Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (2/39)
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Porn WITH a plot, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.


Many thanks to kazfeist for helping to improve this fic!


Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Two – Of portkeys and magical innovation.



After clearing out Severus’ cottage, shipping his collection of books to Hogwarts, and indulging in a period of mourning for her friend, Hermione began her research into her newest mystery. Armed with only one photograph, a few names and a book, Hermione set to work during her free time from the potions labs at Longbottom Apothecaries Ltd. Granted, Hermione was a one of the three owners and founders, though being the only one not named Longbottom; Hermione much preferred the humidity of the research labs to the dry perfumed air of the boardroom. But due to Hermione’s elevated status in her own firm she was allowed to make up her own schedule.

After a particularly long Friday in the labs, Hermione Apparated back to her flat in Muggle London and dropped her heavy coat and satchel on the bench by the front door. This flat, to all unknowing eyes, resembled a high priced flat with marble floors and thick carpets. The walls were decorated with Muggle paintings, most of which were original works of several prolific painters, and bookcases were everywhere and in every room. With two bedrooms, a lavish bath, a library, sitting room, kitchen and dining room, Hermione’s personal abode was almost too much for her alone. But she found the thought of having a wizarding home in the middle of Muggle London, unobtrusive, secreted, and well warded from Muggle and Wizard alike very comforting. A part of the reason Hermione enjoyed having a flat that was so out of range from Wizarding London was the fact that she could live life in the manner in which she was born. Muggle technology refused to work among high concentrations of magic; therefore a Muggle radio or cellular phone in Hogwarts or Diagon Alley would never work or possibly explode due the massive amounts of magical energy in the air. Small doses of magic just made Muggle technology a bit better, but if Hermione cast a complicated spell in the vicinity of her laptop computer, it could and would malfunction violently. So to prevent such things occurring in her home, Hermione did not use magic in her library where she kept her Muggle computer, stereo and telephone.

Shrugging off her wool cardigan and pulling her wand from the holster strapped to the inside of her right arm, Hermione limped through the entranceway, her cane tapping against the marble floor. Setting the vine wood wand on a small table outside the door to the library, Hermione entered, leaving the door open in case she had to Accio her wand quickly. Even though the War was long over, Hermione did not change her habits of being vigilant. The desk in the library set facing the door, her back to the large fireplace and Floo connection.

Limping around the desk, Hermione settled heavily into the leather padded office chair, her body falling into the well-worn leather comfortably. Resting her cane across her lap she pressed the power button on the laptop and waited for it to load. Hermione rubbed her temples and relaxed as the desktop screen loaded. Sighing softly she began tapping away at the keyboard, bringing up window after window with searches for Hokkaido, Shiretoko and Kamuiwakka. In only a few seconds she had pages containing information she was quick to assimilate

Shiretoko was a national park and wildlife preserve where many species of flora and fauna were protected by Muggle world agencies. As Hermione read through scientific documentation of the impact of mankind on the environment, she felt a sense of relief that this national park was protected, at least from Muggles. The park itself encompassed the easternmost peninsula of the large island of Hokkaido and was only accessible by foot or by sea. The nearest town of any consequence was not even in the confines of the park and basically formed the end of the road for many tourists who lacked the will or stamina for the multi-day treks into raw wilderness. But the peninsula was formed by a chain of volcanoes and therefore was an abundant site for natural hot springs, the main tourist attraction of the peninsula. Kamuiwakka was one of the most famous sites for tourists where hot, mineral rich water ran down the mountainside in eddies and waterfalls. And by what Hermione could decipher from the small pixilated maps, Kamuiwakka was the true gateway to the peninsula, for traveling was restricted beyond that point to Muggles.

Having gleaned all she could on the Muggle end of her research, Hermione shut down her computer and leaned back into her chair. It was a start; now all she figured she had to do was to investigate the wizarding aspect of Shiretoko.


