Far Too Late For Visitors

A/N: So, this being my second story I think I can see certain trends forming in my style, these being that a) They will turn out longer than anticipated - this one will be 4 chapters now instead of three I think! b) The chapters just seem to get longer and longer and - most importantly I feel - c) There tends to be a long chapter which is mostly talk! This chapter conforms to the third point I fear but hopefully will set things up a bit more. I don't know, you toss a word like 'ninja' in there and suddenly you have much more to consider! :D Anyway this is all a bit different for me so I hope it reads well. Enjoy, and please R&R you lovely lovely people. ~Love, Marie.


Chapter Two – But I guess I’ll decide to invite you inside

Hermione sat in her armchair once more, but this time she was sitting quietly in the dark of her small bedroom. She had shrunk the chair and carried it with her as she slowly climbed the narrow stairs of her tiny cottage, guiding the floating unconscious body of her former Professor up the crooked passage in front of her. She accidentally banged his head on the doorframe as she moved him into the bedroom, but the twinge of guilt she felt was only slight. She had positioned him as comfortably as she could in her large four-poster bed and ensured that his breathing and pulse were strong and regular.

Then she had made her way back downstairs and cast cleaning spell after cleaning spell, desperately trying to get the bright red out of her throw and sofa cushions. She cast a quick ‘reparo’ on the broken glass, and then scourgified it. Then she cleaned the floor, moving all the furniture out of the way so that she could thoroughly scrub the pools of sticky fluid with her polishing spells. There was so much blood she could hardly believe that there was any more flowing in the veins of the man sleeping upstairs. It had taken a long while to clean absolutely. Then she rearranged her furniture, dimmed the lights in the sitting room, and had taken her place in the silent bedroom.

She sat with her feet squarely on the floor, her back straight in the chair, her hands gently stroking the warm, soft hair of Crookshanks, who was curled purring in her lap. She hadn’t drawn the curtains but even so very little light entered the room. It was almost a full moon but the thick clouds and endless rain blocked the magical silvery light. Shadows crept from every corner, reaching out to her and the figure on the bed.

If she concentrated very hard on the white sheets covering him, she could see the gradual rise and fall of his breathing, which was the only indication as to his living. Other than that, he was deathly still. The silence pressed around her. Her eyelids began to droop.

Once more a thump and a shout made her leap out her seat and brighten the lights, Crookshanks flying into the air as she pushed him from her lap. At the sound of her own startled cry, the man in the bed leapt to his own feet, clutching his hands to his bare chest in frantic haste.

“What is it?” He called in his sleepy panic. “What’s occurred? Where is my wand?”

He at once tried to move towards her, but the white cotton sheet had mostly fallen from the bed as he leapt out of it, and now was tangled on the floor around his legs. He tripped hard over it, his hands stretching out, but just when it seemed he would land flat on his face, his body curled up into a tight roll and he smoothly ended on his feet again, only a foot or two from her. Her mouth was open in surprise at his spry movement but before either of them spoke the call from downstairs came again.

“Hermione? Where are you?!”

She recognised the voice and knew immediately why it was calling her and ran to the door with only a quick glance at Snape, opening it and calling down the hallway.

“Harry! It’s OK, I’m in the bedroom. Up here.”

The pounding of hurrying feet ascended and then he was on the threshold and over it, the 25 year old Harry Potter in his auror robes, flicking his green eyes over her, and over the Professor standing bare chested in only a pair of black trousers, and also over the large bed and crumpled, strewn sheets.

“What has he done?” Harry called furiously, striding up to the both of them, but turning now to the older man, glaring at him through the black rims of his glasses. “If she tells me you hurt her…” he continued threateningly, but Hermione put her hands up onto the chest of her best friend and pushed him gently but firmly away, shoving him so that he sat down with a slight huff into the armchair.

“Harry, he’s done nothing. Calm down won’t you?” She knelt so that she was level with his face and said “Keep your auror head, hrm?” He smiled at her briefly, she could see his relief.

“Where’s the Healer, anyway?” She continued, “And what are you doing here at all? You know you’re not supposed to come out on personal calls.”

“I know, but I had just got back to the office and the bird came in with your address, and you know I worry about how isolated you are here…” his voice was fast and still loud, but he was interrupted by the sound of creaking stairs and wheezing, and then a large man came into the room, his cheeks crimson, his chest heaving from the climb, and using a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his bald head.

