Amortentia

Chapter 1

John Watson walked into platform 9 and 3/4, as he had for six years now. Every time though, he had to hold his breath with the nerves that someone might see him, the wall isn't the right one, or it would end up being solid, knocking him out of this dream that had lasted so long. He was a wizard; he had finally accepted that, to be who he truly was and not some muggle football player. He was now entering his seventh and final year at the school he considered his home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an enormous castle that would look like some run down, rodent infested druggy hang out to muggles. After he made it through the seemingly solid wall, pushing his trolley full of all of the school stuff he would need for the year, his parents and sister, all muggles and pure muggle, came through after him, still having a look of pure shock on their faces as always. The station was filled with parents, students, trunks, and pets in cages, all waiting to board the scarlet steam engine that would take them to the school. The noise was loud, yet pleasing, owls hooting, people talking and laughing, loud speakers blaring although they could not be seen or heard, probably a spell. After a goodbye to his parents and his still furiously jealous sister, he loaded his things onto the train, looking for a car with his friends in it. John was a proud Gryffindor, and most of his friends were too. Being a Gryffindor came with consequences, and most of those consequences wore green and silver ties. Slytherins all bullied the house; there was a born rivalry between the two for centuries. John did his best to avoid anyone in Slytherin, but being the captain of the quidditch team, trouble seemed to hunt him down. But the halls were now almost empty, the train was about to leave the station and everyone had already found a seat. John anxiously looked for a place to sit, his friends had promised to get their own seat, and finally he found they had not disappointed. When he slid the glass door open, Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Sara Sawyer were all sitting in the compartment, trunks packed on top. Each one of them was Gryffindors, that's how they all met. Everyone was going into seventh year, and all played quidditch. John, the team seeker, was the new captain; he had found that out via Hogwarts letter this year. No one in his family understood a thing about the Wizarding World no matter how many times John had tried to explain, so when he was screaming and jumping about being captain, they just stared at him. Greg was a beater; he had the difficult job of knocking bludgers, Sara was a chaser, and Mike was a keeper. The team had done very well for the past couple of years, even though they have never given McGonagall the pride of the quidditch cup. This year had to be the year; John had to win it because this was his last chance. John sat down next to Greg, putting his trunk and owl cage down. His owl, Jam, was named as a joke by Mike after John's favorite food, but it stuck. The brown owl nipped at the lock, hoping to escape and fly around in the compartment. John unlocked the cage with a tap of his wand and the lock clicked. He pulled the door open and Jam flew out, happy to stretch his wings. John, even though muggle born was an excellent wizard, having almost perfected nonverbal spells. His only weakness was potions; he had never been good at anything that relied on something so small, like a lionfish scale. Too much could make it explode and too little would make the potion not work correctly.

"Good to see you John." Greg said, smiling at seeing his old friend after a long summer of only sending owls to each other. Greg had his own owl; he named it detective because that was his dream job, to be a muggle detective.

"And you, I hope all of you have been practicing."

"Always." Mike said. Sara nodded in agreement.

"We've got a new captain to impress." Greg joked.

"Just because you're my friends doesn't mean I won't kick you off of the team." John warned with a smile.

"I'm nervous." Sara laughed sarcastically.

"So are you guys looking forward to seventh year?" Mike asked, always the one for constructive conversations.

"Of course! I heard that the classes are really hard though, leading up to the NEWTS." John complained.

"I'm going to fail." Greg complained.

"We haven't even started yet!" Sara pointed out.

"At least you guys don't have to fail Snape's class for the seventh year in a row." John said.

"Are you forgetting I'm rubbish at potions too?" Greg asked.

"That's because we're partners."

"Good point."

"I'm not doing Divination again, that teacher scares me to death, staring at you and predicting your future." Sara shivered.

"I heard she was right once or twice!" John pointed out.

"Exactly, once or twice is the key word there, I don't know why Dumbledore keeps her around."

"Because who else is going to take that job?" Mike asked.

"When we get out you can Mike, you'd look amazing with glasses that make your eyes five times bigger!" Greg laughed. The rest of the train ride was just pointless conversations, the trolley came around and they searched their pockets for any spare money, buying as much sweets as they could. When the train finally stopped, the sun had set and darkness settled in. They unloaded their things and got out of the train, looking around for a carriage. The booming voice of Hagrid, the grounds keeper, called out for any first years to continue the tradition of crossing the lake to the castle. John smiled, remembering his boat ride. There was a tentacle in the water, making him almost pass out.

"Oh John, look who it is." Greg muttered, looking over at a group of girls. Mary Morstan stood among them, John's crush since first year. They had never gotten on speaking terms, but she was enchanting to him. She stood with her large group of friends, John knew none of them. They got into the horseless carriages, pulling themselves by magic apparently, and watched the outline of the dark towers come closer. The lake shone black under the stars, the whomping willow tree flailed around where it always was, maybe catching a bird or something in its death branches. When they got to an iron gate, Filch, an evil custodian, checked them off of a list of parchment, scowling as he did so.