I had met Amelia on the Hogwarts Express on the way home for Christmas in our first year. As soon as she sat opposite me, with her eccentric dress sense and wild dark brown curls I knew I wanted to be her friend.

See, I am really, really unnoticeable.

Like, really.

So unnoticeable it gets to the point where I can actually start talking to people and they genuinely have no idea I am right next to them.

I have pondered over this for years and have decided it must be because I am ordinary. My hair is short, mousy tree kind of coloured. I'm kind of short. My personality is nothing to shout about: I try to be loyal to anything I have (back then, not much, except for my sister), I'm insecure, slow at catching onto things and get confused easily. I'm not very confident, especially when it comes to talking to other students.

And just to make me a mockery, the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor.

I have also debated over why this was for four years, and I have yet to come to a conclusion.

I'm not brave. When I hear all these heroic stories of past Gryffindors, in contrast to my classmates, they make me scared; scared of the pressure. I know no one expects me to save anyone's life or defeat evil, but seriously, even the Doxys terrified me in Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

One thing I do pride myself on, though, is duelling.

But that doesn't seem to get me noticed, just disliked slightly.

"Hey, John, where were you last week?" was the way Davies Hunter greeted me as I slipped into the compartment. The floor began to shudder and Platform 9 and ¾ started to slide past the window, slate grey smoke floating by.

"Busy," was my reply as I flopped down onto the seats, releasing a small cloud of dust.

Well, that was a lie. I had been with Amelia, of course, in Diagon Alley, but I wasn't going to tell Davies that.

He smirked, as if he could tell through my expert lying (sarcasm), but didn't chase it up. I looked at him, and noticed that he was going against his resolution to keep his dark hair short.

"How come you're growing it?" I asked mildly, and he grinned.

"You know that Ravenclaw girl who asked for a quill last year at Christmas? The pretty one," he added, seeming worried that I wouldn't know who he was talking about. In fact, I didn't recall her at all, seen as though this encounter had been last year and I am never very good at remembering faces. But I knew Davies would press me until I lied anyway, so I nodded as enthusiastically as I could. "Well, I overheard her talking with her friends and she said she liked boys with longer hair," Davies continued seriously.

I sighed inwardly.

"Cool," I grinned back. Then I turned to look at Jacob Jones who was sat next to Davies. I often preferred him to Davies; he wasn't as loud and he was much more aware of his morals.

But then again, he was shy, possibly even shier than me around other people, and this has never been good for my confidence.

Or my reputation.

"How was your holiday, Jacob?" I'm not sure why, but I'm always more polite around Davies. Maybe because he hated being a child and couldn't wait to grow up faster.

Jacob smiled hesitantly with those thin lips of his, his eyes crinkling at the corners, almost like an old person's, but somehow extremely youthful. "It was okay, I guess. My mum got me a new owl," he said sheepishly, as if she had somehow denied Davies and I an owl at the same time.

I thought instantly of my new cat, but wondered whether I should mention her or not. Davies might think it was a bit… Sissy.

"Hey, did you see that Quasar? In Diagon Alley?" Davies said excitedly, his eyes gleaming with longing.

"It looks great," I replied earnestly, glad for a change of topic. "Expensive, though."

Davies waved a hand in dismissal. "Yeah, well, like we'd be able to afford any kind of broom like that. I'd just like a go on one."

Jacob nodded beside him, giving a little smile. Both Davies and I were on the Gryffindor Quiddich team, he was a Beater and I was a Chaser. I liked Quiddich; I was sort of good at it, although this didn't seem to get me noticed either. Shut up, get on with it.

Davies stretched his legs out, leaned back and popped a sweet in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. The landscape past the window had already changed to rolling dusty green hills dotted with thickets of undergrowth and a few tall trees. I leaned back too, gazing through the glass into the world beyond, settling in for the journey ahead.

We changed into our robes just after the sun had set over the Scottish border, and then sat back down in our compartment, not talking about anything in particular, discussing what kind of song the Sorting Hat would come up with this year. I opened my mouth to ask Jacob the name of his new owl when there was a sharp knock on the glass door.

We all turned our heads at the same time.

The door opened, allowing the noise of the corridor into the compartment. A boy was standing with one hand on the wood, one leg crossed over the other and a certain casual air about him.

"John Watson," the boy said brusquely, looking directly at me. It wasn't a question asking if that was my name, it was a statement.