“Senior Resident Healer Macintyre Marshall Crampiddle,” he said in way of introduction while he still fought to catch his breath, his wide girth wobbling. “Somebody here requires medical attention,” he added, and Hermione thought that he could as well be referring to himself. The man was certainly into his sixties at least, but his tremendous size and obvious unfitness was not a reassuring picture. Severus Snape had been standing silently while this gabbled rush of supposed emergency aid had arrived, but now he spoke firmly and with authority, commanding despite his less than formal appearance.

“I was the one in need of a Healer,” he said smoothly. “Professor Severus Snape of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The larger man waddled forward a pace or two and took Snape’s proffered hand, shaking it firmly. “Fortunately your services should not be required now. Miss Granger here performed an exemplary casting of the Redintegro spell. The wound healed very well,” he added. Hermione felt a little jump in her stomach at hearing the teacher describe her work as ‘exemplary’.

Whilst he spoke he gestured to the new scar at his shoulder, the faintest trace of pinkish red the only indication of its being a recent acquisition. The old Healer raised his bushy grey eyebrows and wrinkled his forehead in surprise, casting a feint mauve charm on the scar and watching it flare brightly, and the light seemed to form a shadow of the former wound above the healed skin. The gash widened a little and purple lines of light slid down the man’s bare chest like blood. Crampiddle shuffled round the side of the younger man, his eyes taking in the fiercer wound on his back, and in that moment he cast another charm of light, green this time, which fizzed and sparked as her spell had done, recreating the healing for the medi-wizard to observe.

When the flashes of light had dispersed the old man nodded slowly and turned his watery blue eyes to Hermione.

“Very good,” he said then, surprise adding a sort of wobble to the skin at his jaw. “Very good indeed, my dear.” He waddled towards her now, and shook her hand as well. “Have you much experience with medical magic?” He asked her.

“Very little, I’m afraid,” she replied. “The last time I studied even first aid was while I was at school. With Harry,” she added, turning to smile at the young man sitting in her armchair.

“A member of Dumbledore’s Army, were you?” Crampiddle said with a smile now, grinning at both her and Harry. “Yes, Potter’s told me all about it. It does not surprise me that you could perform such a complex spell so skilfully then, and under such pressure. I shall be speaking to the ministry about you, I think.” He smiled widely again, and put a hand gently on her arm a moment. Hermione was liking this strange man more every minute, she was reassured by Harry’s obvious respect for the waddling man, and she began to feel the pangs of remorse for thinking so badly of him at first sight.

“It’s no surprise to me that Hermione saved the day again,” Harry said now, standing and putting an arm round her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Always know just what to do, don’t you?” He said while he looked into her face with a grin, on her own was a weak, awkward smile.

“Harry, don’t…” she muttered, and her eyes flicked across the room to the man standing on bare feet and bare-chested, one eyebrow raised slightly as he looked steadily at both of them. Harry always seemed to make her feel a bit swotty, and awkward with herself, and while he and the Healer had seemed to forget the presence of the tall, dark man in the corner, Hermione was aware and wary of his being there somehow. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said to Harry. “I’m sure Healer Crampiddle will want to examine Professor Snape, even after my administrations.”

The old Healer looked at her a moment and then wheeled round on the spot, sputtering and nodding towards Snape. “Quite right,” Crampiddle said, and he waved his wand towards the bed and the sheets were clean and fresh on it anew. “Please lie down on the bed, Professor,” he said to the younger man, and Harry and Hermione hurried from the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

===========================

Hermione filled the glass with orange juice using her wand, and then passed the tall tumbler over to her friend, who took it in his calloused hand and drank well over half before placing it down on the table in front of him. She stirred her cup of tea using her wand again, and then sat at the table with Harry, turning to look into his handsome face.

“That was a nifty bit of work from you, ‘Mione,” he said to her. “We’re not even taught Redintegro during auror training.”

“Snape was the one who knew it, he told me what to do. It was quite a simple spell,” she added with a humble smile.

