CHAPTER ONE—Silhouette
I have never really felt that I fit in at Hogwarts. Everyone has their best friends, and their cliques and I've always been somewhat of a loner.
I don't mind it that much, really. I get a lot of studying done, and as a result, I am a really good student. But it isn't that bad.
No, let me rephrase that. It isn't that bad…until I see Harry, Hermione and Ron.
I want, more than anything, a friend like that. Just one would do, I don't need two, like they have. But they tell each other everything and without a hesitant thought. They are always together, you rarely see one without the other two. People have joked that they are one person, in the form of three. But those people are always joking.
But I am starting to believe it. Whatever human souls are made of, theirs must be the same. And I wish, more than anything, to find someone with the same soul substance as mine.
I used to have Ron. He has always been my favorite brother. Sure, Bill has always been much cooler, Charlie taught me almost everything I know about Magical Creatures, and Fred and George make me laugh more, but Ron was always there. He was always closest to me, in age and the things we said to each other. I loved him more than anything.
The year he went off to Hogwarts and I was still too young was terrible for me. I cried myself to sleep almost every night. At the beginning I got so many letters I could hardly count them, almost once a day. But they dwindled after a while, until they almost stopped near Easter. I was miserable. My big brother, my role model, didn't care about me anymore.
But when he got home from Hogwarts, he swept me up, hugged me harder than he ever has before, and whispered to me, "I missed you so much."
And for a while that summer I had my Ron back. We caught up completely, and he explained why he hadn't written. The exams were terrible at Hogwarts, and he had to study so much. Then he explained about the Sorcerer's Stone, and I gasped. No wonder he hadn't written, he was saving the wizarding world!
Then he told me about his two best friends, Harry and Hermione. He was best friends with Harry Potter! I was amazed and in awe. My big brother was best friends with THE Harry Potter.
But later on that summer, Harry came to the Burrow. I was so nervous, what could I, Ginny Weasley, say to a hero? My choice was to remain silent. But I lost Ron again, to his two friends.
During my first year at school, I was pretty miserable again. Ron almost completely ignored me, almost never speaking to me. He was always with his friends.
Which is especially hard if you think you are completely in love with one of the best friends.
I found solace in Tom Riddle. He was wonderful; he listened to me, talked back, cared about my problems. He was the friend I had been wishing for. At least, I thought. Ever since then, I am still hoping for a best friend.
Tom comforted me and I grew to depend on him. I barely even noticed when I felt compelled to do something, because I would have instantly done anything Tom had asked me to do. I relied on him that much.
But Tom turned out to be Lord Voldemort, and I almost killed myself when I found that out. Why didn't I see I was being controlled? Well, the answer came almost instantly. I was that desperate for a friend.
I was that desperate.
And my normal everyday life at school wasn't much better than my social standing.
My crush on Harry was almost completely obvious to everyone, except to him, of course. And it was embarrassing having the entire world know about your private and innermost thoughts.
In my mind, Harry was perfect. He was a gift from God, the one perfect being on Earth. If you had told me he was sent from heaven as the next savior, I would have lapped it up and swallowed every word. Because I almost believed it already.
And that's why I so vividly remember the night my picture of him was shattered.
I had retained my crush up until fifth year, though it had dwindled some. I didn't go bright red if he entered a room and knock over something breakable and/or expensive. I could talk somewhat normally to him, and I was pretty proud of myself for it.
But the problem was: he didn't seem to care one whit about me! I cared more about him than my own sanity, yet he never looked at me twice. It was depressing and I had many violent thoughts quite a few times when thinking about Harry and how oblivious he was to how I felt.
But one night, right after Gryffindor won a Quidditch game in my fifth year, I was in the common room with everyone else and talking to Hermione. We had both attended the match, but neither of us could understand why the verbal replays were so important or why this match was so important. It wasn't like we had won the Quidditch Cup yet.
After a while, maybe an hour later, Hermione led me over to Harry and Ron and told me to sit with them. I was thrilled, maybe I was making some leeway on becoming friends and getting the friendship I craved. Hermione sat me next to Harry. She knew all about my crush and I think she was trying to help me.
But that night turned out to be awful.
It started out all right. I was having fun talking with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and I had my big brother back for a while that night, but that night was shattered.
