And all you see is where else you could be,
when you're at home,
There on the street,
are so many possibilities to not be alone
-Death Cab for Cutie
Quentin Travers had never been patient. He was an important man and anything that kept him waiting was, frankly, a waste of precious time. This was no secret for he made it abundantly clear when he was annoyed or frustrated with the people around him. Most went out of their way to ensure that his needs were attended to promptly because, although not a patient man, he was certainly an intimidating man. Yes, Quentin Travers was used to getting his way, which was exactly why his present situation was leaving him increasingly angry.
"If you would kindly remind Voldemort that I have been—
The man beside him quirked a brow and glared down at the aging man beside him, clearly unmoved by his building frustration. Quentin's eyes drifted to the dark tattoo on his arm. "You're welcome to leave at any time."
"Maybe I will."
The man's eyes were hard and confident. "No, you won't."
Annoyed at his assurance of this fact, Quentin went rigid. "What makes you so sure?"
"You want something from him."
"Indeed? And what, pray tell, might that be?"
"Power."
That shut him up. Yes, he did want power. He craved power like a drug and Voldemort would ensure that he got his next fix. That is, if he played his cards right. With a resigned sigh and a final glare, he settled back into the cushions of the old couch in the decrepit house and waited.
At that moment, the door to the adjoining room opened and a short, lumpy looking fellow came out, shuffling his feet nervously, eyes darting around the room as if searching for something that simply wasn't there. Eventually, he looked at the two men in front of him.
"He'll see you now."
Resisting the urge to say 'finally,' Quentin followed the little man into the room, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark light. There was a fire lit in the far corner and a very tall and angular man stood beside it, staring at the flames. He wore a dark hooded cloak that mostly concealed his face.
"Lord Voldemort," Quentin breathed.
"Mr. Travers," the man said, his voice deep and liquid cool. He turned and Quentin abruptly came face to face with the most infamous and deadly wizard in the entire world. His eyes were sunken but at one time might have blue. His was nearly bald and the lack of hair seemed to accentuate his pointed chin and cheekbones. Quentin resisted the urge to look away. He mustn't show any weakness. Not in front of this man. "I was…surprised to hear from the head of the Watcher's Council," Voldemort continued.
"Yes, well, I thought it might be beneficial to the both of us if we spoke," Quentin said hastily.
Voldemort looked unimpressed. "I see." Travers suddenly felt unsure.
"You…you have something I want and I have access to something you want."
He looked angry and Quentin was familiar enough with the emotion to know that it spurred from the man's own failure. "I know where she is," Quentin said quickly.
"So do I." Voldemort said. "That has never been the issue."
He should have figured that her location wouldn't be a secret. There were plenty of followers within Hogwarts. He would have that information almost instantly. Still…
"I can get her for you." Voldemort paused, staring at Quentin through eyes that revealed nothing. "You need her. I've read the prophesy. I know how important she is to you, to this cause. You need somebody on the inside, somebody who she trusts to get access to her. I can provide that."
"From my understanding, you haven't even met the girl."
"Yes, but the Council—
"Is a bureaucratic organization that no sixteen year old girl, least of all Elizabeth, cares one bit about. Don't delude yourself, Mr. Travers. You have no power over your Slayer, if she ever was yours to begin with."
He was desperate now, grasping at straws. "I can find out where her friends are."
Quentin knew immediately that he had hit on something important because Voldemort now looked…happy. Quentin Travers drew back. Never before had an expression looked so disturbingly wrong on a face.
"I'm listening."
Taking a deep breath, the head of the Watcher's Council began to talk.
XXXXXXX
"That's an interesting place to keep your wand."