* * *


The Longbottom Apothecaries Ltd. library was housed on the same level as the administrative offices and was generally a busy locale. Part of the reason why Hermione’s firm was so prestigious in the wizarding world was due to the firm’s library, which was the best in Britain in the fields of potions, medical texts and journals and, Herbology. The only other library so complete was at Hogwarts.

The next day after her web search, Hermione entered the firm in the high business district of Diagon Alley, two doors down from Gringotts. Dressed in casual jeans, a violet jumper, and a long black wool coat, Hermione nodded to the doorman as she passed through the lobby of the firm to the lift. Few people were moving about on the weekends, but Hermione knew that the labs on the second and third levels were never empty. The firm was dedicated to improving the wizarding world and erasing the dark past of those horribly afflicted by conditions that resulted from the War. It was a noble firm, with all of its employees committed to making the world a better place by medical breakthroughs and research.

The lift stopped on the seventh floor, and Hermione limped over the gap, noticing that this most austere of all the floors seemed devoid of activity. Her personal office was next to Neville’s, on the far end of the corridor which ran down Hermione’s left and right. Millicent’s office was on the other end of the corridor. The library was next to Millicent’s office and took up the biggest part of the seventh floor.

Pushing through the door, Hermione found the library to be empty as well. Pale sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows behind the stacks, reflecting off the library tabletops. Hermione took a deep breath, relishing the familiar smell of ink, parchment, age and a slight bit of dust. Slowly and stiffly, doffing her coat and laying it over the back of the nearest library chair, Hermione drew her wand. Grasping the head of her cane and raising her wand, Hermione closed her amber eyes and began swishing and flicking her wand, muttering words more to herself than to incant what she wanted to happen with her innate magic. With a flutter of pages and the soft scrape of leather binding against the wooden shelves, books floated from the stacks into the air, neatly stacking on the library table before her. With a sigh, Hermione lowered her wand and opened her eyes; before her were three small stacks of books. As Hermione had expected from her improvised spell, the books on the table numbered in the teens. Sitting down and digging in, Hermione began looking through books. Setting aside the three books written only in Japanese, Hermione sifted through the bits and pieces of information.

Mentions of the indigenous peoples called the Ainu were quite interesting, their history very much like that of the native peoples of North America. The Ainu were still on the northern island of Japan, but quickly diminishing in numbers due to death or intermingling with Japanese bloodlines. The Ainu were a shamanistic people, and the peninsula of Shiretoko was part of their sacred grounds. Most Ainu are considered magical folk, and revered many of the magical creatures that roamed the islands of Japan.

The wizarding center of Japan was literally underneath modern day Tokyo, but the wizarding community called Tokyo by its ancient name: Edo. Other major magical cities included Kyoto and Hakodate. The Japanese had their version of the Ministry of Magic that had been in place before the Muggle parliamentary system called the Diet. And as Hermione read on, it seemed that the Japanese Ministry was far more advanced than its British counterpart. Wizard and Muggle relations were very well developed; even the use of Muggle technology in the Japanese magical environs was common. Hermione could only wish her native Ministry could be so forward thinking.

Eliminating some inconsequential books, Hermione finally found specific mentions to Shiretoko. In a guide to a magical tourists’ guidebook was the first mention of Shiretoko.

‘The last stop on your journey through Wizarding Japan should be at the family run inn and onsen (hot spring) located on the guarded peninsula of Shiretoko. The Matsumoto ryokan (family run inn) is a quaint wizarding inn, which boasts perhaps one of the best open-air hot springs in all of Japan. This inn is believed to lie beyond the famous hot spring of Kamuiwakka and is the only human presence on the peninsula.

The only drawbacks to staying at the inn are its remote location and its exorbitant housing fees. This small retreat has been open to visitors for over 400 years and has been maintained by the descendants of Tokumori Matsumoto, the world-renowned herbalist. During the harsh winter months, the Matsumoto ryokan is closed to outsiders. Another important note about the Matsumoto ryokan is that it is Unplottable, and can only be visited with a prior appointment for stay. It is unknown as to the reasons why this fabulous inn is so well guarded, but many believe it is because the Matsumoto family does not want to bring unwanted attention from outsiders to the delicate and diverse environment. Problems have arisen in the past with Muggle tourists damaging the preserved lands and negatively impacting the local biome.