I wasn't hungry or thirsty, so I hadn't touched any of the drinks or any of the food that had been brought in for the party. But obviously some people had.
Harry began touching me in ways I didn't want to be touched, and when I pointed it out to him, it continued. I finally got fed up and began yelling at him. He just looked at me, his green eyes more blank than I had ever seen them.
Hermione, who had witnessed it all, grabbed my wrist and dragged me over to the other side of the common room.
I had tears on my cheeks and more in my eyes.
"Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry," Hermione began. "Are you all right? You're sure? Forgive him, he's drunk and has no idea what he's doing."
"How can he be drunk?" I asked angrily, bitterly. "It's Butterbeer!"
"Spiked," Hermione said quietly. "I don't think he knew. And I don't fancy him the headache he'll have when he wakes tomorrow, but that's his problem right now. You're sure you're all right?" she asked again, her cinnamon eyes looking into mine.
I didn't reply. I wasn't sure.
"Let's get you upstairs," Hermione said. "I'm sure you're not interested in staying down here anymore, and I know I'm not. Come on."
I was grateful. That night, I felt I had a friend. And I wished it would go on forever.
But my wishes seem to be futile. I've prayed on as many stars as there are in the night sky for a friend, a True Friend, but I've never found one.
Never.
I was sitting in the common room. It was completely empty, save myself and Hermione's cat, Crookshanks. He was curled up on my lap and I was stroking him slowly. I was remembering that horrible night, the night my beautiful picture of Harry was shattered, the night he became just another boy in my mind.
And as I sat, I got one of my strange impulses. They always come on instantly, and they are overpowering. Obeying them, I will get up at about five and eat breakfast, for seemingly no reason. But then Charlie will come downstairs and I'll share a wonderful morning with him, just bonding. Nothing important has ever come of any of my impulses, but I always obey.
This impulse was telling me to go outside. I had no idea why; it was the dead of the night in December and probably below zero outside, but no matter, apparently.
But I went back upstairs and changed out of my pajamas into a pair of thick corduroy pants and a wool sweater. I shrugged into the new cloak I had gotten from mum as an early Christmas gift and crept back to the common room, catlike.
The fire had almost gone out when I was downstairs, so it was just embers now. But I have always had salamander eyes; I can see anything in the dark. I don't know what it is, or why I can see so well, but my eyes practically glow in the dark. People say they can always find me in a dark room because they follow two twin brown spots, the color of topaz, glowing at them.
The cloak mum had knitted for me was a deep royal blue, so it was almost invisible in the dark of the Hogwarts corridors after hours. I pulled the hood above my head to cover my bright crop of curls and stayed within the shadows.
I didn't see anyone, not even Filch, on my way down. Only when I reached the Entrance Hall did I hesitate.
But I determinedly pushed the doors open, hoping against hope they didn't squeak.
They were blissfully quiet. I stepped into the shocking cold and silently closed the door behind me. I was finally truly alone.
Inside the castle I was constantly reminded of all the people around me, most of who always had someone there for them. A true friend. And it always reminded me I did not.
I began to walk, just enjoying the absolute solitude and silence. The only sound was my breathing and the snow crunching beneath my feet. I could see perfectly well, even though it was the new moon and few stars were visible. I had salamander eyes.
I stopped right in front of the castle, a ways off from the doors. The view was breathtaking. The few stars that were there were a background to Hogwarts and all the turrets stood high above, the top a needle in the blackness above.
There was a crunch of snow behind me, and I whirled, wand whipped out from my pocket and my heartbeat ten times faster.
But there was nothing there.
Yet….
There was a slight movement, and then…I saw nothing, even with my salamander eyes.
But…there it was again, all black, moving against the trees. Whoever, or whatever, it was, it was used to concealing himself in a shroud of darkness. He was almost invisible, even to my salamander eyes and to me.
"Who's there?" I whispered, hoping it was nothing, or at least nothing dangerous, at the worst a centaur or something. I realized I was standing closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest than I felt comfortable at midnight.
The movement appeared again, slightly to my left. He had moved.
"Who are you?" I asked, quieter this time. I was sure he could hear me. The silence was so absolute out here that if I had shouted the world would shatter.
The movement appeared again, and a person appeared. But all I saw was a silhouette.
"Why does it matter?" the silhouette asked.
I didn't have an answer, so I just stood there, probably looking like an idiot.
