Author's Note: To plyHarryPotter1, TooLazyToLogin (story of my life) and omg: thank you for your comments! I have so much planned for this story and I'm glad to have some faithful readers along for the ride!

000

Kurt hated being late for school. It's probably already halfway through second period, he thought as he gave an irritated wave of farewell to Mr. Hummel. But it wasn't his, Kurt's, fault that he'd been unable to find the Gucci pashima scarf his father had so carelessly misplaced. The scarf had been a gift from Blaine, and Kurt wore it every day. (That is to say, he wore it every day that the red scarf complimented his outfit. He refused to let sentimentalism get in the way of solid fashion choices.)

He wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck as he walked, shivering in the crisp autumn air. Winter is coming, he reflected sadly. At least this will give me an excuse to update my wardrobe. Suddenly, the abrasive voice of Sue Sylvester assaulted his ears. Peering across the parking lot, Kurt could see Sue gesticulating wildly as she scribbled furiously on a clipboard. Something clearly had her worked up.

What on earth is she wearing? Kurt wondered. Surely that uniform is just a costume- no one in their right mind would allow Coach Sylvester to actually become a police officer! Kurt's attention was diverted as another figure, a woman robed in black with long, blond hair, stepped forward to snatch a piece of paper from Sue's outstretched arm. The stranger tore Sue's paper to little pieces, scattering them in the wind. Even from this distance, Kurt could see Sue was livid. Oh, this was going to get good. No one dared to throw Sue's authority back in her face without facing dire consequences.

Only when the strange woman turned her head and Kurt got a clear look of her profile did Kurt gasp- the woman was actually a man, and a well-groomed one at that. The wind snatched away the majority of the pair's conversation, but Kurt could tell they were arguing over the man's odd attire.

He watched as Sue stared at her opponent, chest heaving. He expected her to smash him over the head with her clipboard, or at the very least continue shouting, but then Sue did something Kurt had never seen her do before. She walked away. True, she resumed her shouting as soon as she'd hopped into the driver's seat of her ridiculously large truck, but she was nevertheless retreating. It seemed that this odd man with questionable fashion sense had, somehow, bested Sue Sylvester. Kurt mulled this information over as Sue peeled from the parking lot, leaving an acrid cloud of smoke in her wake. The man, his expression stony, dusted off his robes and strode in the other direction, towards the woods that surrounded the parking lot.

Kurt wasn't sure what to make of the scene he had just witnessed, but he had an odd feeling it was important. There was something about that man… and the way Sue had reacted to him… Well, there was no time to think about it now. He spun on his heel and headed towards the school.

000

Draco listened raptly as the Dark Lord spoke to each Death Eater in turn, dispensing instructions and criticisms. They were once again seated at the large, mahogany dining room table at Malfoy Manor. Draco gave a small gasp of surprise as Nagini, an impossibly long, venomous green snake, wound her way around Draco's leg and slithered past him. He would never, ever get used to that hideous reptile.

"Draco," the Dark Lord's high-pitched voice cut through the air. Draco snapped to attention. "Your current task has been placed in far more… able hands. I have asked Severus to complete the mission to which you were entrusted." He paused.

"My lord," Draco murmured. "I'm sure, had I been given enough time, you would see, I could have disposed of the old fool myself-"

"Silence!" the Dark Lord's already narrowed eyes narrowed even further. "I have no time for your simpering. As it is, I have need of spies abroad. It will not be long before the ministry falls, and then I will turn my attention towards the eradication of muggles. But do not think for one moment," his voice lowered, and each Death Eater leaned in eagerly, "do not think for one moment that my aspirations for control end in Britain. No, Britain is only the start. Soon, I will turn my gaze to other countries… other continents." The Dark Lord's voice rose again and Draco slowly released a breath he did not realize he had been holding.

"You, Draco, are young and, quite frankly, disposable. I have decided to send you abroad, to act as an undetected spy among the muggles. You will live as they live and send me word of all you've discovered. Should you impress me with the completion of this assignment, you may find that more… exciting future missions await you here."

Draco's head was spinning. He, Draco, forced to live among muggles? He'd never survive among those filthy animals!

"I have decided not to send you alone," the Dark Lord continued. "While you live among the muggles, I have chosen another to act as a liaison among our wizard brethren in America. Ah, Lucius!"

The oak double doors at the far end of the dining hall swept open as Draco's heart leapt. Lucius Malfoy strode impressively into room, the heels of his brass-toed boots tapping loudly across the threshold. His dark robes billowed behind him and the light shimmered enchantingly over his long, silvery hair, which he tossed imperiously over his shoulder. Lucius did not look like a man who had just been broken out of Azkaban. Indeed, Draco thought his father's hair had never looked better, and wondered how he had managed to keep up with his strict hair-care regimen while in prison.

