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Wormtail cowered before Voldemort, holding his hands protectively in front of his chest. He was very much aware of his Master’s angry temper, and he very much wanted to keep his hands attached to his arms.

“There is still no word,” Wormtail said.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed angrily. He was getting tired of hearing that answer every day. They’d been searching for over six months and it was beginning to get ridiculous. At late-November, he was beginning to give up hope of ever finding the girl. Surely someone had to know where his daughter had been taken. But no one in the Ministry of Magic knew the girls whereabouts except for Cornelius Fudge, and he was heavily protected at every moment of the day.

Voldemort had a fair idea that it was only Dumbledore and Fudge who knew the identity of the girl. He questioned whether the girl herself even knew the truth about her lineage.

“And Nagini has not come back?”

“No my lord.”

Voldemort scowled and felt the urge to break something in a very violent manner. He held back his temper, unwilling to show how much this bothered him. He truly wanted his heir at his side again, for more reasons than just pride. He had cared for the child and become incredibly attached to her in the year that she’d been in his care.

“My lord!”

Voldemort turned to see a small chubby man racing towards him with excitement on his face.

He was a slight man with greying hair and a goatee covering his chin. He’d been in Azkaban for ten years for his actions as a Death-Eater. He was one of Voldemort’s favoured because he hadn’t denied his association with Voldemort and he had not sold out any of his fellow Death-Eaters as so many of Voldemort’s unfaithful followers had done.

“What is it Travers?”

“Word from the Council.”

Voldemort looked at the man with a look of disinterest on his face. Travers was a man that worked for a muggle Council who looked after the supernatural muggle saviour, the Slayer. Voldemort had larger concerns than ‘one girl in all the world’ who hunted vampires. And honestly, Voldemort didn’t want anything to do with vampires. They were unpredictable and very rarely loyal. Of course, there were several vampires who had had their uses…

“This had better be interesting.”

Travers nodded, knowing that he would likely be killed if it wasn’t news that Voldemort wanted to hear. But he was very confident that Voldemort would be pleased with this news.

“My lord, there has been talk within the Council that there was a girl who was never to be Called who was trained and treated as a Slayer,” Travers said.

“And this interests me why, Travers?”

“The girl was given a Watcher who was from the Ministry of Magic, not from the Council,” Travers replied.

Voldemort’s eyes lit up. That certainly was interesting.

“Did you find out this girl’s name?”

“My lord, it is a heavily guarded secret,” Travers said, hoping that Voldemort wouldn’t get horribly angered by that particular piece of news. “Only the Head of Council and her Protector know who she is.”

“And you suspect that this girl may be my daughter?” Voldemort asked.

“Yes my lord. You see, she was sent to Hogwarts.”

Voldemort nearly swallowed his tongue. All this time she’d been at Hogwarts. All this time, and Lucius Malfoy had been right about her whereabouts. But why would the Ministry send her to learn magic? Perhaps the Ministry truly was made up of fools. Voldemort wondered whether Dumbledore was losing his touch as well.

“Bring me Malfoy,” Voldemort ordered, turning to look at Wormtail. The nervous man, otherwise known as Peter Pettigrew, turned and ran out of the room, intent on not taking too long in his task.

Lucius Malfoy entered the room, his eyes gleaming at the possibility of being elevated to a higher level within the Order of the Death-Eaters. He wished desperately to be considered one of Voldemort’s ‘inner’ circle, and would do practically anything to become so.

“Malfoy,” Voldemort greeted as the silver haired man entered the room.

Malfoy bowed low. “My lord.”

“You’ve a son at Hogwarts, yes?”

Malfoy nodded. “My son, Draco Malfoy. A fifth year in Slytherin.”

“Can he be trusted?” Voldemort asked.

Malfoy nodded. “My lord, he has been educated in the ways of the Death-Eaters since his birth. He can be trusted.”

“Send word to him. I have a mission for your son.”

Malfoy managed to contain the triumphant smile. “Of course my lord.”