Buffy absently moved a hand to the object in question, which was currently being implemented as a tool to hold her hair in place. "You see a wand, I see a fashion accessory that can make feathers float. Potato, Patato,"
Hermione's brow furrowed at this, clearly debating on the best way to inform her new friend that a wand was something to be revered, not toyed with, an endeavor which quickly proved fruitless when Buffy began to explain all the other things she had discovered one could do with a wand. Apparently, not only could they hold hair in place, they also made impeccable marsh mellow roasting sticks, stirrers for coffee and, when coupled with a piece of taped on paper, fly swatters. By the time she was finished, Ron and Harry were practically on the ground laughing and Hermione's mouth was gaping in shock.
"A fly swatter? You can't be serious," Hermione said.
Buffy nodded emphatically. "It's really simple. All you do is take a piece of parchment and—
"But it's your wand!"
Buffy shrugged. "I'm not seeing the bad."
"You're supposed to take care of it! It's not a…fly hitter! It's to be revered, and cherished. It's—
"Breath, 'Mione," Ron said.
"Don't worry. It's totally safe. Really, I'm an expert at keeping pencils in my hair. Why should this be any different?" Buffy said by way of assurance.
Hermione groaned, but abandoned the argument, subtly trying to hide the smile that was making its way across her face. Buffy had settled down rather well at Hogwarts. Sure, there were moments when the girl seemed to completely shut down, but they were becoming few and far between. It was nice having another female to talk to and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised by how well she and Buffy got along. In fact, Buffy seemed to get along with everybody at the school. She was practically idolized by most of the younger students and never failed to spur curiosity amongst the older ones. She had fast become the frequent subject of table talk and she had dealt with the situation with admirable calm, although Hermione knew it bothered her immensely. Buffy, she knew, would have rather lived in a box than face the inquiring faces of the Hogwarts' students. Luckily though, this was not an option.
Currently they sat in the library, each attempting to finish Snape's essay on the different uses of a billwither potion before tomorrow morning. Or well, Hermione was finishing it. Harry, Ron, and Buffy had long abandoned the boring topic in favor of throwing crumpled up pieces of parchment at each other while using books as barricades. Their giggles were fast drawing the attention of the other students in the library. Her friends were, unsurprisingly, totally oblivious to the people around them.
"Will you please shut up?" somebody hissed from across the room. Hermione looked over and rolled her eyes at the group of Slytherins clustering around the table next to theirs.
"Mind your own business," Ron said angrily, disappointed that his fun had been ruined.
The Slytherin glared. "I'm trying to work. We have an essay due tomorrow, or did that slip your pea sized brain?"
"Yeah," another one said. "Isn't that a another Weasely trait? Short-term memory, stupidity, and poverty?"
"Why you bloody git—" Ron started, only to be cut off by Hermione.
"It's not worth it, Ron. Let's just go."
"Not worth it?" Ron scoffed. "He just insulted my family!"
"We thought you'd be used to it by now," another one said smirking.
Ron started and Harry laid a hand on his arm in an attempt to keep him in his seat. Buffy was playing idly with her quill, looking completely uninterested even though Hermione knew she was following every word. Still, it was a surprise when she began absent mindedly, "Hey, you guys want to tone down the predictable insults? They're beginning to tire. You insult his family. He insults your general assholishness. Eventually somebody runs out of things to say and the word 'mudblood' is thrown around. Really, I can do this routine on my own."
Everybody stared at her. Finally, "Why don't you shut it, Summers. I don't care what Draco thinks. You're not that hot."
"Hmm," she said. "I wasn't aware we were discussing my looks."
They looked uncomfortable. Buffy began gathering her books and Ron, Hermione, and Harry followed suit. As they were leaving the library, Buffy spared the Slytherins one last look and said all sugary sweetness, "A pleasure, as always."
Leaving the library, the four students walked slowly down the hallway towards the Gryffindor common room. Buffy was warily eyeing the paintings lining the walls. "I just don't understand why they have to move," she mumbled.
Quickly forgetting the previous argument, Hermione immediately went into lecture mode. "They don't have to move. It's simply a form of magic that presents itself through the—"
"Not now Hermione," Ron interrupted, sounding tired.
Buffy shot him a glance. "You shouldn't let them get to you."
