"Monsieur Delacour?" a maid poked her head through the door, "you have a guest."

"At this hour?" a middle aged man looked up in puzzlement.

"Yes Monsieur. He said he is here on a matter of protection."

Understanding dawned. "Please send him in."

The maid nodded. "This way Monsieur," she beckoned to the unseen visitor, giving him a curious look as he passed.

Jean Delacour stood to greet his guest, a pleasant smile adorning his weary face.

"Welcome to my home. You have had a long journey I take it? Camille," he called to the maid.

"Could you bring some refreshments." as she hurried off, he motioned the newcomer to sit.

"Thank you but I'd much rather stand." was the reply in lightly accented English. His visitor looked around the room taking in the layout. While he did so Jean took the opportunity to study him. The initial surprise of seeing how young he was had worn off and Jean now felt skeptical as he looked at the boy in front of him. The boy's look of childlike curiosity as he took in the sights of the spacious room did not help to bolster his opinion. As if he had sensed his thoughts, the eyes of his guest slowly fixed on him. For a long moment that boyish face studied him and Jean felt himself grow cold as the features shifted. Staring at him now was the look of a predator trying to gauge the strength of its prey; a killer analyzing his target, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And as quickly as it came, the features shifted back to that pleasant, slightly meek look. The boy then dipped his head.

"Delacour-san?" he asked a little shyly.

Jean nodded slightly wary. His guest continued, "My name is Inikaze Shiro, the shinobi that was picked for this mission." At Delacour's doubtful look, the boy laughed sheepishly. "You weren't expecting someone so young were you? I am capable enough for this task despite my age, or I wouldn't have been picked. For someone in your position you should know not to judge a book by its cover."

So saying, he took off the cloak that concealed his body and folded it over the proffered chair before clasping his hands behind his back.

"I assume you know what you've been hired for?" Jean asked while eying with mild interest the attire of his guest. The boy before him was dressed in a rather dull manner but compared to the decorative robes wizards wore, quite eye catching: His apparel was mostly black save for a green vest; Simple dark pants that did not quite reach his ankles, stopping instead several inches before. Bandages snaked their way from the rim of the sturdy open-toed sandals he wore to the tip of his pants, tightly covering every centimeter of visible skin. Was that their form of socks, Jean wondered. He could distinguish nothing of the shirt for it was hidden by the bulky vest. But judging from the long sleeves that covered his arms, it was of the same make as the pants. There was a curious red circle on either side of the shoulder sleeves, its inner design making it look like a swirl. Of the vest he couldn't discern much other than it was for protection and storage, though of what he was clueless. For neatly placed on each side of the chest were three long and narrow pouches. The same red swirl symbol was also integrated into the back. And covering his head was a dark cloth, the front of which a plate of metal was attached. Engraved upon the metal was a strange symbol shaped somewhat like a leaf.

"I do Delacour-san," the boy replied. "You've requested a shinobi to guard one of your daughters who is currently attending the Beauxbatons School of Magic. Why though?"

Delacour sighed and stood up, the eyes of his guest following him as he paced back and forth.

"Being a ministry official is not a pleasant job. Treachery and backstabbing is all too common behind the scenes. It is all the more worse since most of those in important positions are members of old families; those who follow the traditions from decades past, the pure bloods so to speak."

"And you have butted heads with these purists I assume." His guest spoke up, "I know you Jean Claude Delacour; High ranking Ministry official, close to becoming the Head Minister. Married to half Veela Appolline. Has two daughters both quarter Veela, Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour. I can only presume with such a marriage you are not popular with those bigoted purists. In fact I hear you are on particularly nasty terms with the Moreau family. Are your relations that bad with your enemies that you fear they will attempt to harm your family?"

Jean shot his guest a sharp look which was returned with a smile. "The Wizarding world does not know about us save a select few and even then, the number is minute. Those that do are bound by the threat of death to keep our existence secret. Just like you hide your existence from those you call Muggles, we hide our existence from you wizards. That does not mean we ignore you. Oh no, that would be foolish to leave a possible enemy unobserved. We have our infiltrators here. Tell me, what do you know of us?"

"I know that you are a group of assassins who for a fee accept a wide variety of tasks." His guest gave a slight hum and when he spoke again, his tone was amused.

"And you hired an assassin to guard your daughter. From what I read of your profile, idealism, honesty, and virtue, are the traits you adhere to. That you would hire a person who specializes in deceit and murder is surprising to me."

