Silver Eyes

And Other Such Badly Titled Things

By: ME! OMG!

Note: Hey you all, I believe you are actually here, reading this! So that means I'd LOVE it if you'd take a moment of your time to REVIEW! Thank you SOOO much! Anyway, let's get this random ball rolling, shall we. Prepare for a romance for the ages. With an OC, of course. I love original characters, and can't live without them. However, there's a tidbit of shipping in it as well. Mainly Drinny (Ginny/Draco, for those of you who don't know) and Harry/Luna. Don't ask. It's my weirdness. Who knows what else may come up, however. Probably inadvertent bit of Ron/Hermione. So who does that leave our heroine? Good question. Wait and see, won't you?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I never said I did. So no suing me, please and thank you.

Chapter One

What Becomes of the Shy

I am used to being the girl that no one paid attention to. I've been in Gryffindor for full five years like everyone else in my year, the new sixth years, but almost no one knows my name. If they do, it's only a passing thought, nothing more.

It's not that my appearance couldn't gain attention on its own. If what people thought of you was based solely on how you looked, everyone would be in a constant state of wonder about me. I'm normal enough from a far off glance. I have long, straight, light brown hair, which I usually have pulled to a low ponytail with some bangs hanging lose. I'm of pretty normal height, pretty normal weight. It isn't any of those things which make me stand out. It's my eyes. They are silver. No, not that drab grey that some people call silver to pretty it up, but real, true silver, which has tone and depth and glistens in the light. I could drown in my own eyes, if I stared at my reflection long enough. That's how odd they are.

You'd think, with eyes like that, I'd be someone extraordinary. Someone spectacular. Or at least someone who rocked at least a few worlds. But oh no no no, that's not how I am. I am Shiva. I am, as my name suggests, beautiful. It's not a vain thing to say. It's what everyone's told me, everyone who spent enough time looking. But the beauty isn't coming from me. It's the eyes. They distract from everything I lack, pulling you in.

I am alone, cold as ice. Or at least, that's how my peers think of me, when they do, which is rarely.

I hear the things they say about me behind my back. When the gossip about all else dies down, usually in mid-winter, they decide to talk about me.

"Her eyes are rather creepy, aren't they?" someone will say, and I know they're talking about me.

"Like they look right into your soul or something."

"Probably why she thinks she's better than everyone else."

Never once, not one measly time, had anyone paused to consider that maybe I don't think I'm better than everyone else. Maybe I'm just nervous, skittish, afraid. Maybe new people, or people who I don't know well, make me nervous.

But this, this is not my story. This is me rambling, complaining, about things I can't change. Not on my own.

My story begins the morning of the first day of my sixth year. The morning… of the first day of the rest of my life…

It dawned like any other morning. Too bright, and too early. But today, I was ready. Today, I was eager to begin the year that I was certain had to be different from the ones in the past. I was not going to settle for being that girl no one paid attention to any more. I was not going to spend my free time huddled up in the lavatory with a book, hiding from the cruel whispers and laughter of my peers.

I had been saying this for the past four years. It wasn't getting any better.

"You go out there and show them what a great girl you are," Mum encouraged, pushing me into the sleek, ministry issue car which was to take me to the Hogwarts Express. As usual, she wasn't coming.

My mum is an Unspeakable. So naturally, I really haven't a clue what it is she does at work. She could be a prostitute for all I know. Though that is unspeakable, I like to think that what she does, whatever she does, is a bit more productive.

The ministry driver does not speak to me. Sometimes, the drivers are friendly. In my first year, I had one much like this one. Then in the second year, he was a kindly old man, but third year did not bring such luck. I quickly learned it was a toss up.

By now, you are probably wondering about my opinion of the Boy Who Lived. What was going through my head while he was showing up in the Prophet with all kinds of insane stories. Or when he was, though underage, competing in the Triwizard Tournament.

Well, I haven't really ever given him much thought. When I first saw him, it registered in my mind, of course. Oh, this is Harry Potter. This is the boy who lived. That's what everyone thinks, when they see him. Or at least, it's what I thought. But personally, I realized soon enough he was just another person. Just another boy I would never talk to. Another boy who would never talk to me. Case in point; he's nothing special, not in my life. But, then again, is there anything special in my life?