“Hermione, I am always amazed to find I know more than you on a subject, but perhaps not knowing the risks of that particular spell was best for you this time,” Harry said with some seriousness. His hand tapped at the table once or twice, then he continued. “The reason we’re not allowed to use it during training is because of it’s incredibly high fail-rate. Even the greatest witches and wizards,” he said with emphasis, “Even the finest scholars at the ministry, they seldom can do it on the first time. And without the aid of a seasoned professional to immediately reverse the effects – ” he shook his head from side to side. “It’s horrible ‘Mione, men screaming in pain, trapped in beds, nothing but sounds coming from writing masses of flesh and bone. And, by then, irreversible,” he added, and he dragged a hand down his face, across his mouth and stubbly chin. “If you aren’t absolutely certain of yourself, to perform it correctly is neigh on impossible.”

Hermione took a few deep breaths and looked down with intent at the fine grain of the rough wooden top of her kitchen table. She lifted her cup to her lips and took a couple of sips of her hot, sweet tea, but the liquid fell uneasily into her empty stomach which was already rolling at the things Harry was telling her. In the time that had passed since her Professor had recovered she had managed to convince herself that the task she had performed had been minimal, but the reality was far from it, it seemed, and Harry had been right in guessing that it was a good thing she had not known the truth beforehand.

“Tell me from the beginning,” Harry said, and she related the whole tale from the moment his knocking surprised her to cleaning up the blood from her floorboards afterwards. When she was describing the second when she managed to steel her courage and perform the spell, however, she omitted from her narration the way he had gently laid his hand on hers, the way he said her name, and the trust he had placed in her.

Harry pressed her, asking how she had pulled herself together, what had steadied her nerve, but she simply told him that her courage must have risen as it always had and shown her the way with clarity. She did feel guilt at keeping the truth from her school friend and trusted advisor, but now that she knew the danger Snape had placed himself in under her care, his trust in her appeared to be more than just reassuring words. He must have genuinely believed in her ability, enough a least to prefer her trying rather than certain death, and if his words had been true she felt it was important to keep them safely to herself, like a secret. If what Harry was saying was correct, the snarky arrogant man who had always managed to belittle her previously in life had, at the pivotal time, instilled in her an absolute self-belief.

Harry continued to congratulate her unashamedly after she had finished recounting the night, but even after that there was no sign of the two older men upstairs. Hermione refilled their drinks, and they paused in friendly silence.

“Is Ginny okay?” Hermione asked him after a while. “And Ron and the family?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, nodding. “Gin’s got her hands full with little James, but she gets more beautiful every day.” Harry’s eyes shifted away and a dreamy look came over his face as he mentioned his wife and son, and Hermione felt a twinge of loneliness for herself and the stirrings of the little green monster of jealousy deep inside. She longed for a family, for children, but mostly for a lover. She craved a deep love, and the touch of someone. Anyone. Harry didn’t notice the slight sadness in his friend’s face, and continued.

“Ron has been making some great inventions at the shop with George,” he said, “and they are looking into expanding to Hogsmeade now Zonko’s retiring. Molly and Arthur are the same as ever, but they got a lovely big extension done on The Burrow, so Molly’s been a pleasure since it was finished. It’s nice while it lasts,” he said with a smile.

“Does Ron – have anybody?” Hermione asked then, pausing since she was unsure at first as to how to phrase the question.

“Sometimes,” said Harry, scratching his face awkwardly. “None of them seem to be around for long…” he added vaguely. Another silence fell, and this was not so comfortable, but then the stairs creaked as someone descended.

At first Hermione thought that it was just Crampiddle making his way with caution down the rickety staircase, but once the bulk of a man had reached the bottom step and shuffled off to the side, she saw that Snape was following close behind, having been obscured before by the medi-wizard’s impressive girth. He had his hair tied back, and his face was wider and more open without the dark greasy curtains covering it, something neither Hermione nor Harry had every seen before. As the younger man approached the table his long fingers fastened the top few buttons of his black shirt, now clean, and also rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. Hermione noticed the pale lines of that which had once been his Dark Mark, on the inner wrist of his left arm, as he used it to pull out a chair for himself. Her gaze travelled up his body to his face and her stomach dropped again as she looked straight into the dark of his black eyes. He had caught her looking and gave her a fiercely intense glare – an unfathomable look. She felt the blush rise in her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes again, feeling like an idiot for staring.

Crampiddle also dragged a chair out from the table and settled his heavy weight into it, panting once or twice, and then awkwardly shuffled the chair as far forward as he could before his large tummy pressed up against the table. Snape watched with his elbows leaning against the tabletop, his right hand in a fist and his left hand rested on top of the other, and his chin resting against his clasped hands. Once everyone was sitting more-or-less comfortably, the old medi-wizard cleared his throat, and spoke.

