If You Can Press Rewind - Karameru (2024)

Chapter 1: Arrival

Chapter Text

Deidara has always known he wanted to go out with a bang, the greatest bang that ever was and will be, something that will ingrain his art into the minds of millions. His masterpiece was going to eclipse the sun itself.

He also knew that he wanted to go when he was still young and beautiful. Nothing disgusts him more than the notion of wilting away slowly in an old and disease-ridden body.

Tobi makes him want to reconsider that second thought. Surely, there is not that great of a rush to die, not when there’s time to spend in morning streams, in festivals sampling street foods, or under a night sky looking up at the stars.

Not that he particularly cares for the idiot, of course not. Still, Deidara dreads to think about what the hell would happen to Tobi once he’s gone. He knows, theoretically, that Tobi isn’t as hapless as he presents himself to be, but he could not for the life of him imagine the moron scurrying after someone else while flailing his limbs around or calling someone else “Senpai” in that annoying high-pitched tone. So, out of some sort of f*cked up soft spot for Tobi, Deidara goes into fights with a little less of his recklessness and is much more mindful of where he tosses his bombs.

All of this goes out of the window during his fight with the Uchiha brat.

Looking at those expressionless dead eyes makes his blood boil. Deidara swears that the brat is somehow even worse than his brother. He had never liked haughty assholes who think they are hot sh*ts just because they were born with special eyes, and the Uchiha brat is the epitome of that. The fact that the little sh*t is equipped with the perfect arsenal to counter all of this Jutsu is just adding insult to injury. So, Deidara is going to do his damndest to wipe that aloof look off of his face and put the fear of Kami into him even if that’s the last thing he’d do.

And he got it. The Uchiha brat’s face turns sheet white, his eyes wide and mouth agape in horror as Deidara feels the Chakra in his veins turn molten hot. He is hysteric and lightheaded in sheer malicious joy as the brat tries and fails to get back up on his feet, his panic becoming more and more pronounced. Yes, Deidara would die happy if that was the last thing he would ever see.

Except, it’s not.

Tobi’s stupid orange mask fills his fading vision, and immediately, his elation turns to ash in his throat. He tries to open his mouth, probably to scream at the idiot to get the f*ck away from here, but it is useless, he can no longer feel his tongue over the scorching heat of his chakra eating away at his flesh and bones. His vision goes hazy and wobbly. Strangely enough, he feels like he is being sucked into the hole in Tobi’s mask, being drowned in the endless abyss behind that eyesore of a mask.

Strangely, Deidara doesn’t think that would be the worst way to go.

Then his vision goes white and he knows no more.

Hundreds of universes away, deep within the dark winding hallways of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, an old scroll lay forgotten in a dusty cupboard with all the other dusty old tomes. However, today, this scroll no longer lies. The spiders making a home within those dusty pages skitter nervously away as white smoke pours from the unfurling page. The air distorts in a spiraling pattern. A great bang rings out as the scroll tears itself apart, leaving behind a crumbled and half-dead boy.

With great effort, a blue eye twitched open, staring up at the moldy ceiling of the basem*nt. He can hear panicked voices and hurried footsteps somewhere above, coming closer. Before he can do anything, exhaustion catches up and he blacks out.

If Harry had to choose, he would say that this year’s reintroduction into the magic world has to be the worst. Attacked by Dementors, thinking he was expelled from Hogwarts, and then being summoned to court at the Ministry of Magic. Everything was happening too fast all at once, and before he knew it, he was sitting on an old bed in an ancient house turned headquarters for a secret society with his two best friends, still reeling from his own outburst of anger.

Ron and Hermione are still sending him apprehensive looks that make embarrassment and guilt crawl up his chest. He shouldn’t have shouted at them like that. Before he can properly apologise though, Fred and George Apperated in with a loud bang that makes the three fifth-years jump.

“Well now, if it wasn’t your dulcet tone we heard!” Fred laughs as Harry reddens.

“Your arrival sure did cause quite a stir,” George chimes in, “almost as much as our mysterious guest did.”

“Mysterious guest?” Harry asks, glancing between the twins, Ron, and Hermione.

“We were about to tell you, mate. “Ron shrugs, “Some bloke just appeared in the basem*nt a couple of days ago, all bloodied and bruised. We honestly thought he was dead or something. Sent Mum into even more of a frenzy than she already was.”

“Some stranger just appeared in here?” Harry parrots, turning to Hermione, “I thought you said this place was a super secret headquarters or something?”

“It is!” She protests, biting her lips, “That’s why the Order is keeping him here and had Madam Pomfrey come over instead of sending him to St. Mungo’s. Dumbledore and the professors are trying to figure out how he got here and where he came from.”

“Dumbledore is here?” Harry demands, feeling quite heated again.

“Not anymore.” George interrupts.

“He just left.” Fred finishes.

“Oh, of course.” Harry deflates.

The twins glance at each other before continuing, “Anyway, we’re supposed to tell you that dinner’s starting.”

“You can try to weasel information out of the Order then,” Fred smirks.

“Yeah, Sirius is itching to talk to you, mate,” George adds as they all get up to leave.

The prospect of talking to his godfather does miracles to lift his mood. He is now suddenly aware of how hungry he actually is, and the thought of eating Mrs. Weasley's food again makes him drool.

Getting some answers would be the cherry on top.

