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“What’s your favorite color?”
The question dumbfounded him. For one, he was never asked that question. Secondly, therefore, he had never thought about it.
And the answer should have been easy. He was Slytherin to the bone marrow, and he knew he looked good in green. Or black. But that did not even pass his mind. Nothing did—his mind went and it searched for the answer to What is your favorite color?
Her eyes slighted as he stared at her and he realized he was staring at her. But nothing came to mind, including the accountability that maybe he should look away. And as his mind kept drawing up null, his eyes searched for an idea instead. Her living room was warm, and filled with books of every color, but his eyes did not land on any of that. They only found her’s, looking at him, expectant and yet increasingly concerned.
“Malfoy?”
“Brown.” He said it without quite realizing it or even thinking the answer over.
Her face twisted. “Brown?”
And for a second he thought that was wrong. Perhaps because she was reacting like it was, but also because the fire was reflecting on her eyes, making them seem more golden, or orange. Which reminded him of the blue and white that would shine when her eyes lit up with curiosity, tilting her face towards the sky to look at him while they walked.
But no—because beneath it all, there was that brown. She faced more toward him, away from the fire. There it was. The brown he wanted to dive so deeply into, if only she would just ask one day. He looked unapologetically between the two of her pupils. Not making sure he was correct; but making sure he remembered. Because this was his favorite color.
She felt it and broke their eye contact. But only for a second before retreating back to his own eyes. Yes—that was right.
He nodded. “Brown.”
She took it as a proper answer this time, and she returned to her book. He watched her. And then, watching her lips fight a smile, he realized that in under a minute he went from no favorite colors, to two of them.
.