The hot springs owned and maintained by the Matsumoto family are also protected from the prying eyes of Muggle tourists. Three separate springs are encompassed in the ryokan’s compound, all of which boasts curative powers for many physical problems from major ailments to minor aches.

In conclusion, it would be a dull visit to Wizarding Japan without a visit to the beautiful Matsumoto ryokan, but be prepared for a hefty bill.’

Hermione was smirking, the passage had been written fifty years before, and even then the wizarding world was aware of the damage humans were doing to the environment. But it seemed from reading the candid advice in an outdated travel guide of the wizarding world, that the Matsumoto inn was what Hermione was looking for, thus bringing her closer to fulfilling Severus’ final wish.

Scanning through the other books, Hermione gleaned that the Matsumoto family was very old, once very influential in Edo, but had fallen into the shadows of many years and many wars. The founding father of the family on the Shiretoko peninsula had several short biographical sketches in various Herbology encyclopedias, having been credited with refining hybrids of sub arctic flora with subtropical species…most of which Hermione thought Neville could understand better than she.

Casting simple translation charms on the books in Japanese, Hermione could not gather any more information than she had already absorbed. So, flicking her wand to replace the books, Hermione knew what she had to do next: meet with a contact in Japan to set up the next leg of her journey.


* * *


“But it’s midwinter, Hermione, can’t this wait until spring?” Millie asked incredulously, pouring tea to heat up what was left in Hermione’s cup.

It was Sunday and Hermione came to call on the Longbottoms who lived in Hogsmeade in a small house near the lake, below the grounds of Hogwarts. Neville was puttering about their small herb garden, talking to the rosemary bush, casting warming charms about the roots.

“I cannot wait that long, Millie…I’ll go mental if I cannot figure this out,” Hermione sighed, taking her teacup between her hands.

Millie smirked, her dark brow furrowing. Hermione smiled at her friend and sipped her tea, one of Neville’s personal blends. Hermione studied Millie, smiling over the gold rim of the teacup. Millie was still a sturdy woman, but had grown beautiful as she had aged. Hermione marveled at how soft and sleek Millie’s hair seemed as it cascaded in loose ebon waves over her wide shoulders. It was hard to believe that this woman had been the girl who’d put Hermione in a headlock after a duel in their second year. Millie was strong, wiser than her years, and was deeply in love with Neville Longbottom. Even Neville had grown into a handsome man, no longer clumsy or gawky. Neville was nimble, powerful and wickedly brilliant when it came to Herbology. Again, it was hard for Hermione to believe that the man talking to the rosemary bush in the garden was the same boy on which she had cast a Petrificus Totalus in First Year

Taking another sip of her tea, Hermione knew she was not the same person either. Besides her noticeable limp, Hermione had changed her looks almost completely from the time she was a schoolgirl at Hogwarts. She was taller, thinner; her hair had grown but no longer resembled a bird’s nest. It was a surprise to Hermione as she aged that her hair began to lose its natural curl and wave. Just like shedding her baby fat, Hermione believed she was losing her unruly baby curls. So as Hermione sat in the sitting room in the Longbottoms cottage in Hogsmeade she felt as if she were only a dim reflection of whom she once was. So much had changed, and Hermione could not help but feel a little pang of loss.

“Whom are you meeting with again?” Millie asked, snapping Hermione from her reverie of things past.

“One of Neville’s Japanese suppliers…a Jin Watanabe,” Hermione answered, finishing her tea and setting the cup on its saucer on the small coffee table.

“Jin Watanabe…” Millie muttered to herself. “Ah, I remember, I met him last year at a conference in Hong Kong. He and Neville hit it off so well, and Neville offered him a position on the Asian department board.”

“And he didn’t take it?” Hermione asked, curious about her contact.