"Easy for you to say. Nobody ever says anything mean about you."
"I don't know. That comment about my looks really stung," she said jokingly. "I mean, where do they get off—"
"Oh be serious," Ron snapped. "That guy would have fallen at your feet if you had let him."
Buffy shook her head. "That's an exaggeration." For a moment, they were silent. Fighting was not a usual occurrence among the four friends.
Harry took a deep breath. "Look Ron, you know that stuff about your family is a load of rubbish any ways. They're just trying to get to you. If you didn't react then they'd leave you alone."
Ron stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. "It's kind of hard not to." He looked at Buffy. "How do you do it?"
Buffy blinked. "Do what?"
"Not care."
She shrugged. "They want to hurt you so they attack your insecurities." She paused. "They don't know what mine are." After saying this, she looked away, mind obviously elsewhere.
"You okay?" Hermione asked finally.
Buffy flashed her a bright smile causing her friend to flinch. It was too bright, too cheerful. "I'm always alright." A pause. "I've got some stuff to do. I'll see you guys later." With that, she spun on her heal and walked in the opposite direction.
The three remaining teens stood awkwardly for a moment. Hermione let out a long sigh. "I wish she would talk to us."
"She talks," Ron said.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."
Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, "Let her be. She'll talk when she's ready. I'm just glad she's hanging out with us at all. Remember those first couple of days? She barely spoke to anybody."
Ron smirked. "Right. I'm sure that's the only reason you're happy she's hanging out with us. Shear nobility."
Harry blushed. "It's not like that."
"Oh, yeah? What's it like?" Ron asked, feigning innocence.
"We're friends."
"Friends? So you don't get nervous every time she's around? And that time you tripped when she was wearing that one sweater, that was just a coincidence, right?"
"Right," Harry said tightly.
"What about the time you spilled that potion all over Hermione when Buffy said she thought your glasses were, and I quote, "cute"?"
"I didn't—"
Hermione glared at him. "Oh, you so did. I have the stain to prove it."
"It slipped."
Ron laughed. "Right. Okay. It slipped."
"Leave him alone, Ron," Hermione said, smiling. "It's perfectly alright if he fancies Buffy."
Harry glared at them both. "I do not fancy Buffy!"
"Harry and Buffy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—"
"Could you be more immature?" Harry said loudly, looking around wildly to make sure nobody was in hearing range. Whispering now, he said, "Alright look, hypothetically speaking, even if I did fancy Buffy, it wouldn't matter. I'm one of about a bazillion guys at this school who do and half the time we talk, she's a million miles away."
Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "She's just…"
"Just what?" Ron asked, genuinely curious.
"Scared. She's just scared."
Harry ran a hand through his unruly dark hair. "Yeah, but of what?"
None of them had an answer.
Buffy climbed to the top of the astronomy tower and watched the sun set over the Hogwarts' grounds. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the trios company, but sometimes, okay a lot of times, she still craved being alone. Carrying on a conversation took a lot more effort then she was willing to admit and when things got heavy, it was much easier to walk away then deal with it. Really, it was kind of interesting. Before everything with Voldemort she had used her friends as a means to deal with all the horror she was forced to encounter every night. Now, she did the exact opposite. She pulled away. Sure, it was lonelier, but in the long run, it was safer for everybody and she could deal with being alone. She had to.
There was a creaking on the stairs behind her and Buffy spun around, falling automatically into a defensive stance. Platinum blond hair popped its way through the small door in the floor of the tower, followed by an annoyingly amused grin. She relaxed.
"Go away, Draco."
"I like it here," he said, pulling himself out of the hole and perching himself on the railing of the tower.
Buffy closed her eyes and tried to count to ten in her mind. When that didn't work, she resisted the urge to push him off the tower. "I come here to be alone. As in, by myself and without you."
"I know."
"So you're still standing next to me because…?"
"I want to, plus," he fixed her with a serious stare and then suddenly sang badly, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need."
