AN: I know that it has been too long since I last posted a chapter to this story. Things have been busy to say the least. I've gained some free time so here is the next chapter. You might notice Shiro mentions topics regarding the Ministry election that did not appear in the last chapter. I am currently doing a little rewriting and will be adding some extra dialogue between him and Akida in chapter 3. I'll update it when I post chapter 5.
"Monsieur Delacour?" After briefly knocking, a young maid poked her head through the door.
A fine featured man in his forties looked up surprise. "Camille, I did not expect to see you still up. Is everything all right?"
"Well Monsieur, someone is wanting to see you."
"At this hour?" Jean Claude Delacour asked in puzzlement.
"Yes Monsieur. He is quite young and doesn't speak our language. He says he has business with you."
Business this late? Jean thought in confusion. "Well where is he?"
"At the gates."
Jean stood up from his chair and walked over to one of the windows in his personal study. Drawing aside the curtains he spotted a dark figure standing patiently outside the gate.
"Bring him in. I am curious as to what he could want with me."
"Yes Monsieur Delacour."
"Camille, how did you find him?"
"Through the windows of one of the rooms. I couldn't sleep so I thought to get an early start on cleaning."
"How did you get into contact with him?"
"I went out to the gates, Monsieur."
Jean turned to look over his shoulder in surprise. "Why?"
"I wondered why he was at the gates. At first thought he might be a possible thief but after watching him a while, it didn't look like that. So I went out to personally chase him away."
Jean laughed. "I didn't know I had such a fierce watchdog among my staff," he said causing the maid to smile embarrassedly but with pleasure. "Please bring him up."
Jean turned back to the window. Was it his imagination, or was the figure staring at him? It was difficult to tell with how dark it was. He waited at the window a while longer until he saw the form of his maid walking down the driveway. Then he returned to his desk and seated himself. However with this newest development, Jean found himself unable to concentrate so he merely sat waiting for his curious visitor to arrive.
"Come in," he called when knocking once again sounded on his door. As it opened and Camille's voice could be heard directing his unknown guest inside, Jean stood to greet him with a welcoming smile adorning his weary face.
A young boy in a full bodied cloak stepped through the door. His black hair was mostly covered with a bandana that bore a plate of metal on the front with a symbol etched into it.
"Welcome," Jean greeted him in warmly in English hoping to dispel his fears. "My maid tells me that you have business with me yet I can't recall ever seeing you before. Camille?" he called to the maid who still stood outside the door watching. "Could you please bring some refreshments?"
After she had left, Jean indicated a chair. "Please sit and make yourself comfortable. Then you can tell me what business you have with me."
"Thank you, but I'd much rather stand for now," Came the response in soft polite voice. There was a slight accent that implied English was not his native tongue.
"As you wish," Jean assented as he retook his seat. "So what business could you possibly have with me at this hour?"
His guest briefly looked about before sliding out of his cloak and neatly folding it across the proffered seat. Then he delivered a short bow.
"My name is Shiro Inikaze, the shinobi sent in regard to the protection mission you requested for your eldest daughter."
For several moments Jean sat too surprised to speak as he stared at his young guest.
"You were not expecting someone so young were you?" His guest chuckled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "I assure you I am capable for the task or I would not have been selected."
Without his cloak, Jean had a chance to take him in. The apparel he wore was odd even for muggle standards, but compared to the decorative robes wizard wore, quite eye catching. His outfit seemed to consist of a long sleeved black shirt with matching pants. The shirt was hidden by a curious green vest and he had a row of pouches attached to his belt. He also caught a glimpse of a red emblem on the shoulder sleeves.
"I have difficulty believing that," Jean remarked with some sharpness. Before he could formulate a reply, his guest walked forward.
"For someone in your position you should know not to judge a book by its cover." There was a small clink as something was deposited on his desk. Jean looked down in confusion at an oddly shaped dagger. He looked back up and momentarily froze in place as he was met with quite a different expression from his visitor.
Hard brown eyes, cold and emotionless; withered by experience locked with his. "Were you not my client but my target, you'd be dead right now; killed by someone you didn't assume to be a threat."
His tone had changed at well. It was no longer gentle and polite, but hollow and emotionless. Jean sat momentarily frozen in surprise and unease. He swallowed uncomfortable. The detached yet focused stare made him feel like prey being sized up. He had never seen such empty eyes before.
To his relief, the expression of his guest faded back to his previous bearing. Feeling his breath flow again, Jean gave an uncertain chuckle. "Do you make the habit of scaring your clients?" the Delacour head asked jokingly.