I shouldn't be so negative. There are plenty of special things in my life. I did wonderfully on my exams every year, for instance. Of course, I should, as I have about nothing to distract me from studying. I'm an observer, not someone up there in the front line. And I spend the entire time I'm watching hoping to be up there, in the front. I watched Harry Potter become a legend, have a downfall, and then become a legend all over again. I did not once say a word to him, though he is in my house, and in my year. That is what I think of Harry Potter.

The driver pulls up to King's Cross, and tells me to get out. I nod and do so. My things hop out of the trunk after me, and he wheels away.

How bloody kind of him. Or not.

But fending for myself? Easy.

I pick up my trunk, and the latest paperback novel. I square my shoulders up, and I walk into the station, and onto the platform.

As usual, it is bustling with life, with excitement.

"Mum, I think I've lost a quill," I hear one girl whine. I sigh. Hello, Hogwarts Express.

The train is magnificent, as it always is. I am excited despite myself, and optimistic. This could be my year. I could really make something of myself this year.

And then, I remember the escapade of finding a compartment to sit in. Another awkward train ride with people who don't really care about me, or even notice me. I'm let in on pity or intrigue. But that's okay by me.

This time, however, I'm in for a shock. I walk through the corridors of the train, trying to find somewhere empty, and someone reaches a hand out from inside a compartment and pulls me in.

"Thought you looked a little lost," the owner of the arm says. I freeze up. It's not just a person I don't know; it's a boy. An absolutely bloody beautiful boy at that. He has jet black hair that hangs around his face, framing perfect features, just a little bit of it falling over his ice blue eyes. I don't make eye contact.

"I'm not lost," I say to the floor.

"You could have fooled me," the figure says. I chance a glance at his face. He is smiling.

"Is that… a Gryffindor?" a decidedly rude voice says in the same manner the owner of a cat might say if that cat had brought a dead animal of suspicious origins to their feet.

"I don't know," the owner of the arm replies. "Are you?"

I blink. I know the voice of Draco Malfoy. I don't like where this is headed. "Yeah," I admit. "But honestly, I don't mean any—"

"You're that girl with the silver eyes," Malfoy says, his voice giving away barely a hint of curiosity.

Yeah and you want to make something of it, you git? But I don't say this. I would never say that.

"Yeah," I admit again. "But really, I'll just g—"

"Sit down, don't be daft," the blue-eyed boy says. Draco Malfoy shoots him a glance that says, Don't invite a Gryffindor in here. Even if it one that has rumors I'd like to resolve. But the boy ignores this look.

I am dumbstruck. I've never had anyone take this much notice in me before. At least, not one person, not all at one time like this. It's caught me a bit off guard.

"I'm Blaise Zabini," he says, extending his hand.

Before I really know what I'm doing, I've taken it. I stare down at our hands, clasped as if it's nothing. I realize this is the first time I've ever really touched a boy. And then I realize I'm supposed to say something back.

"Shiva," I say simply. I don't want my mum's name clinging to me. Anyone with ministry parents know that name, and know that everyone in the family for generations have been Unspeakables. That makes me unspeakable by default. Which is not exactly a walk in the park.

"Draco Malfoy," Malfoy says, unnecessarily. I wonder if he's always got this importance complex. Where he has to be noticed in the conversation. Seeing the look in his eyes, I decide that yes, he does always have an importance complex. "And these are Crabbe and Goyle," he adds in afterthought, pointing to two ugly, large boys who look as if they may be a bit lacking in the mental department. Namely, lacking in the existence of any brain at all.

"Er… good," I say, not sure what else there is to be said. I'm going to have even more rumors after this. Sharing a compartment with Slytherin boys. I sigh. This is going to be a very interesting year…

End note: I'm not sure whereabouts I expected this story to lead me, but it was most certainly not where it did. That's the beauty of writing, though, isn't it?

Do review. Thanks! Love you all!

Oh, and almost forgot, if you review, you get CYBER COOKIES! Hurrah!