“No, Jin prefers work in the field. But he corresponds with Neville monthly, asking advice for this or the other, and in return Jin sends samples and seedlings by the crate full to Neville,” Millie explained, glancing through the front window as Neville had moved around the house, casting more warming charms this time on Millie’s prize roses.

“So this Watanabe is a nice fellow?”

“Very much so, proficient with English and Mandarin, a bit eccentric, but very personable.”

Hermione nodded, she was scheduled to Portkey from London to Tokyo in four days.

“Just be careful, Hermione. As much as I loved Severus, his past or anything to do with his past could be dangerous,” Millie stated in complete seriousness.

“I know. But this was important, Millie, so important that Severus had me promise, on his deathbed, that I would ‘retrieve’ whatever it was that was so important.”

Millie tried to smile, but she was consumed with misgivings…as were Neville and Minerva, but Millie knew just as well as anyone that when Hermione Granger got a notion into her head, she would see that notion through to its definitive and logical end. Millie had always marveled at Hermione’s seemingly maniacal drive, but decided it better to waste her worries elsewhere. Hermione was capable of handling herself quite well, and Millie trusted her friend’s judgment completely. Still Millie had misgivings something did not seem to make sense, and Millie could not identify what exactly what this was. There were still so many unanswered questions when it came to anything to do with Severus Snape.

“I hope you and Neville can manage without me for a while, since I’ll have to ask if owls or other post can reach me wherever this inn is located,” Hermione continued, noting that Millie had fallen into her own thoughts.

“Oh, of course…” Millie said absently, rubbing her wrist as if the cold of the northern Scotland winters were paining her. Hermione frowned.

“I’m sorry, Millie.”

Millie glanced at Hermione, surprised. “No, Hermione, I just…” Millie began.

“I appreciate your feelings, Millie, but I will be careful. Who knows, I might be home in a matter of days. I just feel that if I honor Severus’ last request, not only I, but perhaps also Severus’ spirit, can finally rest in peace.”

Millie sighed and reached over to grasp Hermione’s small hand. “I know… I know that you can take care of yourself, I just have a strange feeling, that’s all.”

Hermione tried to smile again, but was afraid she would begin to cry. Hermione felt so at home with her friend, even with Neville joking with Millie’s roses in the front garden. It almost felt a shame to leave such a warm comfort.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, Neville finally coming in to talk a bit about work and the wonderful ideas he had for his guest lecture at the Hogwarts career day. Hermione could only laugh with Millie and tease Neville that he was after Pomona Sprout’s position for his retirement years. Finally, as the sunset began early on that winter’s day, Hermione said her goodbyes and Flooed home.

That night, Hermione cried bittersweet tears as she bathed and lay alone in her large, cold bed.


* * *


Millie kissed Hermione’s cheek and Neville gave her a warm hug as they stood on the wizarding terminal of Heathrow Portkey Depot. The depot worked almost exactly like a Muggle airport and even shared the same location, unbeknownst to the millions of Muggle travelers that passed through Britain’s main hub. Hermione waved to her friends as she limped toward the large cubicle with a Portkey resting on a dais in the middle of the space. A smiling attendant explained to Hermione that she should shrink her cane and stow it on her person, lest Hermione accidentally smack another traveler in the head during the trip. Hermione nearly laughed at the suggestion, but did as she was told. Limping toward the dais, there were only four other travelers waiting for the appointed time that the Portkey would activate. The Portkey to Tokyo was a battered paper umbrella, a shoddy imitation of a Japanese umbrella.

Hermione bowed slightly to three of the Japanese wizards, who in turn reciprocated and she smiled to an older witch who was dressed like a Muggle, apparently going the Muggle tourist route of the country.

When the attendant began telling the travelers to grasp the Portkey, Hermione felt a nervous knot form in her throat. Hermione was never used to traveling by Portkey, even from place to place in Britain; she shuddered to think what a trip would be like to Tokyo. However, she steeled herself and closed her eyes as she felt an insistent tug behind her navel, and she was off.

