How come no-one is reviewing this? Just tell us it's crap and we'll stop writing. It's not that difficult, you know! Anyway, here's the third chapter. If you're interested.

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Chapter 3

Old Aquaintances

Moody looked derisively around the filthy backalley. He highly doubted this was the muggle's 'safe' place. He doubted it was anyone's safe place. Now what had gone wrong? Under his arm, the passenger shifted, briefly returned to conciousness. 'Merde. Ou sommes-nous?' Moody grunted. 'Speak English! For pities sake, I've had enough damned french!' There was a moment's silence. Alastor thought the bastard had dropped off again. Then: 'I said where are we.' Oh. Right. 'You don't know? You sent us here.' 'What?' Moody clenched his free fist. 'Does the village Jean-Pere ring any bells?' he growled. 'Bells?' Alastor counted to ten. 'I meant do you know it.' 'No.' Frustrated, Alastor dropped him, but gently. 'Boy, I went into your head to get this location. You do know it! Now, think your way through your injury before you die of bloodloss. Jean-Pere.' The muggle looked blearily at him, but at least he seemed to be thinking. 'Jean-Pierre?' he asked, the pronunciation subtly different. 'Yes!' 'Jean-Pierre is a person, a friend, not a village.' Alastor stared at him, then closed his eyes in exasperation. 'Dammit, stop thinking in bloody french! Fine. Lets go meet Jean-Pierre.' The boy started to make an objection, but a number of things caught up with him, not least of which the shock of apparation, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness. Great!

The paintbrush moved deftly over the model's surface, limning the edges of the ornate shoulder-plates. Jean-Pierre squinted through the magnifying glass at the tiny samurai, concentrating completely on the task. When he heard the sudden barking of the Alsations outside, he looked up in mild annoyance to check the monitors. His animals were standing facing a misshapen figure in the shadows. No. Two figures, one carrying the other. Checking the time-frame, he realised that they had hit the interior perimeter without ever tripping the outer sensors. That meant one thing, and one thing only. It was one of those.

He moved sedately outside, calling his dogs to him. He raised a questionning eyebrow at the intruder. The man snorted. 'Don't look at me like that. I brought you one of yours. I think. He's not exactly coherent.' Jean-Pierre glanced at his burden, then strode forward. 'Vincent! What have you done to my boy?' The wizard looked at him. 'What do you mean what did I do? He stuck his bloody nose in my business, and got hit for his trouble. And muggins here had to save him. Don't give me no gip. I've already had a time of it trying to translate french-thought long enough to find his 'safe place' before he bleeds to death. Which will happen soon if you don't bloody let us in!' Jean-Pierre looked at him, then at Vincent. 'Bring him to the house,' he commanded. 'And tell me what happened.' The scarred one looked at him, unsure. 'Vite! Vite! Before we lose him!' The wizard glared, then complied.

Alastor followed the old man into the house, grumbling. French! He hated the bloody language. But whatever language he made it in, the other had a point. It was a bit late for caution now, especially if it cost the boy his life. Inside the house the old man turned to Moody. 'Lay him in there.' He did, and the next half an hour was spent labouriously piecing the boy's rent limb back together. A bloody mess it was, too. The blasted reducto had taken a fair lump out of him. When they were done, the french muggle led him into a sitting room, and moved to stand by the fire place. 'Well, what happened.' What happened! How do you explain to a muggle.'Well ...' 'Be aware I have had dealings with your world before.' Ah. Moody took this piece of information on board and decided to tell the story as it happened. What little he knew of it. He hadn't realised that Crompton had dug so deeply into the muggle underworld. He wouldn't have thought the pureblood bastard could have stood it. Shows how wrong you can be.'D'accord. C'est curieux. Et toi?'

'And me?' The muggle looked at him curiously. 'Qui est votre maitre?' Moody cast a quick translation spell, and switched to french, not liking this turn of the conversation. 'Je n'ai pas une maitre. J'ai ma mission ... et mes camarades.' Jean-Pierre smiled slightly. 'Ainsi! Vous ne comprennez pas? Vous etes un 'Ronin', non?' Taken aback, Moody pondered the term. A masterless warrior? It didn't fit him. There was too much ... chaos implied. He served order. Even if he didn't have a human master, he had that. 'Non! Je chasse les Ronin. La justice, c'est ma maitre.' The other shrugged. 'C'est tout que vous dites.' 'Vous ne croyez moi?' 'Pas d'importance. C'est que vous croyez.'

Moody stared for a moment, then shrugged the odd conversation off. He had things to do yet, not least of which was finding out where the hell he was, and who he was with. And there was only one person he knew who might know. 'I need to contact someone,' he stated. Jean-Pierre shrugged. 'The fireplace is over there. The Floo powder is in the Ming vase. Do try not to break it.' Moody stared. He had Floo powder? Who the hell was this guy? Ah, hell with it. Remus had better bloody know something, or he was in deep trouble!

Vite! - Hurry

D'accord. C'est curieux. Et toi? - Fine. That's interesting. And you?

Qui est votre maitre? - Who is your master?

Je n'ai pas une maitre. J'ai ma mission et mes camarades. - I have no master. I have my mission and my comrades.

Ainsi! Vous ne comprennez pas? Vous etes un Ronin, non? - So! You do not understand? You are a Ronin, no?

Non! Je chasse les Ronin. La justice, c'est ma maitre. - No! I hunt Ronin. Justice, that's my master.

C'est tout que vous dites - (loose translation) if you say so

Vous ne croyez moi? - You don't believe me?

Pas d'importance. C'est que vous croyez. - Unimportant. It's what you believe.