating again. Apparently, he met this woman at a coffee shop. And when they went on their first date, his colour came back. They got married and whatever," Hermione gestured vaguely at the air, before leaning back into her seat.
"I hope I meet my soulmate soon," Ron grinned, poking at one of the books nearby. "You think I've already met her?"
"Yeah, sure," Hermione scoffed. "Good luck finding your soulmate, Ron. I'm sure that'll go over well."
Ron only sighed, looking away from the two of them. Harry frowned at that, attention turning towards the bushy-haired girl next to him.
"Hey," Harry murmured gently, putting a gentle hand over Hermione's wrist as a comforting gesture. "What's wrong? You aren't usually like this."
Hermione sighed, turning her head to the side. "Nothing. It's just-" she trailed off, looking down at the stack of books in front of her. "Draco hasn't asked me to the dance yet, and I was really hoping he would," she finally admitted, fiddling with her bottle of ink.
Harry ignored the way his chest panged at that. After the war, Draco had ended up becoming a good friend to the trio. It certainly wasn't unusual that Hermione might have been hoping for something more with the blonde. Or if he returned her feelings. The thought of it shouldn't have bothered Harry the way it did.
"Well, I'm sure he will eventually. He'd be stupid not to ask you," he finally answered, after realising that Hermione was still waiting for a response.
Hermione grinned at Harry, obviously comforted by his reassurance. "And hey," Harry continued, grasping Hermione's hand. "If he doesn't ask you, we can still totally ditch the dance together. You know, just hang out and do stupid stuff together."
Hermione hummed in response, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Sure. Screw boys and soulmates, yeah? Friends are everlasting."
Friends apparently were everlasting, if eighth year had anything to say about that.
The three of them had quickly become the most famous students in Hogwarts. Killing Voldemort came with its perks, apparently. Though Harry wasn't too sure this could be considered a good thing.
Other than that, nothing much had changed. The same students came through the corridors, day in and day out. Though Harry couldn't have named any of them, he had their faces memorised like the back of his hand. He noticed more than people thought he did. First year to eighth year, he remembered each face that ever walked through Hogwarts' halls.
Small things did change, however. New faces had entered their friend group. Neville, Luna, Draco, Ginny-
Ginny Weasley.
She had certainly grown up in the past few years. Gone was the girl who used to blush and run away from the mere sight of Harry. In her place, stood somebody nearly unrecognisable to Harry. The war had changed everyone, Harry knew this. But it had changed Ginny Weasley in a way he could not quite put his finger on.
'Ginny Weasley's boyfriend' was a title Harry had never wanted. But he supposed that it was one he technically wore. If you could call what they shared that.
A flustered mess of hook-ups in bathroom stalls, drunken encounters at parties, and overly exaggerated public displays of affection (mostly induced by social pressure). Sure. Relationship. Harry could work with that.
It wasn't as though there was another girl Harry had his eyes on, anyways. So what was the real harm? It only served to help the two of them. It sounded awful when put that way, and Harry's stomach twisted in guilt at the thought. Their relationship seemed stable to anyone who wasn't looking closely enough. It could only benefit their appearances.
So Harry pushed away his lingering doubts, and resolved to his new life. It wasn't as though he could run away from much in Hogwarts. He could at least wait it out until graduation...
But it was certainly hard at times, Harry couldn't lie.
How every time Ginny kissed him, Harry always forced himself to kiss back, fireworks feeling less than a damp ember.
How whenever Ginny pulled him upstairs during a party, he felt knots in his stomach rather than excitement.
How maybe - every time - Draco grabbed his hand, he felt his heart skip more than Ginny Weasley could even begin to manage-
The rest of the school seemed to view their relationship very differently, however. More "fairytale ending" than Harry could even imagine. The first time it happened, Harry and Ginny had been sitting together after a Quidditch match. They'd had their arms around one another, respective uniforms in their laps, when a boy and a girl walked up to them.
They were two people from the Ministry, judging by the looks of their dull wardrobes. A couple that seemed so lovesick, Harry thought they might collapse if they had to let go of the other's hands. God, he wondered what love like that felt.
"I'm so glad you guys found your soulmate so quickly," the girl chirped, pulling up her glasses to see them better.
Harry and Ginny both sat up a little straighter, looking confused.
"What'd you say?" Ginny finally asked, when it seemed like neither of the strangers would elaborate further.
The couple still remained quiet, save for a pointed look they sent one another. By the time they turned back to them, the officials looked rather confused themselves.
"How you're soulmates...?" the girl's voice trailed off.