"Welcome back," the Dark Lord said coldly, as Lucius dropped to his knee. "I was just informing Draco of the mission he is to complete with you."

Lucius stood and reverently assumed his seat besides Draco, giving his son the faintest of nods that Draco returned eagerly.

"I trust you will fill Draco in on the rest of the details," the Dark Lord said to Lucius before turning to the cowering rat of a man at the far end of the table. "Wormtail," he hissed. "Your instructions are to avoid getting your head jammed down another toilet. Goyle was not pleased with being assigned to rescue duty last time."

"No fair! It wasn't my fault!" Wormtail shrieked, turning a nasty shade of puce, while Mulcibir and Yaxley chuckled appreciatively and gave each other a swift high-five across the table.

But Draco was no longer listening. So he was to be traveling abroad with his father! He could have laughed with relief. True, the idea of living among muggles was repulsive, but at least he would have his father by his side. And while Lucius and Draco's relationship had never been exactly warm, Draco no longer felt that death was imminent. This mission might even be fun; Draco had never been to America before.

Draco and Lucius left early the following morning amidst a tearful farewell from a distraught Narcissa Malfoy. Two days, three Apparations and one Trans-Atlantic portkey later, Draco found himself in front of a large brick building in a town called Lima, Ohio. Scowling, Draco allowed his father to steer him up the wide, concrete steps that led to William McKinley High School, towards what Draco thought could only be impending doom.

000

Draco yanked the faucet on and jammed his head in the chipped bathroom sink, hissing a steady stream of curses as he did so. Carefully, he combed his sopping hair to the side (thank goodness he always had a comb on hand for emergencies, for that was certainly what this was). He wished desperately he had his wand to dry out his dripping pants, and his previously white shirt was a distinct shade of blotchy bluish-grey. There was nothing for it, he would just have to wear his suit jacket all day. Fuming, he pulled on the crisp black jacket and headed for the restroom door.

Draco inspected his now soggy schedule as he wandered through the silent halls. Despite himself, he was curious. What sort of classes did a muggle student take, anyway? The first class on his schedule was Math, Room 402. That class would be easy, Draco decided. He was rather skilled at Arithmancy, which used very complex mathematics. But he had missed first period, hadn't he? So he should be in… Advanced Spanish, Room 601, right now. Excellent! He'd spent the summer after his second year in Spain; he was practically fluent. He briefly glanced through the rest of his course schedule- English, Lunch, Biology, Study Hall, Cooking (what was he, a house elf?), World History and something called "Activity Period". So many classes in one day! He wondered if that was a muggle practice or an American one. Perhaps both. He then wondered if he was expected to actually do well in these classes. This whole mission would be a lot easier if he could just ignore his schoolwork, but, knowing his father, he was expected to be the best, no matter where he was. At least there was no Hermione Granger to beat him in every subject. He actually cheered marginally at the thought. I guess that's what they call looking on the bright side, he thought sullenly as he wondered how on earth he was supposed to find classroom 601.

000

Santana was bored. She had been speaking Spanish practically since birth, so the fact that she was taking a Spanish class was a joke. She had decided to take it only because it was comprised of mostly seniors, and there was bound to be at least a FEW hot upperclassmen taking the class, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong. Evidently, only nerdy seniors took Advanced Spanish, which Santana just could not understand. She had wanted to drop the class but her GPA needed the boost, so here she was, sexting as surreptitiously as possible with a (apparently) disinterested Noah Puckerman.

After sending a particularly steamy sext to Puck, to which his response was "lol", Santana slammed her phone shut and tossed it into her purse. So much for that! If he didn't want to appreciate what she had to offer, she would retract her services. Puck's recent disinterest in Santana was probably all Lauren Zize's fault, Santana reflected moodily. Lauren had been stringing Puck along for weeks now, and what was even weirder was that Puck actually seemed to be enjoying the chase- enjoying it enough to now be giving Santana the cold shoulder. Whatever. He so wasn't worth it, anyway.

Santana had just reverted to her usual Spanish class standby, which was imagining what Mr. Schuester looked like without a shirt (or any clothes at all, really) when her thought process was interrupted by the arrival of a complete and total stranger. The door to the classroom swung open with a crash and a boy with slick blond hair and an impeccably defined jaw line swept boldly into the room. Santana was vaguely aware her mouth had dropped open. The stranger's dark eyes roamed the classroom impassively, lingering for just a split second on Santana who regained her blasé composure immediately.

There was complete silence as Mr. Schuester turned away from the chalkboard to see who the late arrival was. "You must be Dra- uh, how do you pronounce your name?" he asked, peering at an attendance sheet.

The boy sneered ever so slightly before saying, "Draco. Draco Malfoy." Draco then stared icily around the room as if daring anyone to make fun of his unusual name.

