Disclaimer: I do believe I've run out of witty things to say... not that my other disclaimers have been witty at all...

Author's Notes: Well... I dunno. I just wrote it. It had the vague idea of this today and I thought, "Why not?" Not sure if the title is totally appropriate, but it fits, so it's staying. It's rather short (okay, very), but I didn't want this long in the first place. I wanted it nice and short so I wouldn't mess it up in one way or another.

So... review, loves.

Aliss

Colors

James Potter was the moodiest boy she'd ever met.

One minute he'd be smiling and laughing with his friends, and the next he'd be frowning and stomping around like little child denied a biscuit before dinner. No matter how she mulled it over in her mind, it simply wouldn't add together. What boy was naturally that moody?

Although, it could be quite amusing at times. One moment he'd be quiet as the newly-sorted first years, then the next he'd be giggling like a fourth year girl, and all a sudden he'd burst out like a raving mad nutter. It was actually quite confusing to follow his moods, though. You'd see him in the morning, all chipper and anxious, then when you'd say a hullo to him at lunch, he'd shoot something back at you like an ill-tempered blast-ended screwt.

Maybe it was just her though. Perhaps she was the only one who thought he was going barmy (more so than he already was, of course). But how could a person say he wasn't? He had more mood swings than a PMS-ing girl! Honestly, it was enough to drive her batty.

And what was worse was trying to tell apart the moods of Potter. It was near impossible to tell whether he was sulking or just trying to be secretive. He'd sit back in his chair, his arms across his chest and a rather masked look on his face. She still couldn't tell if he was sulking at the foot-long essay from Binns or attempting to mask his excitement about the latest prank underfoot. And if he was jittery, it could easily be passed off for pure excitement. And when he went red, it was rather difficult to tell whether he was blushing or about to explode (though you could always tell after the few choice words blasted out of his mouth).

But after having gone to school with the excessively hormonal child for over six years, she had learned his secret giveaway—his eyes.

But not just anything about his eyes, oh no; she'd learned that those big, wide hazel eyes were the only way to figure out what was going on inside the heart and head of James Potter.

You had to look deep inside those eyes to understand him. You didn't follow his actions or his words, his disposition or his attitude, just his eyes. They would tell you all you needed to know. It was as if he couldn't shut the emotion out of them.

And, naturally, she'd had to have looked deep into those eyes brimming with emotion to discover James Potter's secrets.

She knew that his eyes only twinkled impishly when he was concocting a prank or just being his mischievous self. She'd also learned that this eye twinkle was used to make it seem as if he was being impish, but in reality he was in no way or form in a havoc-wreaking state.

She also knew that when he was giddy and excited, his eyes would light up. Literally, they would turn from the normally rich hazel color to a toasty light hot cocoa color that she found she very much liked. It reminded her of comfort and protection.

And when he was gloomy or depressed about something or another, you could practically watch the color fade from his eyes. They'd become murky and clouded, like the only thing that on his mind was his grief. She'd seen that very pair of murky, dull eyes before, many a time. It hurt her to think that she'd made those shining hazel eyes anything other than twinkling pools of cocoa.

When he was angry, she knew, or irritated or upset, his eyes would be sharp and narrowed. You'd be able to see the aggravation brewing behind the glint of his glasses and you'd see it in an instant. It wouldn't be the scowl of his heavy brows meeting or the way his mouth would tug down at the corners, but rather the jagged, piercing way his eyes flicked over you; then you knew.

But what was probably her favorite moody-eyed James was when he was looking at her.

She'd see his eyes flash for a moment, clear as water, and dark; darker than she'd ever seen them before. They were so clear, she once reasoned, that it was like looking into his very soul, the very essence of James Potter; he would be laid out before her as her own green orbs locked with his. She could see all the emotion brimming out of him in a moment of blank expressions and incomprehensible stares; she could see the roguishness in that faint twinkle, the hope in the slightest raise of an eyebrow, the curiosity in the widened pupils.

And in those dark and smoky eyes, she understood, she could see his love. His love of her.

FIN.