![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mini_fest_mod posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mini_festTitle: Red
Author: ???
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Harry/Scorpius
Prompt(s): 80. Harry/Scorpius. Red.
Warnings: Character death (past, minor).
Summary: “You took something perfect and you painted it red.” ~ Daniel Merriweather
Word Count: 1116
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money by using the characters in this story.
A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cc14, and to whoever came up with the prompt, because it was one of those rare ones that screamed at me and I knew what to write instantly.
Red.
It’s the colour of the scarf Harry wraps around Scorpius’ neck to shelter the young man from the chill wind surrounding them as they walk hand-in-hand through the park, marvelling once again at how wonderful Winter Wonderland actually can be. Scorpius is not pleased by the colour – Gryffindor clashes horribly with his complexion, and even though he’s graduated he’s got enough Slytherin in him still to find anything that reminds him of the opposing Hogwarts house slightly distasteful. Apart from Harry, of course.
Red.
It’s the colour Ginny’s hair was, and it’s one of the things Harry hates most about having a marble statue as a grave marker. Ginny was so vibrant, so colourful. Her hair screamed of her personality. The statue seems so cold, so lifeless. There’s nothing in it to suggest the sort of person she used to be, how passionate she was about life, about Harry, about their three wonderful children. Sometimes he’ll catch a glimpse of red hair in a crowd and something in his heart will ache, but it’s never the right shade, and of course it’s never her.
Red.
It’s the colour of Harry’s hands, now numb from the cold. Scorpius doesn’t say anything as they leave the cemetery, just takes one of the frozen hands into his own and tries to warm them with his body heat. Scorpius has lost too many people in his own life to begrudge his lover an hour or two with his dead wife.
Red.
It’s the colour of the snow outside their house the night Harry comes home from work to find the worst has happened. It’s the colour of the Chinese take-away boxes he’d picked up for him and Ginny to share that evening, celebrating a night without any of the children visiting. Despite the fact they’d all moved out of the house over a year before, there was rarely a night without one of them flooing over for at least a cup of tea. That night, amazingly, all three of them had made other plans, and Harry had never felt more alone. It’s the colour of the stain in the carpet, of the blood dripping from Lucius Malfoy’s hands as he kneels laughing next to Ginny’s body.
Red.
It’s the colour of Scorpius Malfoy’s eyes when Harry’s own meet them across the courtroom. Scorpius held no great love for his grandfather, but he was still family, and to lose him so soon after losing his mother during her attempt to give him a sibling - well, it’s hard. As the judge sentences Lucius to the dementor’s kiss, Scorpius offers Harry a weak smile. Harry’s heart goes out to the young man, trying to be so strong. He knows the feeling well.
Red.
It’s the colour of anger, the colour Ron’s face turns when a few months later Harry brings Scorpius with him to Sunday lunch at the Burrow. It’s the colour of the flowers Scorpius notices grow just outside the front door, since that’s as far as either of them got into the house that day. It’s the colour Harry is growing to hate, as Ron screams obscenities at him, yelling about how he’s betraying Ginny’s name. Harry can bear it. But when Ron starts on Scorpius, comparing him with Lucius, Harry turns away and the two of them leave. It’s a long time before the two of them are invited back.
Red.
It’s the colour of passion, the colour of the blush that stains Scorpius’ cheeks whenever the two of them are intimate, the colour of the blood pulsing through their bodies, the colour of heat, of lust.
Red.
It’s the colour of the baubles Harry hangs from the side of the tree which has been designated “his”. For all that Scorpius protests that Harry couldn’t make something look stylish if his life depended on it and has designated them both sides to work on, he knows that when Harry’s asleep he’ll sneak downstairs and mix the decorations up. Otherwise there would be one red side and one green side, and that would just be silly.
Red.