"Bienvenidos! Everyone, this is Draco, he's moved here from England, so please make him feel welcome! Why don't you grab that seat in the back row, next to Santana? Santana, wave your hand- yes, right there. Now, who can conjugate this verb for me in the past participle?"

He has an accent. He has. An accent. I wonder if Brittany's met this guy yet? Well, I call dibs. Santana's mind went into overdrive as the boy marched to the vacant seat next to her. She pulled out a mirror and began applying lip gloss, making a show of ignoring him. She could feel his eyes burning into her, but to her credit, she only met his gaze once, glancing with a fleeting smirk. He scowled and turned away.

She didn't know what she loved most of all about this newcomer. Was it his stormy grey eyes, his flawless British accent, or the aura of icy indifference he was projecting? One thing Santana did know beyond a shadow of a doubt, though, was that someone up above loved her and wanted her to be happy in this up-to-now painfully boring class. Very, very happy.

000

Draco sat in a corner of the cafeteria, eyes down, jaw clenched and with his hands folded tightly in front of him.

Everything about the school unnerved him. The starch white of the linoleum floor. The way the lights above cast everything in an even, sickeningly bright glow that Draco could not for the life of him decide how they provided without magic. And the muggles. Especially the muggles. The breathtakingly beautiful girl who had stared at him with smirking content when he'd been doused in slushie now sat next to him in his Spanish class (though she had given no indication that she recognized him), and Draco felt a certain uneasiness around her. She was undoubtedly attractive, but Draco hated himself for even thinking such things. She was, after all a muggle.

On the other hand, Draco had to admit that he knew virtually nothing concrete about muggles. For the first six years of his life he had been led to believe by Pansy Parkinson's older brothers that the "Muggle Monster," a hulking beast of a thing, lived in his closet and would attack him if he didn't go to bed on time each night.

Draco was now old enough not to believe such tales, (nevertheless, he still slept with the closet doors closed), but he had always figured muggles were undoubtedly monstrous in nature. They didn't shower regularly and bred like animals! They had no knowledge of magic or the wizarding world and were undeniably stupid! They were, in short, something less than human. Or so he had been raised to believe.

Yet he had only been at the school for a few short hours, and already he was drawing comparisons between William McKinley and Hogwarts. The thuggish idiots who had doused him in the icy, blue water reminded him forcibly of Crabbe and Goyle. A group of tittering girls gushing over magazines the next table over reminded him of the moronic Hufflepuffs he'd had to endure back home. And give his Spanish teacher a creepy moustache and he would bear a passing resemblance to that werewolf, Lupin.

"Hey, Karovsky, heads up!" Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched the thuggish boy who reminded him of Goyle catch the brown, oblong ball that a red-and-white clad comrade tossed him. So, his name was Karovsky. If Draco had Crabbe and Goyle by his side, he would have no qualms about making this Karovsky fellow pay dearly the slushie incident. As it was, Draco was not good at physical altercations and without his wand he felt completely helpless to confront the boy.

Draco glanced at his gold-plated watch and sighed. While the start of his school day may have been horrific and degrading, he at least had been kept alert. Now, the day seemed to be positively dragging by. At least lunch was almost over, as he had not had the appetite or fortitude to try the cafeteria food. How he longed for a decent, house-elf cooked meal! For perhaps the thousandth time, he inwardly cursed the Dark Lord.

000

"See that kid with the blond hair? Near the windows?" Kurt asked Mercedes as he piled tater tots onto his plate. "Don't be so obvious about looking, God!" he hastily added as Mercedes craned her neck to see Draco.

"Sorry. Yeah, I see him. Is he new?" Mercedes asked. She helped herself to a ham sandwich.

"Well, if neither of us recognize him, I'd say he's new," Kurt replied. "I think his dad is the guy I saw arguing with Sue this morning. They have exactly the same colored hair."

"Huh. Do you think it's bleached? His hair, I mean. It's practically white."

Kurt glanced in Draco's direction. After a moment, he said, "No, it's natural."

"How do you do that?" Mercedes demanded as they walked to an empty table. "He's all the way across the room, how do you know for sure his hair isn't dyed?"

Kurt shrugged. "Women's intuition, I guess," he responded. Mercedes laughed, shaking her head. She didn't notice Kurt had gazed off into space, his expression thoughtful.

000

Dear Journal,

As I finish this delicious lunch I stole from an unsuspecting freshman, I find myself angry and confused: a terrible combination of emotions. This morning I met a man even more irritating than William Scheuster. As much as I would like to put him in his place, I find myself distracted by his impeccable hair, a problem I never had with greaseball Will. I feel I am treading dangerous waters and realize I must use the utmost care in dealing with this strange man and his bedazzling pimp cane.

Vindictively yours,

Sue Sylvester III