“Miss Granger, I must again congratulate you on the magnificent job you did in healing Professor Snape’s wound. I understand tonight was your first time using the redintegro spell in any capacity?” The old man raised his eyebrows at her and she nodded, mumbling something in the affirmative.

“Extraordinary,” the old man exclaimed, beaming at her. “Really a marvellous feat. I don’t know if you have ever considered a career as a medi-witch, but with your obvious talent I would not hesitate to enrol you on one of our apprentice courses as soon as you were able. Please do consider my offer most seriously,” he told her and she looked him in the eye and smiled with a slight nod.

“For now, we have a more obvious problem, and a very serious one, I’m afraid.” Here the older man turned his eyes to the dark man sitting at his right, and Hermione glanced across the table to the Professor opposite her. Snape leant back from his previous position and crossed his arms across his chest as if to repel the gazes of both herself and Harry sitting next to her. “It seems Severus here has been targeted by a ninja, and not just any ninja, a formidable and ruthless destroyer. An almost inevitable truth. Professor Snape is in very real peril.”

Hermione’s eyes had focused once more on the Healer as he spoke, but now they swivelled back to the man opposite, taking in his slight frown as he reached his arms out in front of him and laid his elegant hands flat on the table. His eyes were staring down at the grain as hers had done. At length, he spoke.

“His name is Murasaki Tatsuji, a member of the elusive and revered Murasaki clan, one of the most powerful families in both the wizarding and muggle worlds.” Hermione’s mind was spinning with questions but she continued to listen intently to her former professor. “They are a universally feared wizarding family in Japan, open supporters of the Dark Lord during his time and no stranger to the Dark Arts since then, they hold many of the pure blood families in that rich country under their thumb. And they are a feared name in the muggle world also, a family with a history spanning over a thousand years, and trained in the most feared of roles. Masters of several forms of martial arts, skilled at both assassination and espionage, each member uses his many decades of training to rule with a mob-like hand over petty criminals from each of the four corners of the earth. Meticulous in their planning, unstoppable in their pursuit – That Murasaki Tatsuji will kill me I have no doubt. It is merely a question of when.”

Hermione sat with her mouth hanging open, her head filled with the shadowy figures of masked men, relentless killers of unknown skill. She could not gather her thoughts together, but Harry’s voice broke through to her, asking the questions she wished to.

“Surely it can’t be certain that he must kill you? Is there not some way he can be reasoned with? And even if not you would surely be able to match him, with your fighting skills?”

Even as the young man spoke, however, Crampiddle shook his head sadly and Snape too jerked his from side to side once, his uncharacteristic ponytail swinging at his shoulders.

“He is a man on a very precise and straight-forward mission,” Snape continued. “He will not stop until I am dead at his feet. He cannot be bargained with, he cannot be talked to, and he will not spare my life for any reason. His mission is one of revenge, as simple and powerful as that. As for my matching his skills with my own, I have succeeded on some level to outwit him so far, and I did escape his deadly aim this morning. But although I may be a match for him magically there is no denying his great advantage in terms of pure physical ability. He can hide in the slimmest shadow, he can kill me in many various ways using only his bare hands, and he has a patience and tenacity which would drive a normal man insane.” He brought his hands up and rubbed his fist into his eyes a moment, another uncharacteristically human gesture for him, and then spoke once more. “A ninja – any ninja would be a formidable foe. This wizard ninja fills my soul with terror. My magic is perhaps a little stronger, but he still has the advantage. He has already followed me long enough to know the very core of my fighting techniques,” he said. “And now I am also without my wand.”

The other three people at the table were silent as the dark man finished speaking, and the silence remained for a while, wrapped round them all. After a while Hermione took a deep breath and asked the next question.

“Why is he after you?” She asked. “I mean specifically. What is he seeking revenge for?”

His eyes, which had been focused down towards the table for the duration of his speech, lifted now and fixed onto her face. She swallowed and began to bite a little on her bottom lip. She was nervous of the man, and it dawned on her that perhaps she wouldn’t like to know just what the professor had done in order to be the target of such a feared killer. He might have been thinking the same, since his steady gaze continued to hold her own, and despite his furrowed brow and straight lips his face seemed to show signs of consideration. Then his eyes were staring at his flat hands again, and he answered her.