A polite smile was flashed at him. "Not in general. However it wouldn't do to have a client doubting me, particularly when he's going to be paying a large sum."
"How old are you?" Jean asked carefully.
"Seventeen." Shiro answered.
Jean opened his mouth and closed it again. On the one hand, he wanted to dismiss this as a joke, on the other he remembered the cold empty stare that bespoke of experience that he didn't care to know.
"I made my first kill when I was seven," Shiro spoke. "Yes Mr. Delacour," He added at the shocked look. "It's no joke. I've been trained to kill since I was six. I may be young, but I'm experienced."
Silence fell between them. To imagine a child had gone through such a dark process, it was beyond sobering. Just what kind of brutal mindset did this group possess to do such a thing? Jean shifted uncomfortable trying to think of something to say. Meanwhile Shiro was gazing calmly at him waiting for a response.
"Well then, do you know why you are here?" Jean slapped himself inwardly. What a stupid a thing to say. Of course he knew. His guest made no effort to hide the amused tilt of his lips.
"Yes, of course you do," Jean continued before he could say anything. "But first I wish to know though what you were doing so late outside my mansion."
"I arrived in Paris this evening. When I reached your residence it was past normal visiting hours so I resolved to spend the night outside and call upon you in the morning. Your servant spotted me and came to demand that I leave the premises. Fortunately for me, she had seen you enter your study so I was able to persuade her for a meeting."
"But why did you choose to settle outside my property? There are many hotels you could have rented."
"For the same reason you hired me."
Jean gave him a look. "What do you mean by that?"
"Like you are concerned for your daughter, I was concerned for yours so I resolved to spend the night watching your residence."
"I don't understand," Jean said puzzled. "Why would you be concerned for me?"
A dry look was leveled at him. "This contract is worth a lot to my organization. It wouldn't do to have harm befall the client. Are you not suspicious about the sudden death of the prime candidate for the next Minster of Magic election?"
Jean shot him a sharp glance. "How do you know about that?" he demanded.
Shiro smiled innocently. "Information is very important to us shinobi. We have our ears in a lot of places. Jean Claude Delacour, Official in the French Ministry of Magic. Husband to half Veela Apolline, and has two daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour, both quarter Veela. You are also on very bad terms with the only remaining candidate, Alphonse Moreau."
Jean leaned backwards. "For someone who's just arrived, you know a lot."
"That is just general information easily gotten," Shiro said dismissively. "It's the details that I don't know. So tell me why the request for protection. Who or what do you fear?"
Jean sat silent with folded hands for several long moments. "I don't know." He answered at last, the lines in his face matching his tired tone.
Shiro tilted his head. "Then why ask for a bodyguard?"
"A precaution. I assume you know that my daughter is currently at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and will be leaving France in a month for England. There is competition to be held in England between three great schools of magic and my daughter has pleaded with me to be allowed to go."
Jean looked up to see Shiro gazing at him quietly. "There's something more," the young shinobi murmured. "You wouldn't have agreed to paying such a large sum for a simple precaution, and why go to us? You could have easily hired one of your own kind. If I'm to do my job, I expect to be informed of all the possible threats. So I'll ask you again; why did you hire a bodyguard?"
"A father's worry I suppose," Jean murmured heavily. "I wasn't lying when I said it was precaution. I didn't want to point fingers without proof. Politics can be a very unpleasant job. Treachery behind the scenes is all too common. A good portion of the influential Ministry members come from pure blood families and thus my marriage to a magical being and my contradictory views have made me unpopular among them."
"And when did you begin to feel uncertain?"
"Two week ago when Durand died. He was one of the five participants for the election; a fine elderly gentleman. I was suspicious of his death despite the accidental circumstance. When two of the other candidates withdrew leaving only Moreau and I, I began to suspect something was amiss."
"And that's when you decided to ensure your daughter's safety." Shiro finished.
"But I have no proof," Jean continued. "I hold no friendly feelings for Moreau, but I am hesitant to think he would have someone killed. He is not an honorable man, but neither is he fully bad. I just pray my fears are unfounded."
A gentle look seeped into Shiro's expression. A parent's love, the young chunin was reminded sadly. "I might not seem capable to you, Mr. Delacour," he said. "But I assure you I'll do my best to ensure your daughter's protection."
Jean looked at him without expression. "And what if events should prove more than you can handle?"
"Then the backup will jump in."
"Backup?" Jean repeated questioningly. "I thought I hired one of you only."