Buffy stared at him in absolute shock, her mouth hanging open. The behavior was totally uncharacteristic of the Slytherin prince. And then, even as she tried to school her expression, she broke into a fit of laughter. "Did you just sing the Rolling Stones?"
He pretended to think about it. "British band, right? Started circa 1969 or so?"
She crossed her arms and quirked one perfectly plucked brow at him. "I'm impressed. Pure blood boy comes through with the knowledge. So where'd sheltered Draco Malfoy hear an evil, disgusting muggle band?"
"Around."
"Yeah, right, because The Rolling Stones are being played on all the popular wizard stations. Fess up blondie, you totally researched muggle pop culture." She smirked when Draco failed to respond. "Now why would you go to all that trouble?"
Draco turned away from her and pretended to examine the scenery, resting his elbows on the railing of the tower. "Believe what you want. I just stumbled upon the song."
Buffy rolled her eyes and leaned next to him on the railing. "Right. Okay."
"You've been learning to," he said. "Pure blood? Muggle? I suppose you even know what a mudblood is now."
"You suppose right. Kinda hard not to around here. It's all anybody talks about. I feel like I'm in Nazi Germany with giant, scary skulls instead of giant, scary swastikas." She adopted a deeper and somewhat comical voice. "I can't hang out with him because his mom is not a wizard. I can't hang out with her because her dad is a death eater." She glanced at Draco. "Don't you guys get tired of fighting about the same thing?"
He looked at her for a long time before answering. "Yes."
"So why do you do it?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Because I'm a mudblood?" she asked angrily.
"No, because you don't care what people think of you," he snapped.
She looked away from him. "If you mean I'm not trying to impress anybody, then you're right."
"Of course. You're too busy shutting everybody out."
"Don't try to psych 101 me. You don't know anything about me."
He shrugged. "I know enough."
They were abnormally silent for a moment. Buffy's knuckles were white as she gripped the railing, but other then that, she appeared perfectly calm.
"My father would kill me for talking to you."
Forcing herself to release the railing, Buffy moved a strand of hair behind her ear. "So why are you?" she asked, voice tight.
He watched her for a long moment. "I have no idea."
Buffy looked up at him. "Lying doesn't become you, Draco."
She turned and began the decent down the tower.
XXXXXXX
"Where'd you go last night?" Hermione asked, munching on a piece of toast and watching as Buffy slid into the seat across from her. The girl's blonde hair was falling down her shoulders, looking slightly askew and her shirt was—
"You're not wearing a uniform!" She exclaimed loudly, causing several of the other people at the Gryffindor table to look their way curiously.
"Didn't feel like it."
"Yes, but…"
"Drop it, Hermione," Buffy said tiredly. After a moment, she reached across the table and scooped up some porridge, then spent the next five minutes staring at it.
"Are you going to eat that?" Hermione asked at last.
Buffy shook her head, not looking up from the bowl. "I don't think so."
"Oh," Hermione said, at a loss. "Okay."
"Yeah." Her eyes never left the table.
"Buffy, are you okay?"
"Sure."
Hermione tried to hide her frustration, but failed miserably when she sighed loudly. If Buffy noticed, she didn't look up. "You know," Hermione started, her eyes desperate as she looked at Buffy's expressionless face. "You can talk to me. I won't…I mean…I'm a good listener."
Buffy gave Hermione a sympathetic smile. "I know."
"So what's wrong?"
The blonde stared at her friend for several long seconds, seemingly debating whether or not to answer the question. "My mom died four months ago today."
Hermione tried to conceal her surprise and managed to say softly, "I'm so sorry."
Buffy nodded, looking away. "Me too." She played with her breakfast and blinked back tears.
"Buffy, I—
"Don't tell the guys. I don't want…just don't tell anybody."
"Right. Of course."
Buffy grabbed her books. "Look, I'm gonna head to class early. I'll see you later."