“While I was working with the other Death Eaters in securing Athens for the Dark Lord the year before the final battle, there was an emissary come to us from Japan, representing the Murasakis and other prominent Japanese pure-blood families. For one reason or another, our negotiations with Japan did not go as planned, and the simple end of it is that I was the one who killed the emissary under the Dark Lord’s orders.” Snape paused a moment and his eyes rested on Harry, who’s auror badge was glinting in the light of the kitchen, but he still continued. “Her name was Murasaki Suki, a strong and powerful woman, so brave she did not blink as she looked into my eyes as I killed her.” Snape’s own eyes closed then. “She was the wife of Tatsuji, not a Murasaki by birth but more than worthy of the name, and it is in her honour and memory that he searches me out to kill me.” After another brief moment his eyes opened again and Hermione’s body shook a little when he stared directly into her own once more. “You might understand when I say I do not blame him for his actions, nor do I resent his choice. The pain I must have caused him is unspeakable.”

Hermione held his gaze for a few seconds more, and then felt a thrill of awkward embarrassment, and she glanced her eyes away then. After just a moment, though, she brought looked back to his face, wanting to express her understanding at his feelings, to convey somehow her thoughts on his compassion. But he was looking now at Harry and at Crampiddle, who were discussing this strange event quickly and loudly and in unison, and he did not bring his gaze to meet hers again.

“What we need immediately is extra men on the ground and also a secure place for Severus to remain for the time being,” Crampiddle was saying now, counting out points on his stubby fat fingers. The Professor interrupted him, however.

“I do not intend to be locked up in a secure room forever, Mister Crampiddle,” he said. “I believe in any case that I should be safe enough here for the next few hours at least. I was – a long way away when he attacked, and I do not think he will be able to find his way to me here until late this evening at the very earliest. I would be most grateful to take advantage of this secluded position,” he paused then and once more looked directly at her. “If you would be so gracious as to consider allowing me to stay?”

“Of course you may stay, there is no need for consideration.” She tried to speak clearly but her mouth was dry and she felt itchy and self conscious. She didn’t know if it was the fear she felt at the masked figure who was probably even now tracking his quarry to her small house, or whether it was the way the professor was looking at her, so honestly and openly. Whatever it was, it unsettled her, and she busied herself by clearing up the glasses and cups she had used and returning them to the cupboards.

“We must send for more aurors directly,” Harry said. “We can have at least two here in half an hour if one of us goes now, Mac.” He added, still addressing the Healer to his left. “Plus we need to file a statement and get Kingsley to post the area on alert. ‘Mione, could we put you on the secure floo network? It would only be between Kingsley’s office and here,” he added hastily when she looked at him warily. “And it has no affect of your apparation point preferences whatsoever,” he said reassuringly.

“Well, okay then, I guess,” Hermione conceded, but she felt the uncertain doubt deep inside. “It’ll be taken off as soon as – it’s finished –?” She concluded lamely, and although Harry nodded emphatically at her she was not assured.

It had dawned on her suddenly, surprisingly and really rather slow considering her capable mind. This would be ended soon, but only with the loss of human life. At best they might capture this Murasaki ninja, but this was unlikely. The reality would be that either the Japanese wizard would lose his life, or the Professor would lose his.

She looked across the room once again to the dark man, whom she had always thought of as old. But he wasn’t, she realised now. Not really. He was sitting with his elbows resting on the rough table once more, his head in his hands, his fingers spreading across his hair on either side of his head like a crown and his eyes staring straight down to the wooden surface.

Hermione leant against the sideboard and crossed her arms, paying little attention to Harry and Crampiddle’s hurried discussion, trying to figure out a precise age for the man sitting at her table. He had to be at least a decade younger than her father – although her parents had both been in their thirties when they had had her so this wasn’t unusual. He was actually the same age as Harry’s parents would have been or thereabouts, and she knew that Lily was nineteen the year she’d been born. He was nineteen years older than her then, making him forty-four.

Forty-four.

The number rolled round her head with some weight attached to it, drawing many different thoughts out into the open. Her first thought was how young it seemed – how young he seemed – now that he was faced with this terrorfing situation. There was a tenacious killer on his tail, a ruthless enemy, and he knew more than all of them how small his chance of surviving really was. He was just a teacher now, an honest wizard, who could easily have another eighty good years at least. But now, in a time of peace, when others lived a life free of the cares of the war years, a shadow from his past was tracking him down, and it would kill him.