Perhaps five minutes passed, or fifty: all Hermione knew, after feeling the familiar catch in her body, was her feet slamming onto solid ground. Pain shot up Hermione’s left leg and she stumbled against one of the Japanese wizards. Muttering her apologies, Hermione released the Portkey and enlarged her cane. Following the other travelers from the cubicle-like room, a rush of sound, voices and movement inundated Hermione. She stood in a large terminal with a bewitched ceiling revealing a starry sky overhead. Hermione blinked in confusion, slowly realizing that she had traveled several time zones. Taking a breath to clear her mind after her dizziness from sojourning by Portkey, Hermione began to walk down the concourse, floating signs written in several languages directing the throng of people in the terminal as to where to go and how to exit the depot. She was to meet her contact, Jin Watanabe, before the south exit into the underground wizarding city of Edo. Moving through the crowds of people, speaking every human language in the world, Hermione caught sight of a thin gentleman with silvering hair, holding a sign with the name Hermione had agreed to use during her travels, Jane Rochester, a combination of her middle name and character of one of her favorite Muggle novels and the last name of the male anti-hero in the same novel. Hermione was not comfortable traveling under her given name since it was known worldwide as being a famous name in the Two Years War. Before considering any travels, Hermione had corresponded with Jin Watanabe and had agreed that he would wait for her holding a sign with her assumed name. And so Hermione stood on the other side of a throng of people exiting the depot, casting her eyes about out of habit and healthy paranoia before limping through the crowd to meet Jin Watanabe.

Just as he had described, Jin Watanabe was an older gentleman and wore rimless glasses over a silver brow and dark eyes. He was a handsome man with a congenial face, but by the way he held his body, Hermione could tell that he was uncomfortable amongst such large crowds of people. He wore clothes that would have been fashionable at the turn of the century in Muggle London with a pinstripe suit, a high collar and a double-breasted jacket. The outfit seemed to suit Mr. Watanabe perfectly and in a lot of ways, Jin Watanabe reminded Hermione of Neville: gentle yet powerful, brilliant yet meek.

“Mr. Watanabe?” Hermione asked, approaching the wizard at his right elbow. He was started by the sound of his name and nearly dropped his sign written in blue ink and in flowing script.

“Ah! Miss Granger!” he exclaimed, startled and began bowing repeatedly out of a sort of apology.

“Have you been waiting long?” Hermione asked, bowing only once and trying not to laugh. Hermione could see how Jin Watanabe and Neville could have hit it off so nicely; they were like twins.

“No, not at all! I presume that your lack of luggage means that you have sent it ahead?” Mr. Watanabe asked, Vanishing the sign in his hands seemingly wandlessly. Hermione nodded, impressed with how clearly Mr. Watanabe spoke, and wondered if he had studied in Britain, because his accent reminded Hermione of her father’s northern English accent.

“Well then, let us find a place for you to rest. I just find travel by Portkey exhausting. Have you ever flown on a Muggle airplane, Miss Granger?” Mr. Watanabe rambled on, tucking his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket.

“Yes, many years ago,” Hermione began, but Mr. Watanabe hummed in approval.

“Then you would know of the concept of ‘jet-lag,’ a fatigue and stiffness one feels from flying in a confined space for a long period of time, over many time zones. I feel that multi-continental Portkey travel can do the same.”

Hermione agreed as Mr. Watanabe offered his arm. Hermione hesitated and glanced about, but no one seemed interested in the goings on of a crippled English woman and an aging Japanese gentleman. Actually it seemed to Hermione, as they walked out of the depot, there were faces of all races and nationalities of wizards. Slowly Hermione slipped her hand onto Mr. Watanabe’s left arm, standing just a few inches shorter than her escort out of the depot. Hermione blinked as they stepped outside, or what she thought would be outside. Slowly navigating down several banks of stone steps to a street lined with carriages drawn by what Hermione thought were horses and not Thestrals, Hermione glanced up to a several story high roof, enchanted to resemble a night sky.

