Disclaimer: Ninjas own everything, because they are awesome. This ninja doesn't own Harry Potter though, JK Rowling does, because she is a ninja too. You heard it here first!
The Ninja, The Samurai and The Geisha
by Firebreathing Ninja From Space!
Chapter 2: The Geisha and the Ninja
Hermione's delicate white hands trembled faintly as she set out Draco's favourite sake. He was due to arrive at any moment, and she was terribly nervous at the prospect of facing him after her last visit from Harry. How could she honourably consider Harry's proposal when she still had feelings for Draco? True, she had many other customers, but none of them meant a thing to her. Draco, on the other hand...she could not help but eagerly anticipate his visits as she did Harry's, butterflies dancing in her stomach, warm excitement beating in her heart, even though she knew it was foolish of her.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath to steady her nerves, she went over to her mirror to make sure that not a hint of the emotional hurricane raging in her heart showed in her face and manner. Satisfied that all was well, she paced the confines of her room like a caged tigress, breathless anticipation rising like a tidal wave in her despite every instinct that screamed that she should not feel this way towards the beautiful ninja. Her hand involuntarily rose to stroke her slender throat, her warm cinnamon eyes drifted half closed and she felt faint warmth rising in her face as she thought of the nights they had spent together in the past. "Draco..." she whispered musically.
"Yes?"
Hermione let out a high-pitched shriek, leapt two feet into the air, and would have fallen if not for her well-trained poise and balance. She turned toward the sound of the voice and saw Draco sitting casually sprawled behind the low table, nonchalantly sipping from his brimming sake cup. He was as devastatingly, effortlessly handsome as ever, the dark leather of his ninja uniform and weapon harness contrasting sharply with his porcelain-like skin and his shimmering platinum hair, which fell around his shoulders in golden waves. His impossibly perfect features were set in an expression of amused indifference, but his slate-coloured orbs showed a terrifying, predatory intensity.
"Draco-sama! H-how long have you been here?"
"Long enough. I see you've missed me." His tone of voice was utterly neutral, dispassionate and uncaring, and she burned with embarrassment. What must he think of her sighing over him like a silly little girl? No doubt she was just a diversion to him, a means of relaxing between battles.
"Hermione-chan? Are you all right?" The door opened and Molly's head peered in.
"'Evening, Molly," Draco said in the same tone, not bothering to look round. "I put tonight's payment in the secret drawer in your bedroom. You should hide it better."
"I...I see. Thank you, Draco-sama." Molly glanced again at Hermione, then bowed deeply and withdrew, sliding the door shut behind her.
Hermione knelt in her customary place opposite Draco, and waited for him to speak. He merely studied her in silence for minute after minute, toying with his cup with his long, elegant fingers and occasionally sipping slowly and deliberately. She burned beneath his fixed gaze as the tension in the room became palpable, and glanced back furtively at him through her half-lowered lashes. He was truly beautiful, like a god come down from the heavens. Merely flicking her gaze across his slender but perfectly sculpted torso, visible under his open tunic, made her throat go dry. The blank, stony expression on his gorgeous visage – making him look like a brooding, fallen angel – filled her with pangs of dismay and regret. How could such a beautiful man be so cold, and how could he so intrigue and excite her in spite of it?
Finally, to break the unbearable silence, she tentatively asked: "Were...were you at the fighting at the castle, Draco-sama?"
"The other night? Yes, but only at the beginning," the angelic warrior replied casually, his grey eyes neither moving from her nor becoming one iota less intense. "I was paid to get the Death Ninjas into the castle, so that's what I did. If they wanted to get themselves killed running around inside that deathtrap, that's their problem. Stand up," he added abruptly.
Wondering what he had in mind, Hermione obeyed, rising gracefully to her feet in a rustle of silk. Draco's eyes followed her up, flashing silver-grey.
"Take off your clothes. I want to look at you." The tone of his voice remained perfectly level and disinterested, but liquid fire seemed to run through Hermione's veins. Her fingers shook palpably as she fumbled to unfasten the belt of her kimono. The garment whispered to the floor, followed by her under-robe and remaining clothing. Finally, she untied the ribbon in her hair and let it join them. Her chestnut hair tumbled over her ivory shoulders in gleaming waves, disarranged from its elaborate arrangement and giving her a rumpled, almost wanton look.