"You did. We take our contracts seriously. Another person will be watching from a distance in the chance that something goes awry." More than one actually, Shiro. But that didn't need to be said.
Jean's face lightened. "So I hire one and get a hidden bonus. It does me good to hear that. I'll be able to rest easier now when Fleur is away."
At that moment knocking commenced again on the door. Both parties turned towards it as Camille entered bearing a tray of sandwiches cut in half, and glasses of milk with a few confectionaries.
"Thank you," Jean said with a smile. "I did not expect to eat so richly for a midnight snack."
"It's past one," Camille corrected with a pleased smile before she left.
"So it is," Jean murmured somewhat wonderingly. The time really had flown by unwittingly. "Please help yourself," he offered to Shiro who was examining the tray.
"Thank you." He pulled of the glove from his left hand. Jean noted how he examined the food before taking a bite. It was brief but the careful movements were clear.
"Are you unfamiliar with our food?" Jean asked humorously.
"You could say that," Shiro responded while bringing the sandwich to his lips where he took the hidden opportunity to smell it. Though the chances were next to none, one couldn't be too careful. Satisfied that all was well, he bit into the food with concealed pleasure.
"So what is a shinobi?" Jean asked after a moment of relaxation. Shiro's eyes slowly flicked to his sending an unpleasant sensation through his being. Jean couldn't help feeling he had stepped into forbidden territory.
"What do you know of us?"
Jean was silent as he tried to phrase his next words in a way that wouldn't cause any offence. The quiet patient stare was quite unsettling.
"I know that you are a group of assassins that perform a wide variety of tasks for a certain fee. I don't know more than that."
"And you hired an assassin to guard your daughter?" His guest's tone was amused.
"Had Armand not been a close trusted friend of mine since childhood, I would not have dealt with you." Jean said a little sharply. "I would have preferred not to deal with killers, but Armand insisted that could not to find better protection if I hired one of you. He refused to divulge more so I had to take it in faith."
Shiro slowly rolled a cookie between his fingers. "That must have been a big leap for you. I presume then you've taken the contract all wizards who deal with us must take; to not reveal us on the pain of death and death to your families as well."
Jean nodded slightly pale. "Yes I took that oath."
"That's all you need to know about us. I will say however that we have abilities similar to magic. In fact if you witnessed it, you would think it magic."
"Are you saying you aren't wizards?" Jean asked with a hint of incredulity.
Shiro's expression darkened. "Don't judge a book by its cover," he quoted with a soft undertone. "Let me show you."
He lay down the cookie and held his hand out over the tray with his palm upwards. Jean looked down at in confusion. There was a sudden flash of motion but it was so quick he didn't pay it any thought. Jean was about to look back up when suddenly he realized there was a long deep cut across the palm of his guest. He stared gripped by morbid wonder and confusion at the pure pinkish flesh exposed on the insides of the tear and then before his eyes; like a river gushing forth into a dry bed, the valley of pink turned red as blood began to pool out from the flesh. Within a couple of seconds the liquid had filled the cut and began overflowing and dripping onto the tray.
"Mon Dieu! Jean exclaimed nearly starting from his seat in shock as has his mind processed what he had witnessed. It wasn't just the fact that his guest had calmly nearly cut his own hand in half, but it was the speed in which he had done it. Not even his own body had registered the wound and let the blood flow until a second or two had passed and the dagger that had been laying on his desk was now held in his guest's other hand.
Replacing his kunai, Shiro kept his injured hand over the tray to avoid dropping blood elsewhere and pulled off his other glove with his teeth. Not being very experienced in medical ninjutsu, he found it easier to direct the chakra when his hands were bare. Quietly murmuring the signs and focusing on his good hand, he felt the chakra that began pooling around it take a soothing flow. Once his hand began to glow green, he hovered it over his injured one and slowly felt the pain subside as his flesh and veins began to nit themselves back together. Being a deep cut, it took about a minute before it was fully healed. Under his client's speechless eyes, he flexed his healed hand. There wasn't even a scar.
"That was a healing technique," Shiro said in a tone as if nothing had happened. "So you see we aren't what you term muggles."
"So fast," Jean murmured after he had recovered. "I wasn't even certain you had moved." He looked down and felt his stomach tremble at the sight of the blood spattered across the food. The cut had not been small. Even his glass had fallen victim. Crimson trails were running down the sides and clouds of red were dispersing within the milk.
