Requested by anonymous

Inspired by a video by Eugene Lee Yang

--trigger warning--

Qui n'avance pas, recule- "Who does not move forward, recedes". There can be no standstill in life, only evolution or devolution. Either one evolves, or one devolves. To be stagnant is the same as to recede.

Red

He tries. He does.

Theodore and Astoria stand on either side of him, watching his parents with fascination. 

Narcissa's smile is bright as she talks animatedly to Astoria, all warm smiles and sweet perfume and soft red lipstick that she extends to Astoria.

Soft red lipstick is delicately swiped across Astoria's lips, and Draco watches in fascination; not at her lips, but the lovely color that accompanies them. A small smile crosses his lips, and his fingers twitch, itching to reach for the vibrant color.

His smile fades as he turns back to Theodore and his father.

Theodore imitates his father's actions, taking a large swig of his drink and shouting loud obscenities, all harsh lines and anger and rough and powerful.

Draco imitates this poorly and half-heartedly, eyes still flicking to his mother.

Astoria and Narcissa stand at almost the same time, the movement fluid and soft, as they begin dancing and laughing. His father continues to scream, and Theodore continues to be his puppet.

Draco stands, joining his mother and Astoria in their blissful dance. He is smiling for what feels like the first time in years, dancing and happy and warm.

His mother's lipstick somehow slips into his hand, and he studies it in wonder, taking off the cap and lifting it to just barely touching his lips. He inhales, gloriously euphoric.

He feels the blow to the back of his head first, before the lipstick is smacked out of his hand.

His father shouts angry words, Theodore shaking his head and imitating his hurtful shouting.

Draco just stares at the broken tube on the ground, the red stain on the floor.

Orange

The church is too bright, the walls too white, the room too light.

Ron stands in the middle of the two sides of a divided room.

On his left are the people dressed in white, screaming at the preacher, shouting obscenities, shouting insults. They hate him, they think he is wrong.

On his right are the people dressed in black, heads low, silent, accepting, praying. They love him, they are in agreement.

The preacher stands in the front of the room, shouting hate, shouting horrible slurs about people who only want to live their lives. He is angry, not at God, but at the monsters God has created. 

The gays should die, he says, and Ron wonders if he's right, if Ron is broken, if being gay really is horrible and wrong and if Ron should die.

Before he can make that decision, Percy pulls him sideways, to the right, and pulls him into a seat. He grabs his hands and places them on his lap, before shoving Ron's head down and whispering you need to have respect for him.

Ron wonders why he needs to respect the preacher when the preacher clearly doesn't respect him.

But Percy's eyes are burning orange with anger, and Ron keeps his head down and pretends to be normal.

Yellow

Harry is talking with Ginny, laughter and bright smiles, when he sees him.

Draco delicately spins in beautiful, elegant circles, dancing amidst the yellow flowers in the field.

Ginny doesn't protest when he slips away, allowing him to join Draco in his dance in the field.

Draco's smile is bright and soft, and he twirls with Harrys amidst the flowers and the golden sunlight.

They are golden, they are beautiful, they are in sync. They spin and they dance, and Harry thinks he hears a whisper of I love you fall from Draco's lips, and his only response is to repeat the words back to him.

They are in love, and Harry finds that he has never been happier.

He breaks away for just a moment to find Ginny, to hug her tightly.

She smiles as she pulls back from the hug, holding his hand for a moment before giving it to Draco.

Draco spins him with the given hand, before gently falling back, pulling Harry on top of him.

The movement is slow, yet fast, their lips just a centimeter apart, and Harry realizes that nothing is more beautiful than the glow of the yellow sun through Draco's hair.

Green

Hermione's green heels land down each step perfectly as she hugs her guests and smiles brilliantly and welcomes friends. 

She steps into her living room, smiling across the room at Harry and Draco, waving at Ginny, walking over to Ron.

She asks him what he told his family, and when he confesses that he hasn't yet, she hugs him and tells him it's okay.

His smile tells her that that sentence means more than she could ever know.

She looks around herself and sees friends. Transgender people and gay people and asexual people and genderfluid people and people who have no idea and everything in between. 

She sees a community, a family, a home.

Her shock at seeing Pansy across the room is not lost on the black-haired girl, if her red-lipped smile is anything to go by.

Hermione wonders if Pansy will dance with her, but decides it's too early in the night to ask.

The music starts playing louder and more upbeat, and Hermione finds herself bouncing to the beat, smiling at her friends, laughing at jokes.

She hears a bang, and has a moment of confusion before it is followed by another and Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom fall to the floor.

Guests all around her start screaming, dropping down to avoid being hit, crying, hugging one another. She vaguely hears Blaise Zabini scream at her to get down.

Hermione can only stare at Theodore Nott's cold green eyes as he aims his gun at her, and she briefly thinks that she'll never get that dance with Pansy before there is another bang and everything goes dark.

Blue

Blaise is surrounded by hate.

The night at Hermione's house replays through his mind in his sleep, plaguing him from being able to ever have a dreamless night again.

He curls up in a ball as he is kicked, over and over again, and he hears nothing but screaming as hot tears run down his face.

He wonders if the screaming is him.

He can't feel anything anymore. He is bloody and bruised and cold and gasping for air and the feet just keep kicking him and the shouts just keep coming and Blaise thinks if he has the choice between living as a gay or dying and never having to deal with this again, he might choose the latter.

There is a final kick, and then Blaise is cast aside, gasping and shaking and the pain returns.

He doesn't know how long it is before he sees the hand reach out, but he grasps it tightly and allows himself to be pulled up.

His sister asks if he's okay, but his mother shouts at her to get away from him. Astoria is yelling and Vincent is defending him and they're pushing and screaming and Blaise is shoved on accident and he collides with the ground as they continue to argue.

He stares at the blue sky ahead of him, gasping for air through his battered lungs, and wonders if this is really worth it all.

Purple

Pansy stares straight ahead as she passes the people on either side of her.

The people in white are screaming obscenities, telling her she deserves to burn for being something outside of social norm. They shove her and scream at her and threaten her, to tell her she is worth less now that she has come out.

The people in black are screaming praise, telling her she is an icon for daring to do something outside of the social norm. They desperately press their hands against her skin, trying to touch her, to praise her, to tell her she is worth more now that she has come out.

She stares straight ahead, trying to ignore the shouting, the screaming, the hands being laid on her skin as though they own it.

She stares straight ahead as the words drill into her brain. You're worthless, you're pathetic, you're a queen, you're my idol, you're nothing, you're everything, you're one of them now, you're one of us now, you're horrible, you're perfect, you deserve to die, you're better than us all.

She is a person, not an icon, she thinks. She is just another person, and wants to be treated as such. 

But, she thinks as her hands twist in the purple silk of her dress, she will never be just another person again.