“A bit uncomfortable, isn’t it?” Mr. Watanabe asked, purposely walking slower as Hermione limped.

“Claustrophobic, yes.”

Mr. Watanabe laughed, his chuckle very deep, baritone, not at all like the laughter Hermione would have expected from the short-statured Japanese gentleman. “All of Edo is like this, even Muggle Edo over us. Open space is limited in this country, at least in Honshu.”

“Good thing I am not very claustrophobic…I like the comfort of shelter,” Hermione replied as they finally stepped down to street level. Carriages were lining the street before the depot like taxicabs, the door opening for patrons automatically, no drivers in sight.

Hermione wondered for a moment if she and Mr. Watanabe were going on a carriage, but he steered her gently down the street. They walked in silence for a few moments, Hermione glancing about in wonderment. Edo was very much like wizarding London, but much more modern and very clean. There were men and women dressed in uniforms and Hermione realized that these people were the Japanese magical equivalent of policemen, not specifically Aurors, but actual policemen. Several people spoke to the policemen, apparently asking for directions or for information on the nearest hotel. The ambience of Edo was pleasant, gas streetlights and enchanted storefronts lighting the street as pedestrians walked to and fro on sidewalks separated from the street by painted rails. On the street were the clatter of carriages and the sounds of horses.

“Here we are,” Mr. Watanabe sounded, gently leading Hermione through a doorway. Hermione was so overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of Wizarding Edo at night that it took her moment to realize that Mr. Watanabe had led her to an eatery of some sort. The smell of cooking food, vegetables and rice being steamed and the slightly pungent smell of raw fish made Hermione realize how hungry she really was after her travel. The inside of the restaurant was dim and quiet, and as Mr. Watanabe released Hermione’s hand to speak to the hostess she also realized how tired she was as well.

Returning to her side, Hermione was very thankful Mr. Watanabe took her hand again, led her back inside the small establishment, and gave her a seat to fall into. The hostess returned, setting cold glasses of water before them, and promised to return shortly.

“Now, we can speak. First of all, I would like to give you this…” Mr. Watanabe said smiling as he unbuttoned his jacket and reached inside to an inner pocket. Pulling out a small black plastic box, he pushed it across the small table to Hermione.

Hermione bowed graciously and took the box in her hands, setting her cane across her knees. Opening the box, Hermione frowned in confusion when all she could see inside on a velvet interior was a small silver dot, slightly larger than a British Sickle.

“It is a global translator,” Mr. Watanabe said excitedly, his glasses flashing slightly in the dim lamp that hung above the table. “All you do is press the device behind your ear, here…” he said turning his head slightly and pushing forward the shell of his ear and pointed to the raised part of the skull just behind the ear. “It will attach to the skin with a powerful sticking charm and can only be removed by an incantation from a wand directly touching the node. The incantation is a simple Finite Incantatem, go ahead, and try it.”

Hermione smirked, taking her right index finger and lifting the thin silver node on the top of her finger. Lifting it up from the box, Hermione studied it for a moment and then pushed her hair back from her left ear. Pressing the cool node to the back of her ear she felt a cold prickle and the node seemed to attach to her skin like a Muggle adhesive sticker. Letting her hair fall back in place, Hermione could not feel the translator and as she turned her head from side to side, she could not notice anything different about the feeling on the skin behind her ear.

“With this translator you will be able to hear, speak, read and write in up to seven different languages. When someone speaks your native tongue you will be able to understand as if you were not wearing the node. But you can also comprehend Japanese, Chinese; Mandarin and Cantonese, Spanish, French, and most dialects of Arabic. You probably do not realize that I am speaking to you in my mother tongue.”

Hermione blinked, snapping the box for the global translator, surprised.

“It is like a ‘Babel fish,’” Hermione muttered, but her voice sounded strange and the movement of her lips and tongue garbled.

Mr. Watanabe smiled, “Your Japanese is very well enunciated, Miss Granger. And welcome to Nippon.”