"Due to our profession, we have an enhanced sense of danger," Shiro continued as he slipped his gloves back on. "We have the skills to combat the danger. And we have the fighting experience to succeed. I don't see why an assassin can't accomplish the role of a bodyguard as proficiently as anyone else. I'll say it again: If my peers hadn't thought I was capable of such a task, I would not have been sent. The sum you agreed to pay for the successful completion of this mission is no small amount. Do you think we would jeopardize it?"
"No, I suppose not." Jean admitted. "You've convinced me enough for now. My God did you feel nothing when you cut your hand?"
"I'm used to pain." Was the brief answer, but the tone behind it spoke of stories Jean thought best left unsaid.
Jean stood up giving the tray a rueful glance. Even if part of the food had been unaffected, he had completely lost his appetite.
"We can talk again in the morning. It is getting too late. I have a meeting in the Ministry in the morning and I need to prepare. You are welcome to stay here for the night. I will show you to one of our guest rooms if you wish."
Shiro stood up and reached for his glass of milk which Jean noted had escaped the rain of blood. He quickly downed it and placed it back on the tray. That sly rascal, Jean realized suddenly as he met Shiro's innocent expression. He had purposely avoided dripping blood into his own glass.
"I admit I was mistaken to judge you on your age." The French Official admitted in a wry tone. He even allowed a smile of rueful amusement. There was no response as Shiro collected his cloak and stood waiting for him to lead the way. However despite his business like expression, Jean could practically feel the smugness radiating off his being. Jean frowned suddenly as a realization came.
"Follow me," he directed the young shinob. As they walked through the mansion, he cast a backwards glance at the silent figure trailing quietly behind him. He didn't doubt his skills. The hard almost lifeless eyes so withered and burdened, the quickness with which he moved, his tolerance to pain as he sliced his hand. He was a professional at seventeen, the same age as Fleur. However in hindsight, he was still young in character. Would an older person have demonstrated his abilities in such a way?
It didn't seem likely. But he couldn't deny the effect. It had thoroughly rattled him. Though immature in a way, it was perhaps that was a good thing. There was no denying those chilling eyes he had glimpsed near the beginning of their meeting. He could only imagine what the boy had gone through to gain such a look. However that he was still able to retain emotions like amusement and smugness was in a way a positive thing. Jean couldn't help smiling suddenly. It showed that that the hardships he must have endured in his life had not yet smothered the spark of immaturity his being still held. He was a cunning one though, Jean thought amused. He had played off the act without a twitch.
"Here is your room," Jean announced once they reached their destination. He opened the door as Shiro moved forward to look in. "You should find everything to your comfort. There is a connected bathroom as well. I'm afraid I will have to wake you early. The meeting tomorrow is very important and it will be a prime opportunity to send you to Beauxbatons where my daughter is."
There was no answer for several long moments. Jean looked at his shadowed features uncertainly. What was he thinking as he stared into the room. Then his head turned towards him and Jean once again saw those soulless eyes. Alone in the hallway lit only by a single lamp amidst the silent mansion, Jean couldn't help but feel his skin break into goosebumps.
A moment later they closed and when they reopened the look was gone. "Why is that?" Shiro asked. His tone seemed normal, perhaps a bit heavier?
Deciding to ignore it, Jean answered him. "Do you know what a portkey is?"
"A spell that has been cast on an object to take whoever touches it to a set location."
Jean nodded with slight approval. "We have a more advanced system in a special room in the Ministry. From there I can send you directly to Beauxbatons."
Shiro hummed softly before answering in a slightly teasing tone; "I see. Does that mean I have your seal of approval?"
Jean smiled briefly before his face grew serious. "I will put my faith in Armand and you. I hope it is not ill-founded."
A gentle hum again came from the young shinobi. "Goodnight then."
"Goodnight," Jean answered in kind. He turned around and walked down the dark corridor with the uneasy sensation of a pair of eyes boring into his back.
Shiro chuckled unpleasantly before entering the room. Wizards, he thought with some disdain; so soft, so easily shaken. He looked soberly around the dark room. Everything was still and peaceful. The moon streamed in through the open curtains. For a long moment Shiro stood there in silence. He felt a pang of homesickness shoot through him as he realized just how long he would be gone, and how far away he was from his home.
Quickly shaking the unpleasant feeling away, he unzipped his vest and belt and placed them with his accessories on the nightstand before undoing his bandages and sandals. Lastly he slowly pulled of his bandana and gazed reflectively at the symbol of the leaf before placing it among his equipment. With a quick sigh to steel himself, he slipped into the soft bed. He lay there staring up at the ceiling for several minutes before uneasily closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.