The way he cradled his head in his hands, the smooth veins prominent on the skin of his bare, raised forearms, even the ponytail he had chosen to wear that day. Everything about him seemed to scream a vulnerability, a child-like wariness. On one level he looked so much younger than forty-four. He looked tired and nervous and – she realised suddenly – afraid, and much too young to die.

Other thoughts his age drew were more selfish on her part and harsher towards him, the furrows on his forehead, the slight stoop she had noted about his frame as he sat there. In many ways he looked much older than forty-four. Well – he was almost, sort of, fifty, she told herself, definitely ‘old’ even when considering the extended lives of wizards. He was tired because he was nineteen years older than her.

Forty-four, and my old Professor, she thought to herself. So why can’t I stop looking at him?

Her eyes had been lingering on him all the while she had been considering his age, taking in the white knuckles on his long fingers, the dark black of the thick line of hair hanging at his shoulder, the curve of his long neck as it disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. She bit at her lower lip as her eyes lingered on the dark stubble on his cheek and the width of his shoulders. She remembered them bare and his lithe, smooth back working as he rolled in that spry movement in her bedroom, and her heart raced a little. He seemed to be lost in a world of is own now, but it might have been possible that he was looking at her discretely, even that he was reading her very thoughts. But she didn’t care if he knew her thoughts, she decided. She was almost half his age, he had once held a position of authority over her, and the events of is past were dark and macabre. But sitting now at her kitchen table, as the early morning light crept in, he was the finest looking wizard she had ever seen.

“Are you alright with that, Hermione?” Harry said to her.

“Er – what?” Hermione said, another blush rising in her cheeks as Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. She knew her friend had caught her staring open mouthed and – even worse since it was so unlike her – not paying attention. She made sure she did this time.

“Mac will stay here while I head back to H.Q. and set up the floo – it has to be done from that end – and then I’ll floo back with another auror. Harding and McKinney are making their way here already over the terrain and should be here in twenty minutes or so. My suggestion is that you get some sleep now, while you can. You can’t have had more than an hour this morning. You have your wand?”

Hermione nodded quickly.

“Good.” Her friend smiled, then continued. “I’ll see if I can bring a compatible match as a replacement for Snape's wand with me when I return. In the mean time I think he should rest too if he can, have you got somewhere he could stay?”

Hermione nodded again, and said “Yes.”

“Try and sleep soon then,” Harry said. “I’ll be as quick as I can, but it’s three miles before I can apparate, and the floo will take some time. Expect me before six. The others will be here soon anyway.”

“I’ll be okay,” Hermione assured him. “We’ll be okay. Go on, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Harry gave her a quick hug and then shook Crampiddle’s and Snape’s hands before grabbing his cloak and departing. Hermione turned to the Healer.

“Would you like a cup of tea, mister Crampiddle?” she asked.

“No, no. I’ll be alright. I’ll make a start on these forms before Harding and McKinney arrive. Sleep well, my dear,” he added with a smile, and waddled his way towards the sitting room. Hermione was left alone in the kitchen with the professor, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do. He sat absolutely still for a few moments more.

“Professor?” she said, and then he finally moved, standing to his full height and stretching slightly. He didn’t look at her or say anything, but he took a couple of steps towards her which she took to mean his intention to follow, so she lead her way up the stairs. When she reached the landing and opened the door to her room, she noticed that he hesitated in the doorway, not immediately entering behind her.

“Do come in,” she called out as she began to tranfigure an old clothes chest into a camp bed. He stood for a second or two more, and then came once more into her room, but still hovering uncertainly as if he might run away at any moment. “I don’t have a guest room or anything,” Hermione continued. “But I’ll be alright here if you take the bed.”

The Professor’s dark eyes swept once over the rickety camp bed and then settled on her, focusing on her face again. Then he said,

“You take the bed, Miss Granger.”

She felt her knees wobble slightly at the sound of his rich, smooth voice saying ‘bed’, but it did not stop her from protesting.

“No – you’ve been hurt – ” She argued, but he interrupted.