"Oh," Harry muttered, feeling a little stupid. Though, when he glanced at Ginny, it seemed like she was no better off. Her eyes were wide, and she looked almost shocked. A second later, however, she gathered her bearings, and turned back around to face Harry.
"Yeah, totally," she answered for him, lacing their fingers together. Her grip on Harry's shoulder tightened in a way that simply made him want to push it away from him. "You know, good to figure that stuff out young. Makes it easier later on. Right, babe?" she scoffed, swiveling towards Harry. The words were lodged in his throat, as he tried to force them out.
"Right," he eventually croaked out, avoiding eye contact with the three of them. "I-um, have to go meet Ron and Hermione. See you later," Harry exhaled breathlessly. He tried to stand up, but a hand gripping his arm made him stumble forward. His feet dug into the concrete, as he tried to hide his wince at the resulting pain.
"Give me a kiss goodbye?" Ginny asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Though, it wasn't really 'asking' at all. Harry acquiesced, giving the Chaser a peck before dashing across the field. He would rather be anywhere else than there.
Draco gave an airy laugh, before leaning back into his seat.
"What do you mean, you don't think Ginny's your soulmate?"
The black-haired boy let out a groan from his place across Draco, burying his face in his palms.
"That's just it. I don't know!" Harry whined in confession, peeking out from behind his fingertips. "I just-I just-I don't know if soulmates are supposed to feel this way. It's all so weird!"
"Weird?" Draco teased, raising an immaculate eyebrow. He snickered softly, drumming his fingers against the book open in front of him.
"I'm serious, Dray!"
"Oh, I don't doubt that. I say, dump her. You know, if it feels weird."
"I-maybe," Harry sunk down in his chair, wooden edges digging into his skin.
The two remained silent again, turning back to the work in front of them. The low hum of chatter could be heard in the background, lulling into a dull silence. After a few good minutes had passed, Draco looked up at Harry again.
"Well, if Ginny isn't your soulmate, then who do you think is?"
Harry turned to meet Draco's curious grey eyes, ones he had met a thousand times before. Every time, his breathing seemed to stop momentarily. He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing a shrug.
"I dunno.." he muttered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He looked back down at the book opened before him, only to turn away a second later. Potions was a particularly grim subject, especially when studying the effects they had on humans. The last thing he needed right now was to throw up all over Draco.
"Come on, now. Cheer up. We're having a party tonight at my dorm. You'll be drunk enough in an hour, that you won't even remember any of this," Draco offered, quirking a grin in Harry's direction. Harry smiled weakly at that, not feeling particularly pleased.
"And-" Draco trailed off meaningfully, eyeing Harry. Attention on him, Harry sat up straighter to face Draco. "What do you mean by that?" he asked suspiciously. That tone of voice never meant anything good for him. Draco only smiled innocently at him.
"It's your turn to wear the drag tonight," he finished, smiling mischievously as Harry groaned in embarrassment.
The morning started out like any other. The sunlight illuminated the room, birds chirping outside the windows of the tower.
Harry groaned, and rolled over in his bed. He pressed his forehead against the covers of his pillow, the beginnings of a migraine coming on. Last night had certainly been wild.
Harry sighed, as the memories of the party came back to him. It had been a disaster. Not exactly for him, but in general. Ron had gotten sick in the middle of it all, and thrown up over Draco's expensive new shoes.
That...hadn't gone well, needless to say. While Draco had gone outside to blow off some steam, Harry had staggered back to the Gryffindor dormitory.
Harry had passed out in his bed sometime after midnight, dress and heels still on. At least he had been sober enough to wipe his makeup off in the bathroom, though that had been the extent of his good fortune. He remembered that he had tried to call Draco twice (Hermione had convinced everyone to start using Muggle technology) before passing out, just to check whether or not he had murdered Ron in cold blood, but it had gone straight to voicemail.
Harry knew that he should at least try to get up, so he groggily blinked the sleep away from his eyes before looking around the room. And immediately staggered back at what he saw.
The walls were grey. A couple of seconds passed before Harry realised that the walls had been bright red yesterday.
His breath got stuck in his throat, as sheer panic had him shooting up within seconds. He was certainly awake now.
The teen's eyes flickered back and forth between the objects in his dorm. The beds - grey. Curtains - black. Pillows - white. Skin - grey.
"Fuck-fuck- fuck-" Harry hissed, scrambling off of the bedsheets. He fell onto the carpet with a thud.
With trembling hands, Harry got a hold of the phone on his nightstand. The question wasn't how, it was who-
The phone rang five times before a half-asleep Ginny Weasley answered it.