I raised my eyebrows. "Mm?"

The boy was taller than me; with dark curly hair down to his ears and sharp, angular features. I didn't recognise him, and wondered why he was looking for me.

However, before I could ask, he disappeared down the corridor with a sweep of his robes.

"What was that about?" Jacob wondered blankly.

Davies was looking at me curiously. "Who was he?"

"I don't know," I replied, bewildered. A sudden curiosity sparked and I stood, not entirely sure what I was doing, and followed the boy into the corridor. I could hear Jacob and Davies calling after me, but I ignored them for now.

The darkness from outside threw his figure into sharp contrast with the lights within the carriage as he strode away from me, the train bumping along the tracks. Everyone else seemed to be somewhere else, getting ready, perhaps, to arrive at the station.

"Wait up," I called, hurrying after the boy, touching the windows as I went so I didn't lose my balance. "Wait."

He didn't stop, though, so I increased my pace and soon caught up with him, but even then he didn't stop.

"Hey, what did you-"

"What is the name of the Potions master here at Hogwarts?" the boy suddenly asked, turning his head so I could see his profile. I immediately noticed his bright hazel eyes glinted silver in the dim lighting. I didn't recognise him; was he a fifth year?

The question threw me off. "Er," I replied blankly, trying to kick my brain into gear again. "Er, Professor Vonich," I said eventually, still hurrying behind him down the long carriage. What? How can he not remember that? "Why? Didn't you get taught-"

"And where is the Potions supply room?" his voice wasn't aggressive, but he had the air of annoyance, as if he didn't like asking questions.

The train suddenly ground to a halt, and I almost lost my balance, gripping onto the side panelling. I looked out the window and sure enough, we had pulled into the station, dark, except for the glowing lights hovering around the undergrowth. Smoke drifting pas the window again. Students hurrying around on the platform, with scarves spilling from bags and all kinds of owls and animals screeching from cages.

I need to find Amelia, she has Orion…

"Oh, sorry, yes, dungeons, didn't you study it last year?" I frowned. Was this some kind of joke?

He looked at me with such a scathing, irritated look that I immediately gritted my teeth. "What? Why are you asking, you should-"

"I was not in Hogwarts last year," came the reply, and the boy started walking again, no, sweeping, down the train and disappeared onto the platform.

Oh well that clears things up, thanks.

I sighed. Collins probably put him up to that, whoever he is, just to annoy me. Ignore it.

Emerging from the train, I shivered, my breath crystallising in the frosty air. As soon as my feet touched the platform, I saw Amelia hurrying towards me, with Orion's cage in her arms.

"Thanks," I said gratefully as I took the cage from her.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile. She had asked if she could take care of my new cat on the journey. "She is very well behaved," Amelia added.

I nodded. "See you later," I called, as the body of students swept me sideways as they all spilled off the train.

I saw the boy again as Jacob, Davies and I got into a horseless carriage to take us up to the castle. There was a light mist in the air, but I could still make out his tall figure down the line of carriages. He looked like he was putting his hand out to stroke something.

There aren't any horses pulling them, though.

I shrugged to myself and closed the little door behind me as I sat, lifting Orion's cage onto my lap. Neither Davies nor Jacob noticed.

I found myself watching the boy from the train carefully as we filed into the Great Hall for the start of the year feast. There had been something about him that told me that it hadn't been a prank by anyone. He didn't seem to be the person to be asked favours of.

I forgot all about him, though, as we sat down at the Gryffindor table. It felt so nice to be back here, even though it meant work, detentions and more social awkwardness: even the sight of the awful Potions master, Professor Vonich, couldn't spoil it. The wood under my fingers just felt comforting. The din of students gabbling away to each other about their summers pleasantly filled my ears.

As the Sorting began, Davies started whispering his plans to wreck our Potions lessons to me.

I felt my jaw drop as a name was called and the boy from the train emerged and stiffly walked to the front, looking extremely out of place in amongst the first years. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and I could see students at the other house tables craning their heads with curiosity. Not a first year, getting Sorted?

"Slytherin!" the Hat cried, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the boy stood, looking unsurprised, and went to join the Slytherin table. This meant I wouldn't have to talk to him again, seen as though Gryffindors would never particularly make friends with Slytherins. Thank goodness.

But where had he come from? What year was in? Why had he asked me those questions on the train?

Damn my curiosity.