Blushing furiously and resisting the urge to cover herself, she averted her eyes from Draco as he continued to sit drinking his sake with the same uncaring, faintly mocking expression on his god-like visage. Only a flicker of fire in his steely eyes hinted at a hunger behind. More minutes ticked by as he devoured her alabaster skin and perfectly shaped form with his gaze. Draining his cup, he abruptly stood up in one swift, flowing motion, startling her. He padded silently round the room, examining her from every angle, once, twice, three times, like a lion circling a lamb. Unlike Harry, Hermione thought, Draco never made her forget what she was: a whore. Somehow, though, when she was with him the fact no longer caused her such pain. Such thoughts filled her with shame and disgust, but they could not quench the burning fire he lit in her bosom.
The tension and anticipation was now unbearable – Hermione could feel the breeze from the window and the air currents stirred up by Draco's movement caressing her body like a lover's hands, fanning the flames. If she could ever have denied it, she now could not: she ached and yearned for Draco to touch her. At long last, he did, running his thumb along the back of her neck and down her spine with a feather-light touch to the small of her back. She shook like a reed in the wind at the sensation, letting out an involuntary gasp and fighting to stay upright. The fingers of his other hand danced like mischievous fairies up the side of her thigh and up to her hip, then suddenly gripped her hard and spun her round to face him. She squeaked in surprise, knees turning to jelly, and would have fallen had he not grasped her shoulders in a vice-like grip. Meeting his flinty eyes, she was transfixed by the scorching heat of his gaze, like a doe ensnared by a mountain lion.
"Why so fearful?" Draco demanded harshly. "Do I scare you?"
"Y-yes, Draco-sama."
"Why? Am I frightening? Dangerous?"
"Yes, Draco-sama. Everyone knows how deadly you are. All fear you."
Hermione knew she was lying, that Draco's fearsome reputation was not the cause of her fear. Her gnawing fear that he would sense this was confirmed when he rasped: "And so they should. But you're lying. That's not why you're afraid, is it?"
"N-no, Draco-sama."
"What do you fear, then?"
She burned with embarrassment at the thought of speaking her forbidden feelings aloud and tried to look away, but he grasped her chin firmly and forced her to meet his thundercloud gaze again. "Say it. What do you fear?"
There was nothing for it. "I fear...the way you make me feel, Draco-sama."
"Oh? And how do I make you feel?" Draco's eyes gleamed pewter as he sardonically asked the question – he already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it.
"You make me feel...good, Draco-sama."
"Good? Good how?" Draco barked irritably. "And for Kami's sake stop saying my name, I know what it is."
"When I am with you, I feel...desire. Passion. You set me on fire."
The amusement in his expression grew, only increasing her embarrassment. She was a whore and he was paying for her services, why should he care if she enjoyed his attentions or not? "Oh? And how do I do that?"
"Everything, Dra-I'm sorry. Everything. The way you look at me, the way you touch me..." Inwardly, Hermione was screaming in horror at the things she was saying, but a part of her no longer cared for modesty or discretion. He had asked and she had answered truthfully, and he would do what he willed with the information.
"I see." The normally stoic ninja's voice would have sounded perfectly level to most, but Hermione now detected a slight tremor. "So you like it when I do...this?" He suddenly drew her to him with his killing strength, enfolding her tightly in his arms. Soft skin rubbed uncomfortably against warm leather, but the feel of his lean, hard body against her was so good that she let out an involuntary moan. Those artist's hands of his slipped caressingly down her back, inflaming her desire further.
Cupping her cheek, Draco stared into her chocolate orbs with his silver ones. "Should I take that as a yes?" Unable to speak coherently, the trembling geisha simply nodded.
"And how about this?" Draco's cruel, hard mouth pressed down on hers in a kiss that sent waves of ecstasy rolling through her. She responded eagerly, crushing herself against him and letting her tongue meet his. She was breathless and shivering when they finally broke apart and he held her at arms' length, studying her face as if trying to commit her look of unrestrained passion to memory.
"Tell me what you want, Hermione." His voice was just faintly hoarse.
"I want...I want...I want you to make love to me, Draco!" she cried longingly, all restraint thrown to the wind.
