As he crept along the street, to Felix's rented flat, Draco felt slightly nervous. A vampire was a hard enemy, fast, strong, cunning and vicious, they needed no weapons but their nails, hard as steel, and just as sharp, they could cut through flesh, bone and even soft brick with their bare hands.
The flat came into sight, it was a third story flat in a small complex about halfway down the street, its balcony was only an easy jump away from the roof of the neighbouring green grocers.
Easy access. Draco thought. Well, may as well use it against him.
The green grocers was easy to climb, the mortar worn away and the bricks crooked from time, supplying plenty of handholds, it took Draco no longer than five minutes to scale the side of the building. Then he crept along the roof, careful not to dislodge any tiles, and paused and the end. Judging the distance between the roof and the balcony, about two feet above him and three feet away, he concluded it would give a human little trouble, and would be no more than a hop for a full vampire.
Bracing himself, he leapt, grabbing hold of the balcony's iron railings, he swung, once, twice, three times, then tried pulling himself up. As he did, one of the iron bars gave way with a sharp jerk, then slipped from his sweaty grasp and fell to the cobbles below with an almighty clang. Knowing that now time was of the essence, Draco grabbed another bar, hauled himself up, landed on the balcony with cat-like grace, burst through the balcony doors, rolled along the floor and came up in a fighting crouch, his sword appearing to fly into his hands.
Instantly he knew something was wrong, there was a layer of dust on the floor, walls, and furniture and the air smelled of rotted flesh, of death and misery. Cautiously, he scanned the room and noticed a lump under the sheets, on the bed. As he crept silently over to it, he realised it did not breath, although with a vampire this was not necessarily a good thing.
Carefully, in anticipation of the coming conflict, he raised the sword, one-handed, over the lump in the bed, pointing it down so that he could stab the second the body was revealed. His fingers shaking with nerves, he reached out and flung back the covers, the sword snapping down a split second after.
As the dust settled the form on the bed resolved itself into the half-rotted corpse of a man with white hair and a stooped back. Not Felix, but a servant or butler, checking the neck, Draco found two more puncture marks, evidence of a vampire's handy work.
Damn. He thought. He must have other lodgings somewhere.
The smell made him want to gag; slowly he pulled his sword out of the corpse, wiped the blade and re-sheathed it. Then he walked back across the room and leapt onto the green grocers roof. Crept along the length and used the broken stonework to descend to the street, where he slunk away into the night, one thought clear in his mind.
Where are you?