Draco Malfoy sat in the library, hunched over a book. He hated doing homework. It was so…boring. But, his father had threatened him. He wanted Draco’s grades to be as perfect as possible, and Draco would do pretty much anything to please his father. It was a hard task of course, pleasing the cold-hearted man. Draco couldn’t recall a single time that Lucius Malfoy had ever said a single kind word to him.

Draco sighed and dipped his quill into the inkpot again, struck with another sentence to write for his essay.

It was quiet in the library, most people in their Common Rooms or in the Great Hall with their friends. But, Draco had left his essay to the last minute, and was hurrying to finish it before he retired for the evening.

Draco looked up, startled to see another person working at the table in front of him. He hadn’t noticed anyone enter. He hadn’t heard them come in. He watched and groaned as he finally saw the studier’s profile. Buffy Summers. Well, it was better than Granger, he decided.

He watched for a moment as Buffy stood up to retrieve a book from the shelves, and Draco suddenly realised why he hadn’t heard her come in. She moved silently, the air of a predator about her. In truth, Buffy Summers intimidated him a little, though he would never admit that to anyone, even under pain of death. He swallowed hard as he took in the outfit she was wearing.

Leather pants?

He shifted a little in his seat, trying to regulate his breathing. He should not have been having those sorts of thoughts about a muggle-born (as far as he knew) girl who was in Gryffindor and was one of Potter’s inner-circle. It was just plain wrong.

Buffy moved back to her seat, aware of Draco’s eyes on her. She grinned a little, loving the effect that she was having on him. She’d been wearing the pants all day on a dare from Hermione, who had wanted to see how many appreciative whistles Buffy would receive. The current total was ninety-two and still counting. Five of those, however, had been from Ron, and Buffy hadn’t wanted to count them. Hermione had insisted on counting them seeing as Ron was sporting five very sore bruises given to him by Hermione.

The longest and loudest had, of course, been from the Weasley twins who had hooted and howled for about five minutes straight. The only person’s soft sound of appreciation that had mattered to Buffy though, had been Harry’s, and even though he’d fought to keep it to himself, she’d heard it clearly.

She heard Draco whistle softly under his breath. Ninety-three.

Buffy stretched purposefully, arching her back up. She was being cruel and she knew it, but she’d learnt to use her sex appeal in her fighting with vampires, and it had become a sort of second nature to her.

Draco didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he picked up his books and moved to her table.

“Nice pants Summers,” he said, sitting down.

She looked up at him and smiled.

“Thanks.”

“You trying to kill all the guys in school or something?”

“Is it working?” she asked innocently.

Draco just smirked, resisting the urge to nod his head empathically.

“So…Transfiguration essay?” Buffy asked, pointing towards Draco’s scroll.

He nodded dejectedly. He really didn’t like Transfiguration. “You?”

“Sadly. I kinda forgot about it completely. Lucky Hermione remembered.”

“Like Granger could ever forget,” Draco commented.

He expected to be hit for the comment, but Buffy just grinned and looked down at her nearly completed essay.

“How much more do you hafta write?” she asked curiously.

“Another inch and a half. You?”

“Just another half inch. I’m all outta ideas,” she complained, pouting prettily.

“Yeah, same. Let’s see,” he said, reaching out for her parchment. He pushed his towards hers and skim-read what she’d written. Buffy looked over his, surprised by some of the ideas that Draco had written down.

“Wow. Colour me impressed. This is pretty good,” she complimented him.

“Thanks,” he replied, looking surprised by the flattering remark from someone who he’d been nothing but horrible to.

“So, where are your friends?” Buffy asked. “I won’t be convinced that they’ve done the essay.”

Draco actually laughed, the idea of Crabbe and Goyle having done anything resembling homework incredibly funny. Buffy grinned, surprised to see the usually sullen and frowning boy actually doubled up with laughter. It was quite a change.

“I think they wrote about three inches,” Draco replied. He paused for a moment. “Between the two of them.”

Buffy grinned and shook her head.

“Do they actually pass?”

“Barely,” Draco replied. “Thick as bricks, the both of them.”

“Why do you hang out with them?” Buffy asked.

Draco paused, having often wondered the same thing. They were like two faithful dogs, and Draco liked the attention. But, he truly wished for friends that were actually friends rather than minions. He would never admit this either, but he was jealous of the friendship between Potter, Weasley, Granger and Summers.

