He had never noticed him before, his hair all a mess and sticking up at the back, his rounded glasses gleaming with candle light as he sat staring into nothing, his shortness, or his unkept state.

Tom had just never noticed him; sure they were the same age, but that meant little to nothing. It did, however, mean that Tom would have at least seen him in class.

He turned back into what Parkinson was saying, hoping that maybe the idiots babbling would allow for his mind to purge itself of the dark haired boy. No one in his classes seemed to know whom he spoke of, they all shook their heads or looked at the boy as if stunned to see him there, in flesh and blood.

He is a Prefect, and he likes to be established enough within his own house to the point of knowing every upper year, year mate, and sniveling lower year's names and linage. Yet here was this boy that he had no inkling to; maybe he was a younger year, he was small enough to pass by with out notice for so long.

It wasn't until the boy had been sat at the same loveseat surrounded by, what seemed to be, a blanket of people that Tom truly took notice of him for more then a split second.

The Blacks, and an assortment of others gathered in that corner, yet still the boy seemed to be left alone and away from them all. One would have to venture past them to get to the boy, so tucked into the corner he was.

So Tom thought on the boy who would appear and disappear instantaneously with just a turn of Tom's head. So suspicious and intriguing was he that Tom started to slowly keep track of him in the far resources of his mind, tallying his appearances in and around the common room and school halls.

The boy seemed to not exist, only a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye would afford Tom the knowledge of his presence. Still, after a time had passed, Tom began to wonder if it was merely his imagination or the first glimmer of obsessive impulses that had slowly started to build.

No, Tom pushed the boy from his mind, O.W.L.s taking paramount, never mind that classes had started up just a month ago. He poured himself into his classes, studies, books, and quietly, his very own lineage.

There were more pressing matters in his mind then some insignificant child that he had yet to prove his better.

No, it wasn't until he, and those he began to silently call his Knights, were in the library that it came forward once more.

The boy breezed through the doors, the untidy mess walking through the stacks. Brilliant green eyes lock with his own before those eyes turned away, as if Tom was of little importance.

And that, that was the start of anger and hate, being seen or unseen once more pushing at his chest, clawing at his heart and very soul, all because of this boy.

Yet he still made his way over, hand pushing hair from his face, only holding for a few seconds before falling in his face once more.

Hands slide into his pockets, a huff of breath and he strolled right up to Tom's table, long ago silent with his attention averted so.

That was when he was first close to the boy, first saw the scar on his forehead and his rumpled shirt, and heard his voice, low yet intense.

He seemed calm enough, but there was a tightness to his eyes that had Tom paying more attention; his shoulders stiff, his arms tense, his posture still horrid, his lips loose and corners pulled tight at the same time.

'Rosier,' His voice quiet in the already quiet library 'Druella is looking for you.'

Tom had a second to feel betrayed, here he was wondering after this boy when Rosier already known him. Had he not been clear with his curiosity? No, Rosier was quiet and watchful but not one to put forth information if not asked.

'What for?' Rosier only sat back in his seat to look at his essay, not so much as a shift of his eyes in acknowledgment, but that didn't seem to bother the boy who seemed to slowly lax his shoulders and shift on his feet.

'Dunno, wouldn't say, seemed important though.' The boy looked to be studying Rosier's face, Tom was right next to the boy, but it would seem as if no one else at the table even existed to him though all eyes were on him. ' Should I tell her you were too busy for her then?'

That had Rosier's head shooting up.

'NO!' and he was gathering his things into his bag in a hurry, the boy already gone from the stacks, the sound of the doors opening following as Rosier muttered and cursed under his breath and chased after him.

There was nothing to it now, Tom had to know, he had been so close to the boy yet still knew nothing. So he turned to Nott who sat beside him.

'Who was that, is he one of the younger years that I missed meeting at the end of the first feast?'

Nott's perpetually down turned lips pulled thin as he turned to look at Tom. Brow lifting as the others turned their eyes up at him.

'That is Sirius Black, he's a sixth year. Had I known that you had never meet I would have introduced you during the summer while we were with Rosier and his own for their gatherings. Of course, what with Druella, the Blacks were invited.'

'Introduce us as soon as possible, I want to meet this boy. You said he's a year above us? He doesn't seem to be older then us, younger if anything. Introduce us as soon as possible.'

'But of course.'