"And I am not pleased with it. I had and still have doubts, all the more so at seeing what I paid for. You look no older than my daughter Fleur."

"And yet I have experienced and done things that would make a normal person cringe. I made my first kill when I was seven. Yes Delacour-san," Shiro responded to his client's shocked look, "at seven I killed my first person. Gone was his boyish look, replaced instead with an icy gaze. His jawline constricted visibly as he relived the memory. The boy then laughed mirthlessly. "It was my first lesson on betrayal and how someone you trust implicitly can suddenly slide a knife into your back."

Silence again befell the room. Jean was at loss on what to say. To imagine this young man, no boy, in front of him was a trained killer and had killed at so young an age was sobering. And the words that accompanied that stony look of cool murderous intent. Jean swallowed uncomfortably. Just what kind of person had he hired? His guest for his part had recovered himself and stood watching him dispassionately awaiting his reaction. Fumbling in his mind to break the sober atmosphere, Jean was grateful as his maid after knocking, entered bearing a tray of pastries and some drinks.

"Thank you Camille." She gave a slight courtesy and left leaving the two occupants alone again. Eager for a change in subject Jean sat back down and indicated the tray.

"Won't you partake in these sweets? These vanilla flavored butter cookies are delicious."

Shiro eyed him with amusement and back was that deceptively passive look.

"After we have finished discussing the mission details, then I would be happy to try some of those delicacies. You haven't fully answered my first question, why the request for protection?"

"You are correct about there being bad blood between Moreau and I. Our families have a long history of mutual dislike and I fear that things will now come to a head."

"And why is that?" The dark brown eyes surveyed him keenly.

"The new Ministry election is about to begin. Abelard, our current head of the French Ministry of Magic is looking to retire. Moreau and I are the top voted candidates to replace

him."

Shiro briefly turned his face away to gaze thoughtfully at nothing in particular. "So you think Moreau will try something underhanded regarding the wellbeing of your family?"

"I am hesitant to think he would go so far but he is… not an honorable man. My daughter Fleur will be leaving France soon. There is an important event called the Triwizard Tournament. It is a competition between three great wizarding schools: The Beauxbatons, the Dumstrangs, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The tournament will be hosted at Hogwarts. The school is situated in England."

"Ah, so that's why you requested protection for your daughter. You fear to leave her unwatched in a foreign country. This mission is marked as a high C rank. Still I cannot see much danger. I know of Hogwarts. Our spies have gathered quite a bit of detailed information on it. Your daughters would be under the protection of the British ministry and guests of one of the most protected schools in Europe. A ploy against your daughter while she is a guest at Hogwarts seems like a foolhardy attempt."

But that's on the outside, Shiro thought, an inside attempt would have a much higher chance particularly if it is someone you trust.

"Perhaps that is so," Delacour said. "But, I have already paid for this mission. I just pray my fears are unfounded."

A gentle look seeped into the eyes of his guest. "I might not seem capable to you Delacour-san but on my honor as a shinobi, I will do my utmost to protect your daughter."

"And what if events should prove more than you can handle?"

"Then back-up will be sent. It has already been prepared."

Jean noted the fondness that appeared on the boy's face. "People you know?"

"Yes," Shiro responded with a small smile, "A pair of close partners. Those lazy bums now work as gate guards or assistants to the Hokage." At Jean's enquiring look, Shiro clarified,

"The Hokage is our leader. He is the shadow that protects and commands us all."

"I still have doubts," Jean spoke carefully, eyeing his guest and trying to gauge what reaction his words would have. "A very good friend of mine recommended your kind. He insisted that I could find no better protection for my daughter than hiring a shinobi. I did not know anything about shinobi at the time but as he gave me an overview I was less than pleased to hear that he was recommending assassins. Were it not for the fact that I trusted him implicitly, I would not have dealt with you."

Shiro's face had grown slightly steely by the end of Jean's last sentence.

"I asked you before but now I will ask again. How much do you know of us?"

Seeing the killer surfacing in the face of his guest, Jean decided honesty was the best course of action. "I was mostly truthful before. You are assassins that accept a wide variety of missions. Despite being killers, you have a code of honor and morals that most killers for hire would not have. When accepting a contract you become loyal to a fault, doing the utmost to complete the mission. You have strong bonds with each other and those you protect and would not hesitate to give your lives for those you consider dear. That is all I know of your kind; though I find it highly doubtful to imagine mere killers with such emotions. My friend did not care to go any deeper than that."