It’s the colour of Scorpius’ blush when Lily kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for the present he carefully selected for her. Harry’s heart wells at how amazing his children are, how accepting and wonderful and…
And how perfect this Christmas is. Red is the colour of the tiny ache in Harry’s chest as he realises just how happy he is. It almost makes him sad.
Red.
It’s the colour of blood, that vital life force that rushes through his body and fills his heart. It’s the colour that symbolises everything about Harry to Scorpius, and everything Scorpius makes Harry feel. It’s the colour of the wine they share when James, Lily and Albus decide to head to bed early and give the two some privacy. It’s the colour of the bow wrapped around the little box that Harry produces from inside one of his trouser pockets.
It’s the colour of Scorpius’ lips, pressed so insistently against Harry’s own. The colour that his eyes are starting to turn as, despite everything he can’t help but well up with tears.
It’s the colour of all the promises the two will ever make to each other, of all their fights, all their laughter, all their tears, all their shared, special moments.
It’s the colour of the dress Lily wears on the day that Scorpius and Harry exchange vows, the colour of James’ hair, standing out against the dark grey suit he wears.
It’s the colour of the rose that someone has placed next to Ginny’s statue when Harry goes to visit her the night before, the colour of the love emanating from Scorpius when Harry returns home, the colour Harry’s heart swells to when he just knows that it was Scorpius who had placed it there. He’s always known how Harry hates the lack of colour there.
Red.
It’s the colour of the fire that the two of them relax in front of, once the ceremony is over and all their friends have gone home. The colour of several eyes that teared up during the course of the day, and the colour of half of the tiny lights that decorated the house for the after-party. It’s the colour of the scarf Harry wraps around Scorpius’ neck to shelter the young man from the chill in the room, despite Scorpius’ protests that he doesn’t need to wear one indoors.
It’s the colour of the small gems that stud the rings that decorate the entwined hands of the two as they curl up together.
It’s the colour that Harry has come to love.
Author: ???
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Harry/Scorpius
Prompt(s): 80. Harry/Scorpius. Red.
Warnings: Character death (past, minor).
Summary: “You took something perfect and you painted it red.” ~ Daniel Merriweather
Word Count: 1116
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money by using the characters in this story.
A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful beta,
cc14, and to whoever came up with the prompt, because it was one of those rare ones that screamed at me and I knew what to write instantly.Red.
It’s the colour of the scarf Harry wraps around Scorpius’ neck to shelter the young man from the chill wind surrounding them as they walk hand-in-hand through the park, marvelling once again at how wonderful Winter Wonderland actually can be. Scorpius is not pleased by the colour – Gryffindor clashes horribly with his complexion, and even though he’s graduated he’s got enough Slytherin in him still to find anything that reminds him of the opposing Hogwarts house slightly distasteful. Apart from Harry, of course.
Red.
It’s the colour Ginny’s hair was, and it’s one of the things Harry hates most about having a marble statue as a grave marker. Ginny was so vibrant, so colourful. Her hair screamed of her personality. The statue seems so cold, so lifeless. There’s nothing in it to suggest the sort of person she used to be, how passionate she was about life, about Harry, about their three wonderful children. Sometimes he’ll catch a glimpse of red hair in a crowd and something in his heart will ache, but it’s never the right shade, and of course it’s never her.
Red.
It’s the colour of Harry’s hands, now numb from the cold. Scorpius doesn’t say anything as they leave the cemetery, just takes one of the frozen hands into his own and tries to warm them with his body heat. Scorpius has lost too many people in his own life to begrudge his lover an hour or two with his dead wife.
Red.
It’s the colour of the snow outside their house the night Harry comes home from work to find the worst has happened. It’s the colour of the Chinese take-away boxes he’d picked up for him and Ginny to share that evening, celebrating a night without any of the children visiting. Despite the fact they’d all moved out of the house over a year before, there was rarely a night without one of them flooing over for at least a cup of tea. That night, amazingly, all three of them had made other plans, and Harry had never felt more alone. It’s the colour of the stain in the carpet, of the blood dripping from Lucius Malfoy’s hands as he kneels laughing next to Ginny’s body.