* * *




During the light dinner of basic fish and rice, Hermione found Mr. Watanabe’s company very pleasant. They chatted amicably of things they had in common, such as the Longbottoms, and their interest in Herbology and Muggle technology. Mr. Watanabe was very informative when it came to learning more of the culture in wizarding Japan. Hermione learned that the importance of bloodlines, pureblood and Muggle-born, was not anything of contention in Japanese culture, not since the Feudal Period over three hundred years before. In fact, the connections between the magical and the non-magical ran beyond the government, and in economics. Mr. Watanabe informed Hermione that the translator on the back of her ear was one such example of the meshing of magical with Muggle.

When all the dishes had been cleared away and they sat with only steaming cups of oolong tea, Mr. Watanabe’s tone turned very businesslike.

“A liaison will be waiting in the city of Utoro tomorrow afternoon. I must say that it was difficult to receive word from the Matsumoto family at first; I have always heard that they were secretive… But the fact remains; we will take a Portkey in the morning, specifically arranged by the liaison. And as much as I would like to see the peninsula myself, I am afraid I must part with you in Utoro.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Watanabe,” Hermione said quietly and pleasantly.

“I am anxious to return to my greenhouses before the New Year. I am expecting a new bloom to open so that I can gather the pollen…but you are a Potions Mistress, and that most likely does not interest you much,” Mr. Watanabe chuckled, his smile like that of a much younger wizard. “But I would like to tell you, Miss Granger, that I have a few misgivings about your sojourn to Shiretoko,” Mr. Watanabe’s voice sounded, gravely, much like Millie’s had days before.

“Is there a particular reason why, Mr. Watanabe?”

Jin Watanabe fidgeted slightly in his seat, his hands resting in his lap, his dark eyes fixed upon the steam rising from his tea. “Not in particular, no. I am not much of a person who relies much on Divination or intuition for that matter, but when I received word from the ryokan after forwarding your request, I felt a sudden fear rise up inside me. The original message, before I translated it, seemed so cold, forbidding…”

Hermione frowned. “I do not understand. I am sure that if I were not welcome, it would have been expressed quite clearly in the response.”

“Yes, of course, but…I cannot explain it. You have imbued much trust in me, Miss Granger, by sharing the particulars of your mission, and I feel that you are a very honorable young lady for taking such a task upon yourself at the request of a friend. But I have a strange feeling about this…this journey. I am not familiar with the Matsumoto family, and I doubt you will find many in this country who are, but for a family to be so secretive can only lead a person to believe that this family must have something horrible to hide.”

Hermione sighed softly; Mr. Watanabe’s words only echoed her own misgivings before she had decided to travel so far. But her mind was set, and she doubted that Severus would ever send her on a task that was fraught with any danger. Although Hermione might be maimed, she was not at all useless when it came to defending herself with any means possible. She had trained herself the best she could after her injury, just for the future possibility that she might have to fight once again.

“I advise caution, Miss Granger, if nothing else. I hope that my faulty intuition is just that: faulty. But I thought I should tell you of my feelings, and hope that you will use every means to keep safe. And if something should happen, how to contact me if you should need my help, as inadequate as it can be.”

Hermione smiled softly, Jin Watanabe was so much like Neville. But she watched him as he pulled another small blue lacquer box from the pocket of his coat and set it beside Hermione’s cup of tea.

“A Portkey is inside that will bring you to the gates of the British embassy here in Edo,” Mr. Watanabe stated, his voice very serious.

Hermione slowly slid the box from the table and held it in her hands. “Your sentiments regarding my safety are warmly appreciated, Mr. Watanabe, but I am sure that everything will go about smoothly. I only plan to be at the Matsumoto ryokan for a short while and then return to Edo for my journey home.”

Mr. Watanabe nodded. “I am glad, Miss Granger. If possible, we can meet for another meal, but for the time being let me get you settled for the night, I am sure you are exhausted, though your hunger is sated and the hour grows late.”

“I am very tired, sir,” Hermione rejoined, slipping the blue box into a pocket in her cloak.

“Well, let us leave then; tomorrow is the day.”