To his relief, Shiro's face returned to its pleasant countenance. "That is more information than you should know Delacour-san. Tell me who this friend of yours is."

Jean hesitated, at which his guest chuckled. "If you fear him becoming a target, do not worry. To recommend us so, he must be well known to us." Shiro paused for a moment then glanced up with a smirk, "he is Armand Pouly correct?"

"How di-" Jean began.

"How did I know?" Shiro interrupted him, his face the perfect picture of innocence. "As I said before we have spies in your world. I read your file before I was sent here. After all, information is very important to us ninja." Shiro's eyes hardened slightly. "I trust when you signed the mission contract, you made the promise all wizards who know about us must make: To not reveal us on the pain of death and death to those you shared our existence with."

Jean nodded, his face slightly pale. "Yes. I made that promise."

Shiro hummed softly before finally sitting down. "That is good. Now may I try those tasty looking treats?"

That was the end of their meeting for the night. Already worn by the day's events and now thoroughly rattled with this encounter, Jean was eager to part ways with his disconcerting guest and collapse into bed where he could enter a state of blissful forgetfulness; if only for a short time. He showed the boy to his room, bid him goodnight and hurried off with the feeling of an amused look boring into his back.

Wizards, Shiro thought with some disdain. Softhearted pacifists! Can I fault them really? He wondered as he slowly paced around the spacious guest room. A high four-poster bed with richly embroidered coverings stood near the large window overlooking the Villa's Garden. Shiro pressed the bedding experimentally. It was soft; no doubt a pleasure to sleep in.

Shiro abandoned the bed and moved to the window where he could gaze out over the garden. The sky was cloudless and the moon shone brightly bathing the grass and flowers in silvery light. He was a young lad with short dark hair mostly hidden by his bandanna; a pleasant smooth face with high and slightly angular cheekbones and brownish eyes that often raked whoever they fell upon with a cynical gaze.

Ah, the difference of cultures he thought with a humorless smile. Life in the Elemental nations was bloody to say the least. The Shinobi Villages lived with war always looming on the horizon. Peace meant nothing. All knew it was just a farce; a courteous way for the conflicting sides to regroup and plan their next move without the pressure of battle. When one village sensed a weakness in another they would strike. Naturally such conflict gave birth to hardened shinobi. Kindness and mercy was rarely shown. Trained in arts of treachery, showing softness to such wily foes was folly and those that did very often paid with their lives.

As he gazed out the window his eyes slowly clouded over as he began to lose himself in the memories of his childhood. He had been born close to the end of the Third Great Ninja War. His parents were both shinobi from the Leaf Village. His mother due to her pregnancy was recalled from the frontlines. She was a tall woman with laughing eyes. He loved her dearly as any child would love its mother. His father he never knew. He saw him briefly when the war ended. A pale corpse with a stern face twisted in pain. His mother had sobbed bitterly as she embraced her dead husband.

Perhaps the sight did something to him. As a child, he possessed a seriousness rarely seen in children his age. Spurned by his mother's teachings and the stories she told about his father, he joined the Shinobi Academy at six. Mitero was unhappy with his decision. Having been a shinobi and suffered through war, she wished to keep her son away from such a life but Shiro was not to be dissuaded. With a heavy heart, she allowed him to join. It was a decision she would regret forever as one year after his entry, he vanished along with his entire class. She never saw him again.

Shiro relished his time at the Academy. Determined to be the best, he studied and trained diligently; ignoring the pursuits of children his age, he focused all his spare time to honing his skills. Mitero was unhappy and tried to urge her son to enjoy his childhood while he could but Shiro disregarded his mother's advice. At the year's end Shiro was the top in his class, having learned from his mother and the Academy both.

But fate did not have kind plans in store for him. A few days before graduation, his class instructor organized a survival exercise. Shiro's class was taken into the wilderness with a couple of other teachers for supervision. As they stood in neat rows awaiting the rules, masked foes burst from the trees. Shiro watched in shock as his instructor drove a blade through the heart of one of the accompanying teachers. The remaining teacher only had time to block a strike; a brief clang of metal upon metal and then he lay motionless in the dirt with blood pooling under him. The students were then quickly incapacitated. The ones that resisted were instantly killed.