"Harry? It's like seven in the morning…"
"Are you okay?" Harry blurted out, forcing the words out of his dry mouth. His fingers were digging painfully into the wood on the bedside table.
"Yeah? Why?" Ginny's obviously confused, and from the tone of her voice, slightly worried.
"Nothing. I-I just thought-"
"Harry, what's going on?"
"I-I wanted to make sure you were o-okay from last n-night. I'll just-I'll call you back, okay," he stammers before hanging up. The bottomless pit in his stomach only seemed to sink deeper with every passing moment.
If not her, then who?
Harry's hands were shaking so badly, it took nearly six times for him to dial Draco's number correctly. The phone started ringing.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"Hello! This is Draco Malfoy, thank you for calling. I probably don't have my phone with me right now, but you can call back later-"
Harry cursed underneath his breath, hanging up before redialing. Draco always overslept on Saturday mornings, usually hungover and too groggy to comprehend anything. There were a dozen valid excuses in Harry's brain, but he could only think of the worst possible case.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
Tears were stinging the corners of Harry's eyes when he began his third attempt.
Voicemail.
Oversleeping.
Hangover.
Saturday morning.
Harry repeated this to himself, as he haphazardly pulled on his coat, and stumbled outside the tower. He blindly made his way towards the Slytherin tower, the route practically muscle-memory by now. Harry had never had the best coordination, but he seemed to crash into more people than usual that day. He wasn't seeing clearly, nor paying attention to his surroundings. It was by some miracle, that he eventually made it to Draco's dorm. His hands were gripping the handles of his bag so tightly, his knuckles were white.
There was a crowd of people outside the Slytherin tower, by the time Harry got there. The teachers were pulling someone out on a stretcher, as the students watched on curiously. A few of the Slytherins were crying, most looking pale and scared.
He didn't need to ask anyone what had happened, or who it was on the stretcher. He already knew.
A sob parted Harry's lips, as his vision went fuzzy. Tears were springing into view, as he collapsed in a dark corner of the halls. No one noticed him in all the commotion. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, as he dry-heaved into the trash can nearby.
Ginny Weasley hadn't been his soulmate after all.
"Do you ever think about him?"
Ron's voice drifted across the bedroom to Harry.
"What?" Harry asked, looking up from his place on the carpet. He lowered the broom polish bottle in hand, craning his head up to look at Ron, who was sitting on the bed next to Harry.
Ron didn't return Harry's glance, his attention instead focused on a picture frame standing up on Harry's nightstand. A photograph of a since broken quartet - Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Draco. Though it was clear who Ron was referring to.
"Oh," Harry exhaled, swaying on his feet before taking a seat next to Ron. "Yeah-of course I miss Dra..." the energy in his tone faded, as he reached across the space to grab the picture frame.
The black-haired boy sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. The other hand held the grey frame in hand. Well...brown frame. It was wood, after all. As though Harry could tell. He hadn't been able to, ever since that fateful day. Nearly six months ago or so. God, that had been an awful time. It seemed like whenever Harry thought he might just be happy (or at least close to it), life would hit its hardest. Hell, weeks after Draco had been killed, Ginny and Hermione had both gone next. The teachers eventually caught the murderer, a former Death Eater out for revenge, but it had been far too late in Harry's opinion...
"Me too," Ron admitted, gently taking the picture from Harry's grasp.
A small smile appeared on the brunet's features. "I remember when you used to wear that shirt!" Ron pointed towards Harry. "When was this, February?"
Harry nodded.
"You always looked so good in that shade of green," Ron abruptly stopped himself, voice lingering. "Well-from what I remember," he muttered, looking over at Harry awkwardly. Harry nodded again in understanding.
"I miss colour," Harry whined dramatically, slumping against Ron's shoulder. The ginger-haired boy tensed up slightly, before relaxing and pulling him closer.
"Yeah," Ron laughed. "Me too."
"We kinda lost it at the same time though," Harry commented, looking up at Ron.
"Well, yeah," Ron croaked, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Ever since Hermione-" he cleared his throat, shaking his head softly. "Same time, I guess. Ginny and Hermione were so close apart-"
A pause lingered between the two of them.
"I'm sorry about Gin, Harry. I know the two of you were soulmates."
