I have been far too fixated upon the subject of colors in my fics.

For the Prompts for the Potter Fanatic's Newb Challenge by skylands (Andie), prompt: George Weasley. I own nothing.

It was too bright.

George Weasley remembered his twin perfectly, every detail engraved in his memory better than the memories of his own life. Before, that didn't really matter, since all their memories were intertwined.

And what George remembered was far different from this tombstone, too bright for gray, with words far more serious and so dull than would ever suit his twin. How was gray bright, anyway? He (they) associated it with clouded skies, strict old ladies, and that neutral area.

He did believe it, though. Why shouldn't he? Since Fred had died, it was a bit of a poke (stab) from reality. Anything could happen. And anything did happen.

Red was the color of the Weasleys' hair. It was always the first thing George thought of.

He considered it a bit of a stereotype — his great-great-great-aunt-in-law or something like that had had brown hair, or so he heard — but whatever, just go with the flow. Admittedly, it was a slight disadvantage, as whenever he would duck around the corner a millisecond after the teacher arrived on the crime scene, it would always be, "It must be Fred and George!" What other Weasley behaved like them?

If he was going to be honest, though (all right, honest and George weren't known to be in the same sentence often), it later became a small mark of pride. He was a Weasley (twin), and nothing would change that.

Red was bright, but not as bright as gray.

(Red was also the color of blood, which might be brighter than tombstone gray, but George never thought of that. Nope. Not at all.

Not at all.)

Orange was the color of the setting sun.

The twins didn't like that for sentimental reasons. Simply put, when the sun dimmed and blue skies became pink, then black with just a hint of white, it was the ideal time for them to sneak about. Orange wasn't the night itself, but it was rather like a signal, and the Weasley twins did depend quite a bit on signals.

And the sunset didn't seem that bright. Its color simply wasn't notable, and never was — just another detail.

Still, try to look into the sunset. It was more radiant than people really thought about. For all that nonsense about beautiful, memory-inducing sunsets, it was just a signal to the twins to begin whatever they were doing.

Of course, there were some tricks too precious to wait until nighttime for, but there was something interesting about when evening went to nighttime without anyone noticing. George wasn't the type to observe that sort of thing, but Fred pointed it out to him one evening, and he agreed.

Yellow was "sunshine daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!" Fred and George had actually spent more time than expected working on getting that spell to rhyme. It was a pity they never did see Ron react to the failed spell.

However, of a sorts, it brought Ron and Harry Potter together. George didn't know what to think of this afterwards. His best friend died because of this, because he fought in that war and suddenly he was gone.

George didn't blame Harry. Not really. They would remain on good terms for many years afterwards, and George liked Harry.

(Still, there were some nights where all he saw was yellow and thought, This is bright, but it's unnatural. Like the tombstone. Maybe nothing would match that, but those nights that should be yellow days, he couldn't even focus anything on Harry. He just blamed everyone who existed, because it was easier than any specific person or Death Eater.

Sometimes, he couldn't call a Death Eater a person. They weren't yellow; they were gray.)

Green was the Forbidden Forest.

Green was forbidden.

It was a dark sort of green, ominous to most students, but the twins never minded. They were Gryffindors, and they could face a bit of green.

(Okay, George was afraid the first time he entered. It was just a bit of green, he told himself, and that was how he got over it. A while later, he would tell Fred, but Fred grinned and brushed it off.

And they went in again and again, and they weren't afraid anymore.)

Years after the war, the Forbidden Forest remained the same. George visited once, and for half a second, fear pierced him like a dagger — cold, unforgiving. He was without Fred. He was alone.

His child — Fred the Second — explored the forest, and now George wasn't afraid to go in. Fred was with him, different and not quite himself, but it was someone and he was part Fred.

Blue was the old Ford Anglia the Weasleys (formerly) owned. That night the twins and Ron went to break Harry out of his. . .well, prison, to them, George remembered the sensation of flying.

He didn't think about it — not quite as much as was expected in the books in the library. Not that he read a lot of them. He remembered the envy he felt when Ron and Harry got to ride it to Hogwarts, even if they did get in trouble for it.

Blue was envy.

He knew he was often envious, but he drove it aside, as did Fred.

(He was a little jealous of Fred sometimes, because he was a bit more daring, more bold than George was. It proved they weren't identical, but then again, that was also something to be valued.)

Purple was the color of royalty — of fairy tales.

Truthfully?

George burst out laughing when he heard an older child in his store tell the Tale of Fred Weasley, wonderfulawesomeamazing hero, to another child. It was a fairy tale. Everyone turned to look at George as if he'd lost his marbles. Maybe he had. (He used to take pride in it, because who else was crazy enough to do all those pranks? Him and Fred.)

Fred wasn't a king or a prince, and it was silly to think of him like that.

(All right, maybe a hero, but did he have to die for it?)

Gray was too bright.

George Weasley couldn't stand it. He would rather see redorangeyellowgreenbluepurple, and maybe not all of them were happy, but they weren't quite so bright. Bright wasn't as good as he thought — bright used to be the twins, always alive and laughing and they were the twins. Not just one person. Now, bright was one half gone, one half wondering when he'd go.

He turned and walked away.