When I didn't say anything, the silhouette asked me, "How did you see me? I thought I was invisible. One of the shadows themselves."
"I…I have salamander eyes," I replied. "I can see remarkably well in the dark. I saw your outline. Not your face. And right now all I see is your silhouette."
There was a pause. The silhouette took one step forward and shifted. He was right; he is one of the shadows. He belonged with them, looked so natural with them. A human shadow, born of darkness.
All I could see were the silhouette's eyes.
His eyes were like the sea after a storm, vast, empty and anything but calm. My grandmother's hair was gray; the silhouette's eyes were grey.
"It's beautiful out here, isn't it?" the silhouette asked, and the eyes shifted past me to the view beyond.
"It is," I agreed. "And much better than being inside the castle with everyone."
The silhouette looked at me, and his eyes were thrown back into darkness.
"You don't like being in the castle with everyone?"
"Not really," I replied. "I never really have anyone to talk to, and I feel so trapped, with all that stone holding me in. Sometimes…sometimes it seems like the walls are closing in, and I never have anywhere to go."
The silhouette didn't reply, only looked past me, so I could see his eyes again.
This time I really studied them. Emotions danced across both eyes, each as strong as the next. I could read his eyes as easily as I could read a book.
There was pain, anger, hatred, frustration and rage, but, oddly enough, I saw content, a small amount of happiness and…love.
"How well can you see?" the silhouette asked, startling me.
"What do you mean?"
"Can you see my face, or just my eyes as I intended? Do you see black where the rest of my features are, or just a shadow?"
"I can see your eyes, but that's all," I said. "Anytime you move, your face is completely invisible to me again."
The silhouette looked at me once again.
"I cannot see you," he said. "I'm not sure I want to. "It would ruin the magic. If I knew who you were, I would see you in classes or around the school every day and it would ruin everything, because I would judge you by what I hear. So I shall call you Ciara Aine, which means black and mysterious. For you are mysterious to me, for I don't know your name. What shall you call me?"
"I'm not sure I understand," I replied. "Why don't you want to know who I am? It would be much easier. Why can't I know who you are? I would never judge a person by what I hear. I would judge them by who they are."
"But you face is in shadow to me, like mine is to you. But mine is on purpose, I wear this mask of darkness often. To me, your face is also a silhouette. So I cannot know who you are. If I did, I would instantly get a picture in my mind of what I had heard about you, and what I already thought of you. So please, Ciara Aine, call me by another name, and never ask me for mine. Please."
The conviction in his voice was startling. And the idea behind his ways of thinking. But it made sense. And I would never make the mistake of hating the silhouette because of a reputation. People are different alone than they are in public. I learned that the hard way.
He was right. If I knew who he was, it would ruin the magic. It would ruin the mystery, and the suspense in not knowing who a person is.
"I shall call you…Silhouette, because that is all I see of you."
"Silhouette," he repeated, then repeated once again. "All right, I am Silhouette and you are Ciara Aine. It's wonderful to meet you."
"And you," I said, feeling it would be proper to curtsy, yet dismissing the idea.
"I have a feeling we'll meet again," Silhouette said, and his face lit up enough for me to see him smile. "I look forward to it."
"Me too," I said, grinning. "Shall we meet right here again, tomorrow night?"
"Midnight?" he asked. I nodded. "I'll be waiting for you," Silhouette said, then became one of the shadows again and melted away.
I trudged back through the snow once again, stepping in the footprints I had made earlier. When I reached the doors I turned around once again, and looked back at the place I had met Silhouette.
It was a small ridge, leading off into a steep hill. Somewhat close to the Forbidden Forest and pretty secluded. If we moved about ten feet over, we would be invisible to anyone looking at the ridge.
All in all, it was a perfect place to meet someone.
I pulled open the door and stepped inside. The warm air greeted me instantly and started thawing my now numb fingers. I began to feel my toes again as I trudged back to Gryffindor Tower.
It was once said that life is made up of about five days that can change the outcome of your life completely. They are few and far between, but when they come, you know it.
In my case, it was a night that changed my life completely. I obeyed my crazy impulse, and my dream came true.
I had a True Friend. And he came in the form of a shadow named Silhouette.
(A/N: The name Ciara Aine is roughly pronounced: kee-are-ah an-ya.)