“I managed to sleep after your treatment. As far as I am aware you have not slept at all since my arrival. I insist you take the bed.” His voice was clipped and strong as it had been when he taught her, but his face softened a bit then and his voice was quieter as he added, “Since we will undoubtedly be needing your assistance I would appreciate it if you slept well now.”

She still didn’t feel absolutely right about the arrangement but she didn’t really wish to argue with him, and since it was already past eight in the morning she would be hard pressed to get any sleep at all if she didn’t try directly. She crossed over to the window and pulled her curtains across, so that the morning light was blocked somewhat. There was still enough light to see by, just, but the added darkness seemed to quiet the room and – irrationally – make it seem a little safer.

“Well, sleep well, sir,” Hermione said, and she weaved her way past him towards the bed. As she passed, however, he put a hand out and caught her arm gently, keeping her near him. Once she was still he lowered his hand again.

“Miss Granger – ” he said. “– Hermione. I must thank you – ”

She interrupted again. “ – Professor – “

“No, please,” he said quickly with his head down, and she was quiet. “I must thank you,” he repeated, still looking at the floor. “For not only saving my life, but also for trusting me, and allowing me into your home. I know what a shock it must have been to you – what a shock this all must be – but when I first arrived here I was afraid that you might not even let me inside. I really am most grateful that you did,” he said finally, and he lifted his head then and looked into her eyes.

She resisted the urge to swallow but her eyes were wide. Now that he had lifted his head to look at her she realised how close he was, how near they both were in the dim, quiet room. She was looking up into his own face and it was less than a foot away from hers. She would only have to reach up her arms and she could be kissing his lips, the lips which looked so appealing when they were traced with a sly smile. She shook herself then, reminding herself that she had just imagined kissing her old professor, and spoke a hasty but heartfelt reply.

“I accept your gratitude but really, it’s not needed. Of course I would have let you in. I have never thought it hard – to trust you – ” she finished slowly and awkwardly, since it seemed as if he had leaned even nearer to her still.

His face was only inches away from hers now, tantalisingly close, and she thought that since he did not seem to be pulling away he might want her as much as she wanted him. And she did want him, so badly she could feel it in her heart, under her skin. The air between them crackled with the energy she felt pulling them together, and she inched ever so slightly nearer. His black eyes were sweeping over her face, taking in her red lips and her large, warm eyes. The seconds seemed to stretch on and on.

Then he was stepping away from her, walking with a determined step and a clearing of his throat back to the sleeping bag and small camp bed which she had provided. He climbed into the bed and then zipped himself up so that only his black hair was visible sticking out from the top of the bag.

Hermione got under the duvet and then slipped her jeans off, pulling the trousers out of the bed and throwing them onto the chair next to it. Then she snuggled down into the softness of the covers and it did not take long for her to fall into a deep sleep, but not before she had tried hard to ignore the commanding presence of the man in her room, and how close he had come to kissing her.

------------------------------------

Just another quick A/N: The Japanese names I have used in this tale and the information on ninjas are all a little hashed I'm afraid, since I know very little about this awesome country or culture. If I ave inadvertently given my assassin a female name or something, I am very sorry indeed. Please please please review =) Thank you!

Some quick review replies:

LauraK: I'm always glad to hear I've made someone laugh, but it's good to know you liked the serious side as well. Hopefully there may well be some action - we shall see! Thank you for the first review, and a lovely one.

Jessie: Thank you so much for the review! Originality is something to be treasured and I hope the rest is as exciting for you. More to come shortly!

Pamela: Great! Thanks very much, and for reviewing =)

HarryGinny4eva: I'm glad you liked it and thank *you* for leaving me a reply. I like knowing you've enjoyed me writing :D

Tenar10r: Thank you for your comments and for saying my terse dialogue was 'perfect' - always a winning word! - This does mean a lot to me because I was afraid it might have read a bit stunted, you know.

ApollinaV: Wow your praise is wonderful and especially coming from you. It's always good to know one's technique is a strong point - hopefully it might plaster of the plot holes =) Thank you for the review.

sjrodgers108: So glad you liked it, hope you like this bit too. And more coming soon!

Ultrazipped: Ack! I hope that I may have covered some of that here but I must admit again I really know almost nothing about Ninjas so I am sorry if becomes a disappointment! But I hope you enjoy what is to come anyway and thanks very much for reviewing.

A big thank you too to all who read and rated, or even just read :D ~Love Marie.