Harry shifted slightly, avoiding Ron's gaze. Heat met his cheeks as his lie was brought up. "Yeah," he muttered softly, peering down at his fingertips. It was a lie that fell so unfortunately into place. He'd simply covered up his lack of colour for the first few weeks after Draco's death, and then Ginny had been killed. Nobody had questioned Harry's sudden colour blindness after that. No one. Nobody needed to know that Draco might have been his-
"Soulmate," Harry murmured, letting out a breathless laugh. "Soulmates are weird, sometimes." He made himself look up at Ron again, sitting up a little straighter.
"Remember what Hermione said a while ago?" Harry asked, suddenly overcome with nostalgia.
"What?" Ron asked curiously.
"I dunno if it's true, but-" Harry reached over the bed, picking up his Firebolt and broom polish. "She said that you can have more than one soulmate in your life."
"Oh yeah!" Ron exclaimed, face lighting up with understanding. "I remember that!"
"Yeah..." Harry lazily huffed. Without notice, he jumped onto the space next to Ron, and rested his head in his lap.
Ron nodded quietly, looking down at the other. His hand came down to tuck a strand of black hair behind Harry's ear.
"Give me the broom and polish," Ron stretched out his hands. Harry looked down at the broom polish and his Firebolt, handing them both over to Ron. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Ron muttered, unscrewing the bottle cap. "I think this is-" he squinted at the label on the polish. "Red," he decided, gently applying strokes to the broom.
"Red," Harry dizzily echoed, attention elsewhere at the moment. Silence fell between the two boys, the quiet hum of the radio playing a loop of Celestina Warbeck in the background.
Ron coated the broom in red polish, focus clear until Harry reached down with his free hand to play with the ring around Ron's finger. A blush was clear on Ron's features within moments - Harry didn't need to see colour to notice that. Harry pretended not to notice, idly twisting the ring around in amusement.
"There!" Ron declared with a grin, as he finished up the last stroke of the polish. He looked down softly, seeking approval. Harry smiled gently, nodding.
"Ron," Harry laughed. "What is it?" he asked, lowering the polish and broom onto the bed. Harry lifted his head up from Ron's lap, and sat upright. "Hello?" he snickered, snapping a few times in front of Ron's face.
"Hey," Ron laughed, pushing away his hand. "Knock it off."
"Don't mess up the broom!" Harry yelped, when Ron looked dangerously close to smearing the drying polish. The laughter died down between them after a moment, as they both calmed down. "What is it?" Harry grinned, giving Ron's hands a squeeze.
"Nothing. I just-" Ron bit his lip, and looked away from him.
"Ron-"
"Do you think the soulmate thing Hermione talked about is real?"
Ron turned to face Harry, tone oddly serious. The eye contact made Harry hesitate, a blush prominent on his features. "Um," he started. "Maybe? Well, it makes sense to me. There are so many people around, how can just one be right for you?"
"Yeah..." Ron agreed, mind obviously elsewhere.
When Harry felt a hand rest on his cheek, he immediately froze up. Ron shifted closer to him and Harry's heart nearly burst out of his chest.
The ginger-haired boy leaned in, and within a moment, they were kissing. It was gentle - only lasting a few moments - before Ron pulled back, palm falling to rest on Harry's chest.
The brunet was a mess of butterflies, a feeling he had desperately missed.
"Was that okay?" Ron whispered nervously.
"Yes-" Harry murmured softly, eyes fluttering open. "Of cour-" his words got stuck in his throat, lips parting in shock.
Ron's eyes opened at the same moment, the boy staggering back at what he saw.
"Oh my god..."
A smile pulled at Harry's lips, the first genuine one in months. "Oh my god," he mirrored with a breathless laugh, hands coming up to cover his smile.
The bedsheets were red, his dresser brown, room bright orange, and Ron's pyjamas blue.
Blue.
Colour.
"Holy shit," Ron laughed, flinging his arms around Harry's shoulders. Harry melted into the hug, clinging onto the redheaded boy. "You see it too, right? Obviously-"
Harry pulled back for a moment, cupping Ron's face in his hands long enough to kiss him properly.
"Yes, I see it too, you moron," he reassured, once they withdrew. His smile wouldn't go away, looking like an idiot as he went to take a hold of the Firebolt.
"Oh, shit," Ron snickered. "I really thought that polish was red."
Harry looked down, an ugly laugh becoming audible. It was far from red, or even pink for that matter. It was a bright neon orange, one that contrasted with the gold lettering and handle in every way possible.
"That's okay," Harry mused, reaching for the bottle, and setting the broom down. "We can fix it now."
Harry could deal with neon orange for a few weeks. They could always paint red over it, next time. Besides, Harry could see colour now, and he wasn't planning on letting that - or Ron - go, anytime soon.