They were taken to an unknown location; a facility hidden deep within a mountain face. There they were thrown into cells. The purpose of their abduction was revealed soon enough. A ghostly pale man with long black hair and reptilian eyes arrived to observe them. Shiro discovered soon enough that this was the Legendary Snake Sannin Orochimaru. The Sannin wanted nothing more than young lab rats to visit his experiments upon. One by one Shiro's classmates were taken away. The sounds that occasionally echoed throughout the base made him grit his teeth.

Surprisingly before that he was kept in comfortable captivity. Perhaps it was because he had impressed the Sannin. Shiro was young, but he was well trained and he put that to use. In a hopeless attempt at escape, he had killed two of the guards and eluded capture for several minutes. He was caught by Orochimaru himself. As he lay restrained by snakes, the Sanin bent down to study him and chuckled. "You show a strong will. Perhaps you will be more promising than your friends."

Yes he showed promise, promise for surviving the experiments Orochimaru had ordered inflicted on the other, now dead, captives. It was eight months of hell as the Sanin's favorite lab rat but he came forth with an artificial bloodline; the ability to manipulate and change the properties of blood.

Orochimaru was never around for long having other affairs to take care of. The Sannin left the experiments in charge of a thin sallow faced man only known as The Doctor. It was the Doctor who did most of the work. When the Sannin next visited he was delighted that his experiment had succeeded and ordered him trained. His former traitorous instructor took up the task. The man was surprisingly kind to him; like a father. Perhaps he felt regret for what he did but Shiro never forgot nor did he forgive. He would keep his head low for now and so for the next two years he played the game of deception and served the Snake Sanin. But he never forgot his origins nor his mother and resolved to seize the first opportunity to escape. But the Sannin was wary despite his seemingly steadfast loyalty and he was always under close guard but the opportunity came when the base was discovered by two squads of passing Leaf ninja.

The Leaf Ninja stormed the facility and during the fighting Shiro just like that moment three years ago, turned on his instructor and drove his blade through the man's body. His instructor slowly turned to face him. The man gave him a sad smile and leaned forward to place an arm around him.

"Always remember you are a person. Always keep room in your heart for clemency. In this harsh world of ninja it will remind you that you are still human. Never let go of your emotions as painful as it can be at times."

His old instructor collapsed. Shiro regarded the body for a moment then ran off. He surrendered to the Leaf shinobi and the facility was destroyed. The Sannin was nowhere to be found. He told his story but was regarded with suspicion; nevertheless they consented to bring him back with them under the condition that he was to be restrained with seals.

The Leaf Village was much like he remembered it. He was brought before the Third Hokage. The kindly old man had looked upon him sadly when Shiro enquired eagerly about his mother. Mitero had passed away a year after her son's abduction leaving a letter should he ever return. Shiro broke down. Those years he had spent as a captive seemed utterly meaningless. Blinded by tears he sobbed away as the Hokage held him tightly.

After recounting all the details of his time with Orochimaru, Shiro was given a choice. To either settle down as a civilian or rejoin the shinobi ranks, he choosed the latter. The life of a ninja was all he ever knew and would be good for. The Hokage tested him personally and declared him a Jounin but Shiro requested the rank of a Chunin. He just wanted a simple bleak existence. His artificial bloodline was to be kept secret. He was given his flak vest and put into the Shinobi Registry.

Despite wanting a simple life he soon came to be known as one of the best solo Chunin in the village. He completed all his missions spotlessly but with a cold unfeeling demeanor. Unknown to the rest he also completed A-rank missions assigned to him by the Hokage.

After all he had been through, Shiro's emotions had retreated into a hard shell deep within him. Worried about his state, the Hokage assigned him to a squad with two other Chunin who he had informed earlier of their new teammate's past, deeming the social contact as best for the young Chunin.

Kotetsu was a loud and brash individual who often favored the direct approach and was a prankster at heart. His friend Izumo was milder and serious. He was the brains of the duo. His team wouldn't have been bad if those two would just leave him alone! The duo made it their mission to drag him from his shell. The day Shiro flew at Kotetsu in fit of absolute fury after being subjected to one of his particularly disruptive pranks was when the duo deemed their mission complete. Granted they were now both thoroughly detested by their new squad member but that could easily be worked around. As time went by, Shiro couldn't help but form an attachment with the two and eventually they became his friends.

Shiro now 19 stood in the well-furnished guest room of the Delacour Villa. Alone and embraced comfortingly by the darkness, he broke the first rule of being a shinobi: Never show emotion. Ironically it was the first rule a shinobi always broke. A prime example as overwhelmed with the longing pangs of homesickness and painful memories, Shiro cried for his mother.