“Dunno,” he replied easily, trying not to let on to the fact that he would rather hang out with Crabbe and Goyle than be by himself.

“Well, you could do far better,” Buffy said. “And judging by this essay of yours, I’d say you were seriously craving some intellectual conversation.”

Draco eyed her warily, wondering what the punch line was. He was waiting for her to set him up for a fall, but it wasn’t happening just yet.

“You offering?” he asked.

“May as well,” Buffy replied. “Beats finishing this essay.”

“But…you’re a Gryffindor,” he protested feebly.

“Oh no,” Buffy replied with sarcastic fear. “Not a Gryffindor. Heaven forbid.”

Draco grinned and immediately bit it back, but Buffy had seen it. She made a note to herself to get him to smile more often.

“Fine. Smart arse.”

“Better than a dumb ass.”

“I hate your accent,” he said.

“That’s okay, I hate yours.”

“At least mine sounds better.”

“According to who?”

“Whom,” he corrected. “And its according to me.”

“Oh, and we must all bow down before the mighty Drake Malfoy.”

Draco paused and processed what she’d just called him. Drake. He rolled it around in his head for a moment and decided he liked it.

“Well, if you insist on bowing before me, who am I to stop you?” he teased.

Buffy laughed and rolled her eyes. “I thought this was meant to be an intellectual conversation.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be up for the intellect side. I mean, after reading this,” he said, indicating her essay, “I thought I’d better not make you work too hard.”

She hit him playfully and took the parchment off him, smoothing it out protectively.

“There’s nothing wrong with my essay thank you very much.”

“Hmmm…I wonder if we could transfigure your essay into something that actually resembles an intellectual argument.”

Buffy grinned and pushed Draco’s essay back in front of him. “I’d make it look like yours, but I’d be afraid of failing completely.”

“Harsh,” he replied. “Very harsh.”

“You played well today,” Buffy said, startling him. “Quite a catch.”

The comment came seemingly out of nowhere and took Draco by surprise. He blinked to try and keep up with the rapid change of topic. From essay to Quidditch without even a segue.

“Against Hufflepuff, it wasn’t too hard.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Buffy said, wondering about the boy’s self-esteem. His ego was the size of a watermelon, but his self-esteem was seriously shattered. “You flew better than their Seeker. You’re the one that won Slytherin the game.”

Draco paused, and thought about it for a moment. It was strange being praised by this girl that he barely knew. It was even stranger being praised for his Quidditch skills when the others on the team had put him down again and again. It wasn’t his fault that Harry Potter always managed to get the Snitch in their games.

“I guess.”

“No, don’t guess,” she said forcefully. “Know it. You’re a good player Draco.”

He fought back a wide grin and settled on a half-smile. Before she could notice him beginning to blush, he looked down at his parchment. He was struck with another idea and quickly wrote it down before it vanished from his mind. He managed to make it fill up the full inch and a half that he had left to write. Buffy pulled the parchment over and read through what he’d written. She nodded approvingly.

“I think you’re done,” she said.

Draco grinned and leant back in his chair, his back cracking a little as he stretched. Buffy grimaced, her nose wrinkling up a little.

“That is so gross.”

He purposefully cracked his fingers one at a time, the bones popping loudly and echoing in the otherwise silent library.

“Yuck!” she hit his hands to get him to stop, but he didn’t cease until he’d popped all of his fingers.

An idea struck Buffy just as Malfoy went to begin on his neck, and she rushed to write down her final half inch of the essay. With a triumphant cry, she put her quill down and leant back in her chair in the same manner as Draco had done only moments ago, except without the disturbing back-cracking sound.

“You going to the hall?” Draco asked.

“I’m kinda itching to go to bed actually,” she admitted.

Draco nodded, understanding the sentiment. He didn’t think he’d ever been so tired. Three hours in the library would do that to you though.

“Alright. Night Summers.”

“Night Draco.”

He looked at her a moment as though tossing up an idea in his mind.

“Drake,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Earlier, you called me Drake. You can call me that if you want.”

Buffy grinned and nodded. “Night Drake.”

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