She walked out of the Great Hall quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when she was away from prying eyes. Finding an empty classroom, she leaned warily against the door and allowed herself a moment to compose herself. The tears had come unbidden. She hadn't even remembered the date until late last night as she was falling asleep and even then, she didn't think it would hit her this hard. Sliding down the door until she was sitting, Buffy allowed her head to fall against her curled up knees.
"I can't do this,' she mumbled brokenly.
It was then that she heard the distinct scrape of a chair. Buffy looked up wildly, her eyes meeting the very worried ones of Professor McGonnagle. Standing up quickly, Buffy wiped frantically at her eyes. "I didn't realize anybody was in here."
"That's quite all right, Miss Summers," the teacher said, her voice gentle.
The bell rang loudly, startling them both. "I should…" Buffy began awkwardly.
"You don't have to—
"It's Snape. I can't be late. He already wants to crucify me." She opened the door at breakneck speed and was quickly immersed in the busy hallway before McGonnagle could respond. Stupid, Buffy said silently to herself. God, why was she even going to class? Snape was just going to yell at her and take off points for being out of uniform. Was she really this much of a glutton for punishment? She sighed. In the end, the alternative – sitting alone in her room and thinking – was much worse. At least this way, she'd be distracted. Hopefully.
XXXXXXXX
"That is not regulation."
Mission accomplished.
"20 points from Gryffindor." Buffy glared at the Dracula wannabe in desperate need of shampoo, but refrained from saying anything. "Honestly, how hard is putting on a uniform? Americans. Always so lazy."
Hermione was looking at her worriedly and Ron and Harry seemed more confused than anything. Donning a uniform was easy and despite Buffy's obvious distaste for them, she wouldn't risk getting in trouble for fashion.
Snape was still looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for an explanation that did not appear to be forthcoming. Buffy sighed inwardly. "Sorry. I forgot," she said almost sarcastically.
"Ten more points from Gryffindor for stupidity." He moved back to the front of the classroom, apparently done with her. "Today we will be making sandeman potions. If done correctly, they will put a person to sleep with a simple drop anywhere on his skin. I've written the directions on the board. You have sixty minutes." There was an immediate flurry of movement as everybody scurried to gather the appropriate supplies. Buffy stayed in her chair, doodling absent-mindedly on a piece of parchment. Hermione sat down with a variety of different potions ready to mixed.
"Buffy," Hermione said. When the blonde failed to respond, she repeated herself loudly. "BUFFY!"
Buffy's head jerked up. "What?"
Hermione looked at her pityingly. "Maybe you shouldn't be here," she began gently. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind if you—"
"I'm fine." As if to prove this point, she immediately got up from her chair and began walking over to the front of the classroom.
"Feeling slow today, Summers?" Snape hissed, coming up behind her and looking down at her blonde head with distain. He walked away without waiting for an answer.
Ignoring the professor, Buffy began gathering the necessary supplies. Harry walked up beside her. "He's a bloody git,"
"Yup."
He hesitated. "Everything alright?"
"Peachy," she said shortly. He looked slightly crestfallen and Buffy sighed inwardly, feeling bad. "Sorry, that was mean. Today just isn't my day. It's not you."
Harry offered her a tentative smile. "I'm sorry your days been crappy."
"You and me both."
He scratched the back of his head and looked away for a moment. "I've got something that might cheer you up," he began hesitantly.
Buffy quirked her head, doubtful. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Ever been flying?"
"I assume you're not taking about on a plane."
Harry smiled. "On brooms."
"Right. The Bewitched thing. Um, no, not so much."
"It's brilliant, the best feeling in the entire world. I can show you how after classes. I mean, if you're not too busy, or, well, afraid of heights," he offered.
Flying on brooms. Maybe that would be kind of fun. She nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay. I'll meet you after classes." Picking up her supplies, she walked back to where Hermione sat, missing both the beaming look on Harry's face and the angry one on Draco's. The platinum blonde was standing with his back turned in the front row, absently mixing potions, and apparently eavesdropping. Hermione, who had been watching the exchange, looked at her friend with curiosity.