It was some time before Shiro realized he was alone in a dark misty landscape. He looked about wary and confused. Where was he? His steps made no sound as he walked forward. Where ever he walked, the mist would swirl apart before him. Eventually he stopped, and as he looked about, something in the swirling mist caught his eye. He slowly approached and the dark clouds dispersed to reveal a young boy staring at him with lifeless eyes and a jagged cut in his throat.
Shiro stopped and stared at him silently. He knew him. He was the young brother of an Iwa shinobi he had killed. In retaliation for the slaughter of a Leaf squad that supposedly wandered into their territory, Shiro had been tasked to assassinate one of the prominent shinobi of the Hidden Stone Village. He found his target, and he drove his tanto through her heart just as she detected his presence. Before he could withdraw his blade, her little brother walked in. The boy's features morphed into shock and he opened his mouth to cry out but a single shuriken to his throat silenced him instantly.
As Shiro gazed at the ghostly apparition, his sister moved out of the mist to stand alongside him. Blood was running down her chest from where he stabbed her. Her eyes were just as lifeless and her skin deathly pale and grey. The two just stood motionless staring wordless at him. Shiro turned away and walked on.
He could hear steps following him. Looking over his shoulder he saw the two following him. Then steps began to sound all around him and the bodies of those he had killed began to appear; too many too count; all silent, pale, grey, and bloody; staring at him with dead eyes and numb lips.
Fear crept into his being and Shiro quickened his pace. So did his past victims. Eventually he broke into a run. He could hear them pounding after him, the noise behind sounding like thunder. The outline of a house appeared ahead. As he got closer, he stopped in confusion. It was his house. He looked back and then charged in and slammed the door. He quickly locked it and stood still breathing heavily. Suddenly he realized his hands were much smaller. In confusion he looked himself over. He was a child again.
"Shiro is that you?"
"Mother?" Shiro called out. His brow furrowed in a frown. Why had he been so scared? What had he been running from? The house was lit and the glow was invitingly warm. Shiro happily wandered into the kitchen but to his disappointment dinner had not been made.
"I'm upstairs Shiro." He heard his mother call again. Shiro wandered up the familiar steps and into his mother's room. There lay his mother on the bed. She looked a little sick, but her face lighted at his arrival. She held her arms towards him and suddenly Shiro was engulfed by tears.
Why? He thought as he ran towards her and seized her in a tight hug. He buried his face into her warm bosom as her arms wrapped around him protectively. He didn't know why, but he felt overwhelming grief and pain.
"Shhh my little Shi Shi," his mother hushed. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad day at school?"
Shiro couldn't answer. His throat was so choked with grief. The tears just flowed as he held his mother tight.
"Tell me what's wrong dear." Shiro froze instantly. That wasn't his mother's voice. Dread filled every fiber of his being. He tried to lash backwards but the arms suddenly gripped him painfully. A hissing chuckle sounded out as Shiro raised his head to be confronted with the face of Orochimaru.
"You're mine now," The sannin whispered with a smile before his head darted forward and Shiro felt his fangs pierce his neck.
His eyes shot open and Shiro leaped out of bed, his heart felt like it would explode. A hand shot to his neck as he spun wildly about the room. Orochimaru's face was leering at him from every direction. A few seconds later the image faded away as his mind adjusted to reality leaving him cold and damp with sweat, one hand on his neck with other holding a kunai.
"Kuso!" Shiro swore in a choked tone; Grief, fright, and anger all combined. The last moments of the dream replayed in his mind forcing him to stride swiftly for the bathroom. He flipped on the light and rapidly examined his neck in the mirror above the sink. There was no mark at all. He nearly smashed the mirror in his fury.
"Why, why, why!" He shouted in a raw whisper. "Damn that snake to all hell!"
Vulnerable and overcome by the sudden rush of emotions, Shiro gripped the edges of the sink tightly before letting go and slipping onto the floor where he sat bowed over as he began to cry for mother, his life, his regrets…
How long he sat there, Shiro had no idea. All he knew was that his eyes were completely dry and itchy. Not another tear refused to come. Inside he felt nothing; just overwhelming emptiness and exhaustion. Slowly he picked himself up and stared in the mirror. His eyes looked as lifeless as those in his dream. His face was haggard and streaked with tear trails. His eyes were swollen and looked as if they had been bleeding.
Shiro dully turned on the tap and splashed his face. Then he wandered aimlessly back into the bedroom. He wearily looked at the clock. It was four o'clock. Laughing bitterly at himself, Shiro walked back to the bed and collapsed in it. He felt too drained to even care about another nightmare.
Eventually he sank back into a miserable sleep.
