Chapter Text
i.
Neville's eyes were blue.
It was a fact: Harry is a wizard, the Weasley's have red hair, and Neville's eyes are blue.
However, as the years progressed, Harry began to learn more than he ever could have imagined about the simple blue eyes of Neville Longbottom.
He knew what they looked like when they were afraid, head bowed down under the weight of Snape's cruelty. He knew what they looked like when they were filled with nervous courage, steely in the face of standing up to his friends to defend the house of the brave. He knew what they looked like when he was happy, angry, and sad, but it was only until the second task of the Triwizard cup that he realised that he'd never really noticed when they were still and closed.
Staring at the pale face of the boy floating in the lake, his heart in his stomach, Harry quickly came to the realisation that the sight of Neville's eyes covered by pale, unmoving eyelids was the worst thing he'd ever seen. Filled with a desperation and fear that felt like lead in his stomach, Harry swam with all he had to reach Neville and get him out, because he needed to see Neville's eyes open and shining happy and blue.
The next 15 minutes he spent in the lake was murky in Harry's memory. All he could recall was a steady determination to get Neville's eyes open again, and shackles surrounding his heart that made it difficult to breathe. But the clearest memory he had of the second task was this: Neville's head breaching the water, and his eyes opening wide with a gasp, the shock and following joy the most beautiful book he'd ever read.
They immediately found Harry, and his entire world narrowed in on that special brand of blue, blue, blue.
ii.
Neville's eyes were blue.
It was a fact: Harry is a wizard, the Weasley's have red hair, and Neville's eyes are blue.
However, as the years progressed, Harry began to learn more than he ever could have imagined about the simple blue eyes of Neville Longbottom. He knew what they looked like when they were afraid, head bowed down over his grandmother's bed, fists clenched in the blankets as her hand gently rested on his head as they whispered their goodbyes. He knew what they looked like when they were filled with determined courage, wand steady against the dark wizards responsible for the torture of a family of muggles. He knew what they looked like when he was happy, angry, and sad, but best of all, he would never stop learning what they looked like for the rest of his life.
To Harry, blue was this: cosy Sunday mornings waking up face-to-face, morning breath ignored; looks of pride exchanged over the wavy tentacles of the first plant Harry kept alive for a year all by himself (it was a Snarfalump they gleefully named Cormac - Hermione had thrown her head back and laughed); arch glances at each other as they waited for the ever-growing Weasley clan to notice the simple bands around their third fingers; simple, loving looks swapped over the Daily Prophet as they sipped their tea in the mornings.
Harry carried blue in his heart and soul until the day he held Neville's hand, wrinkles soft against his skin, and closed his eyes, ready for the next great adventure.