Faster than the eye could see, he lifted her up in his strong arms, causing her to squawk in delighted surprise, then deposited her on the bed. He knelt down above her, one elegant hand pressing into the pillow on either side of her face. She gulped as his hunger was suddenly writ clear in his eyes. "As you wish." He leaned down and kissed her again, as her hands moved to push his tunic off his shoulders.
Some time later, Hermione lay exhausted but happy next to Draco, eyes closed and swimming in a warm sea of joy after the most shatteringly passionate love-making of her life. When she heard the ninja get up and start gathering his clothing, she remained unmoving, feigning sleep. She could not bear the disappointment of his returning to his normal cold, controlled self after the dark, fiery passion he had displayed earlier.
She heard the door slide open then close again, and tears began to well up behind her eyelids as she wept for what she had glimpsed for a brief moment and now most likely lost forever. Draco would never love her – why should he? – and if he did, he would never lower his guard to let it show. He was a deadly man under constant threat of death, both hunter and hunted, and it had made a cold and dead thing of his heart. It gave her comfort to know that she could ease the soul-crushing burden of his life from time to time, but there would be no kind words of thanks for her, only the scant warmth of his reflected glory.
A sudden sensation tore her from her miserable musings and almost startled her into breaking her illusion of sleep. A long-fingered hand was gently – tenderly – stroking and smoothing her silky tousled hair, gathering it neatly against her shoulder. The tumbled blankets were gently pulled over her and tucked solicitously around her. She realized that Draco must have changed his mind and returned. But what was he doing? His touch as he continued to stroke her hair and run his fingers through its softness was neither exploring nor inflaming, merely pleasantly stimulating. Even when he softly kissed her smooth, bare shoulder before drawing the blanket around it, it felt...affectionate? She wondered briefly if this was someone else – though who might treat her so lovingly save Harry, who she knew was far away, she had no idea. This doubt was dispelled when she heard his voice, though his words shocked her.
"Goodbye, my dear Hermione. Be safe."
Another tender kiss fell like a snowflake on her cheek, then the door swished again and he was gone. The shocked girl remained perfectly still for a long time, unsure if he had really left this time, then finally opened her amber eyes and sat up. Draco was gone, but there was a red rose on the pillow beside her. Her heart fluttered with amazement and confusion as she touched the flower. Had that really happened? Could Draco care for her as something other than a warm body and an amusing plaything? Was there a tender, loving man hidden behind his coldly beautiful exterior?
And what did this mean for the decision she had to make about Harry? Could she go away with him without knowing Draco's true feelings? In coldly logical and mundane terms, the choice between the two men was obvious. Harry was the Shogun's champion, well-born, loved and respected by the people, a hero who kept Voldemort's depredations at bay, and a kind and generous man. Draco was a wanted killer, a traitor who worked for Voldemort (even if it was only for money), a cold and hard man with no home or decent living who had never even spoken to her directly of love and affection, let alone marriage. And yet...and yet...could things be otherwise? And was Harry's offer a true escape – could she take him from his duty and expose him to ridicule for marrying her?
What should she do?
Shaking her head (causing her tawny, unbound hair to fly around her), Hermione resolved to make no decision as yet. Harry's offer remained a dream until the war was over in any case, and though it still pained her that even if he was the one she chose, she could not yet offer him her whole heart, she comforted herself with the thought that he had never demanded such a thing, nor asked her about her other customers. The geisha smiled ruefully as it occurred to her that she should count her blessings – how fortunate was she, a poor whore, to have the love and attention of two such brave and handsome men? She blushed at the improper thought, but the smile remained on her face as she dressed hurriedly, tucked the red rose into her hair and headed for the baths.
As she passed down the corridor, smiling to a relieved-looking Molly to assure her that all was well, a pair of narrowed eyes followed her with malice and curiosity. Cho detached herself from the shadows and looked after Hermione, an inscrutable expression on her face.
"So that's how it is..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
A/N: Uh oh, what's Cho planning?! I was very disappointed not to get any reviews for chapter 1 – I know people are reading (people on four continents, go me!) from my hit counter, so where's the reviews? For encouragement, here's a couple of questions for everyone to try and answer:
1) Which guy do you think Hermione should be with?
2) Which guy would YOU rather be with? (Hee hee!)
I'll ask again after chapter 5 – let's see if anyone changes their mind!
