When I was younger, I used to pretend to be a detective. Not a pink princess or beautiful fairy, like my sister, just me, with my grandfathers too big tartan cap, a magnifying glass and a notebook. Nowadays I'm classed as 'too nosey for your own good,' but I rather prefer the word 'inquisitive.' Especially here, where all sorts of mysteries and magic dwells.

Victoria turns up her nose in distaste as she catches a glimpse of the very same withered and wrinkled dog eared leather jotter, rolling her eyes slightly. "You could start a library, the way you carry on with your books, Bliss."

"And you could start a hate campaign, the way you carry on backstabbing Lilian," I say smoothly, raising an eyebrow. She turns a startling shade of pink and purses her lips, knotting her tie viciously with a sour expression.

You see, I have something called standards, which most of the students in Slytherin house don't appear to have. Lilian Roberts is nice enough, though she has a wicked temper and a spiteful tongue if you happen to get on the wrong side of her. Luckily, I haven't. The last girl I share my dormitory with is Belladonna Blackthorn, who tends to keep herself to herself, like me. She can wrap anyone around her little finger with a sharp look in her bright green eyes or a curl in her lips. As long as we're not in each other's company for too long, the four of us can actually be pleasant, most of the time. Actually, we're probably the only pleasant people under Slughorn's wing. Now that, that is concerning.

I yawn hugely, stumbling down the steps, muttering apologies to the few people awake enough to notice my barging elbow with a reproachful look. The morning back is always worst, trust me. At a first glance around the slowly filling hall, you'll always see Hufflepuff's dozing into their porridge, snoring softly; Fifth Year Gryffindor's scribbling onto slightly tea stained parchment feverishly; Ravenclaw's, downing mugs of coffee, bleary eyed and yawning.

At least they don't have a fiery temper. Honestly, all you have to do is accidently knock a drink over on our green bannered table and all hell breaks loose. I hate to say it, but we get closer to becoming wild animal's every day.

I cradle a stack of toast, dropping several onto my plate before passing it along the table. A dark haired boy snatches the holder before it can reach the bloody kneed first year; he eyes me uncertainly before shrugging, flopping down beside me. I roll my eyes. Of course, only Tom would be spiteful enough to steal from a rosy cheeked child, looking fit to blub.

"Up early? Dear me, Bliss. You should take a trip to see the nurse," Tom says, offering me a grin. I narrow my eyes and it falters, sliding off his face. "What's wrong?"

I carefully cut several pieces of toast into neat triangles, slathering them with jam before sticking a slice on my tongue, chomping down furiously. Tom cocks his head to the side slightly. "Bliss?"

"You know bloody well what's wrong, Tom Riddle."

He holds up his hands in mock defence, looking a tad hurt as he nudges me. "C'mon, Bliss. What've I done?"

"You'll say I'm telling stories again." I shake my head, tracing the polish marks on the table.

"I won't. I promise!"

I snort loudly and he scowls, spinning me around by my shoulders to face him, eyes blazing in embers. "My promises may not mean a lot, but I mean them and stick to by them."

I let out a puff of air, loosening his grip with a shift of my shoulders. "I saw your eyes go red," I hiss in an undertone, "and that always, always leads to something bad."

He looks taken back for a moment, slightly flushed as his eyes widen. He clears his throat, running two hands through his hair. "I don't deny that you did. It does happen rather a lot, under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

He twitches slightly, looking uncomfortable as he throws a look over his shoulder, probably to catch out any eavesdroppers. He lowers down his voice a notch and says, "I've come across a little mystery."

I let out an angry noise. "Well, thanks for telling me."

"Hey, hey!" He holds up his hands again, mouth agape. "I didn't even know if it was bloody true or not until yesterday! And anyway, I'm telling you now." He pauses for a gulp of Pumpkin Juice. "I do believe there's a secret passage that hasn't discovered. That no one even knows about. Not yet, anyway."

I roll my eyes. "Tom, there are probably hundreds we haven't come across, considering we only know of one."

He scowls, eyeing me acidly. "Fine, don't help me. I'll find it by myself."

"I didn't say I wouldn't help."

His lips curl. "But you haven't said you will, either."

"What's in it for me if I do help?"

His brow furrows. "I'll give you 2 galleons…and your book back." He rummages around in his frayed satchel to recover the volume I'd dropped the previous night, wavering it around tauntingly in front of my face.

"That's not fair! It's mine anyway. That's-that's thievery."

"Well, then. You'll have to agree to get it back," He grins broadly, leaning back cockily.

I scowl dangerously, hoping that he can't see the flicker of curiosity burning in my iris. I'd go along with the plan anyway. The best part of Hogwarts is the exploring: crawling on your hands and knees through abandoned tunnels; reading dust strewn books that require the rune language to read. And I haven't been on an adventure in such a long time…

He yawns mockingly. "Well?"

"Yes. Of course I'll help, Tom. When do we start?"