"Is there something going on between you and Draco?"
Buffy made a face. "What gave you that idea?"
"Well, he's glaring at you, for one."
"And this leads you to believe we're making out in the broom closet during breaks?"
Hermione blushed. "Point taken."
After this, class went by uneventfully. Buffy's potion came out rather horrendously, but she was far from caring. Usually she was actually quite good at the subject. It reminded her of her science classes back home only the things they mixed tended to be a lot smellier and, well, according to Snape, deadly. Unsurprisingly though, her mind had been elsewhere and attention to detail was a must in this class. She had history of magic next, which meant she could catch up on some of the sleep she had lost last night. Gathering her books, she trailed after Hermione, staring down at the ground and completely missing Draco who was standing directly in front of her.
"Ouch!" she cried angrily when she collided directly into him. Rubbing her head, she fixed him with a glare. "Do you always stand directly in front of people?"
"You should watch where you're going," he told her unapologetically.
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Move. I have to get to class."
"Are you always this bossy?"
"Was there something you wanted?"
He smirked. "Don't answer a question with a question. It's annoying," he said, repeating her earlier words to him.
"I swear to god, if you don't—"
"Calm down. You're always so tense."
She side stepped him and began moving down the hallway towards her next class. He spun and quickly moved to walk beside her. "Only around annoying, British blondes with serious ego problems."
"You know, there are ways to relieve tension…"
She stopped abruptly. "You better not be implying what I think you're implying."
Draco held his hands up in mock defense. "I would never be so crude."
"Right. You're a saint among men."
He shrugged. "Well, I'm no Harry Potter, but we can't all be scar faced and noble."
"What's your problem with Harry?"
"Who said I have a problem?"
Buffy looked at him incredulously. "Um, everybody ever?"
"Well, maybe I don't like him as much as you do, but then again, he never offered to give me a private flying lesson," Draco said dramatically.
"Jealous?"
"I don't get jealous."
"Oh c'mon Drake. I'm sure if you asked real nice, he'd be more then willing to—"
His eyes narrowed. "Watch when you're going with that, Summers."
She sighed dreamily. "I can see it now. The two of you flying on the same broom. Your hands wrapped around his waste while he—"
"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut it."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "What's good for me? What, are you going to glare at me if I don't stop talking? Honestly, boys are so sensitive about their sexuality." The bell rang. "Great!" Buffy said, throwing her hands up in annoyance. "Now I'm late!"
She moved to run down the hall but Draco reached out his hand and grabbed tightly onto her arm. Pulling her close, he gripped her tightly and said in a very low voice, "Never question my sexuality."
Buffy looked up into blue, grey eyes and tried to ignore his hands on her body. "Let go of me," she finally said, hating the way her voice sounded slightly unsure and hesitant. "I have class." He dropped his hands and for a moment they just stood staring at each other. Without preamble, Buffy turned and began walking hurriedly down the hallway.
Smiling, Draco called after her, "Don't let Potter's ego complex rub off on you!" In response, she flicked him off. His smile broadened. There was just something about that girl that pushed all of his buttons. She could make him go from angry to amused in about two seconds flat. Never before had he had any desire to befriend a Gryffindor, least of all an American mudblood, but Buffy was different. She was special.
You are so whipped.
He didn't have the energy to argue with himself.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Many miles away in Rabat, Morocco, a doorbell rang. Rupert Giles stood up from where he was reading the latest in a series of rather dodgy prophesy books and moved to answer it.
"I'll get it!" he hollered to no one in particular. Grabbing a cup of English breakfast on his way, he looked through the peephole and was thrown by the presence of the person on the other side. Swinging the door open, he smiled hesitantly at the older man before him.
"Quentin. What a surprise," he said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Hello Rupert," the man said. "May I come in?"
Giles held open the door.
Shit! Giles! He's evil! CLOSE THE DOOR! Or not…That's it for now. Hope you enjoyed it. Review or I'll never update again! Ha!