It was the colour of stone, it was the colour of storm clouds and it was the colour of dirty ice. Not many eyes were of this colour these days, most people had brown eyes in this generation, although the Boy Who Lived had the green eyes of his mother.
Malfoys kid had grey eyes, and so had Tom Riddle before he had turned to Voldemorts reborn body and his eyes had turned the red of pure evil.
Did the colour grey represent anything good? Some people liked the stormy clouds, this was true but living in a country where that was usually all they saw it wasn't so common.

It was the colour of dust and the colour of cold metal electronics in a muggle home. The colour one drew for signifying cold or when you wanted to draw 'white' but couldn't because it wouldn't show up on white paper.
It was the dulled colour of silver. Of jewelry and a necklace or ring around a young females throat. It could be the colour of pearls in shadow, or the hair of a grandmother or grandfather, welcoming you to their home for a holiday visit. It could also be the colour of a blade.

Grey could signify so much, and yet so little of it was good.
Did those that were good outweigh the bad though? Or did it depend on the person whether they were worth it or not? Some people hated pearls, whereas some strived for years to save up to buy a string of them for that special someone in their lives. Some people wore gold anyway, the colour of sunlight, but then again gold could be gold dust, and dust could be grey...did that mean anything?

Colin liked the blade comment though, he looked at the one in his hand for a good long time, considerings the greys in mud you could get, or in rocks you skimmed down the river with family members on picnic outings.
You could get the colour grey in bruises, right between when they were purple and yellow, but mostly Colin Creevly saw the colour in sharp metals, and he savoured that thought as he drew the blade sharply down his arm. He loved the school uniforms for their robes covering even past his hands so they hid everything, and that the castle was naturally cold in parts so he could always wear a jumper. No one knew, no one ever had to know, did they? They didn't know that he knew so well how much he bothered and annoyed everyone...how they all hated him for it.
He dug the knife in deeper into his arm and dragged it up him arm, watching, transfixed as the blood spilled. It was so elegant in a way, probably because it was so slow. Anything slow was elegant, because you could appriciate the moves and edges of it. Maybe he could be more slow...

Colin loved the greys in metals.