Red.
It’s the colour of Scorpius Malfoy’s eyes when Harry’s own meet them across the courtroom. Scorpius held no great love for his grandfather, but he was still family, and to lose him so soon after losing his mother during her attempt to give him a sibling - well, it’s hard. As the judge sentences Lucius to the dementor’s kiss, Scorpius offers Harry a weak smile. Harry’s heart goes out to the young man, trying to be so strong. He knows the feeling well.
Red.
It’s the colour of anger, the colour Ron’s face turns when a few months later Harry brings Scorpius with him to Sunday lunch at the Burrow. It’s the colour of the flowers Scorpius notices grow just outside the front door, since that’s as far as either of them got into the house that day. It’s the colour Harry is growing to hate, as Ron screams obscenities at him, yelling about how he’s betraying Ginny’s name. Harry can bear it. But when Ron starts on Scorpius, comparing him with Lucius, Harry turns away and the two of them leave. It’s a long time before the two of them are invited back.
Red.
It’s the colour of passion, the colour of the blush that stains Scorpius’ cheeks whenever the two of them are intimate, the colour of the blood pulsing through their bodies, the colour of heat, of lust.
Red.
It’s the colour of the baubles Harry hangs from the side of the tree which has been designated “his”. For all that Scorpius protests that Harry couldn’t make something look stylish if his life depended on it and has designated them both sides to work on, he knows that when Harry’s asleep he’ll sneak downstairs and mix the decorations up. Otherwise there would be one red side and one green side, and that would just be silly.
Red.
It’s the colour of Scorpius’ blush when Lily kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for the present he carefully selected for her. Harry’s heart wells at how amazing his children are, how accepting and wonderful and…
And how perfect this Christmas is. Red is the colour of the tiny ache in Harry’s chest as he realises just how happy he is. It almost makes him sad.
Red.
It’s the colour of blood, that vital life force that rushes through his body and fills his heart. It’s the colour that symbolises everything about Harry to Scorpius, and everything Scorpius makes Harry feel. It’s the colour of the wine they share when James, Lily and Albus decide to head to bed early and give the two some privacy. It’s the colour of the bow wrapped around the little box that Harry produces from inside one of his trouser pockets.
It’s the colour of Scorpius’ lips, pressed so insistently against Harry’s own. The colour that his eyes are starting to turn as, despite everything he can’t help but well up with tears.
It’s the colour of all the promises the two will ever make to each other, of all their fights, all their laughter, all their tears, all their shared, special moments.
It’s the colour of the dress Lily wears on the day that Scorpius and Harry exchange vows, the colour of James’ hair, standing out against the dark grey suit he wears.
It’s the colour of the rose that someone has placed next to Ginny’s statue when Harry goes to visit her the night before, the colour of the love emanating from Scorpius when Harry returns home, the colour Harry’s heart swells to when he just knows that it was Scorpius who had placed it there. He’s always known how Harry hates the lack of colour there.
Red.
It’s the colour of the fire that the two of them relax in front of, once the ceremony is over and all their friends have gone home. The colour of several eyes that teared up during the course of the day, and the colour of half of the tiny lights that decorated the house for the after-party. It’s the colour of the scarf Harry wraps around Scorpius’ neck to shelter the young man from the chill in the room, despite Scorpius’ protests that he doesn’t need to wear one indoors.
It’s the colour of the small gems that stud the rings that decorate the entwined hands of the two as they curl up together.
It’s the colour that Harry has come to love.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 07:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-06 11:37 pm (UTC)The color use is excellent, and everyone's reactions are realistic.
Good work.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 12:20 am (UTC)"Red is the colour of the tiny ache in Harry’s chest as he realises just how happy he is. It almost makes him sad."
Just beautiful. You have an amazing way with words, Mystery Author. Well done. ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 02:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-07 02:30 pm (UTC)