Dinner goes about as well as Harry has expected. Food is as excellent as he remembers, the atmosphere is as chaotic as one can expect from stuffing everyone into a cramped kitchen, and once again, no one seems to want to tell him anything. If nothing else, he at least feels a bit better seeing Sirius take his side, but after Mrs. Weasley put her foot down, the discussion surrounding Voldemort effectively died off. Not even he wanted answers enough to upset her more.

Still, just because he can’t ask about Voldemort, does not mean he can’t ask about other stuff. Casting his eyes around, he frowns as he remembers something Hermione mentioned.

“You said Madam Pomfrey’s here, right?” he asks, “Is she not coming down to eat?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Weasley frowns, “We brought her dinner beforehand. She’s with the boy.”

“The boy? You mean the guy who just appeared here?”

Mrs. Weasley frowns even deeper as she looks at Ron and the twins.

“What?” His best friend asks, “He was gonna find out anyway.”

Before the Weasley matriarch can berate her son, Tonk jumps in, “Yeah, we heard a bang came out from the basem*nt, came in and saw the room on fire and the bloke lying in a bloody heap on the floor. Gave everyone a right scare, he did.”

“You mean he Apparated in? I thought that’s not possible?”

“It isn’t.” Lupin cuts in, casting Sirius a look, “The House of Blacks has many extensive barriers preventing anyone from just… coming in. We don’t think it was an Apparition.”

“Then what is it?”

Sirius shrugs, but Harry can see an excited glint in his eyes “Who knows, my dear family keeps all kinds of stuff down there. Could be any of those that spontaneously drag some poor bastard here in some sort of freak magic. Well, whatever the case, I gotta thank them for setting fire to most of the priceless artifacts down there. Really spiced up the place!” He says with a chortle.

“This is no laughing matter, Sirius!” Growls Moody, making Harry jump. “This is a potential security risk that can endanger the Order, not some rebellious act against your family.”

Mrs. Weasley interrupts before Sirius can let out whatever rebellious words he was brewing, “A security risk? Moody, he is a boy! He cannot be any older than Fred and George here! And his injuries, his scars…” She trails off, looking ill, but quickly recovers when she realizes everyone is staring at her. “Besides, Dumbledore has determined that whatever happened is unlikely to happen again, given the state of the room afterward. Whatever triggered that has been destroyed.”

Moody scoffs but remains quiet when Mrs. Weasley shoots him a pointed look.

“Either way,” Mr. Weasley coughs, “we must wait until he recovers to understand what happened.”

“Are his injuries that bad?” Harry asks. He knows that Madam Pomfrey is a very good healer. He hasn’t seen any injuries she couldn’t heal yet and can’t imagine how hurt must someone be to need her to be at his bedside for days.

It is Ron who answers him. “I was there when it happened. Didn’t see much, but it was a lot of blood.” He shudders and jumps when Hermione kicks him.

“Ah…” Mr. Weasley clears his throat and squirms a bit, “It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just… unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“Harry dear!” Mrs. Weasley jumps in, “I understand you are curious, but I will not have such discussions at my dining table!” Her expression softens up a little. “Madam Pomfrey has successfully healed all of his injuries, but he is not waking up, that’s all.”

Not knowing how to respond, Harry merely nods and returns to his food. In hindsight, he supposes discussing gory details is not the best idea when eating. Looking at his friends, who all look a little nauseous, he finds his appetite just a little smaller now.

Dinner passes in awkward conversations, and Harry is relieved when he, Ron, and Hermione leave the table and retire to their rooms. He did not have much time until the twins Apparated in their room again.

“So, they really didn’t tell us much, did they?” Fred snorts as he gets off of Harry’s knees.

“Not much that we couldn’t have guessed at least.” George chuckles.

“No, they really haven’t” Harry agrees, “I mean, we can all guess that Voldemort would be building his army, and recruiting dark creatures isn’t that far-fetched.”

“Still,” Fred, who had flinched at the name along with his brothers, says with a hint of glee, “we did manage to learn something new though.”

“The weapon.” His twin laughs quietly.

“Yeah,” Ron hums, “Sirius really threw us a bone there.”

“I think he kinda let it slip out, to be honest.” Harry shrugs. “What do you think it is?”

“Dunno.” George mimics his shrug.

“Must be something dangerous,” Fred adds.

“No duh.” Ron rolls his eyes. “But what could be that dangerous? He’s already got Avada Kedavra.”

Harry shudders. What could be worse than that indeed? “Maybe something that can kill a lot of people all at once?” He tentatively offers.

“Or something that can do it painfully.” Ron hums thoughtfully, his face pale in the moonlight.

“He’s already got Crucio for that, though.” Fred refutes, and they all lapse into a thoughtful silence, minds racing with more and more horrible scenarios of what weapon the Dark Lord could want. It does not last long, as Ron, evidently disturbed by their speculations, changes the subject.

“We also learned a bit more about the bloke in the basem*nt.” He reminds them.

“Oh right!” A slightly evil grin spreads across Fred’s face. “The bloke whom you thought was a chick!”

The twins burst into a fit of quiet giggle at Ron’s outrage. Even Harry lets out an incredulous breath of laughter, turning to Ron questioningly.

“He does look like a girl!” The youngest redhead in the room protests, “With all that hair!”

“Does he have long hair or something?” Harry laughs.

“Yeah,” George cuts in, “long blonde hair that looks like streaming sunlight.” He dips into a mocking swoon, and the twins erupt into a fresh fit of chortling.

“Shut up!” Ron, now red in the face, hisses, “It’s not like I could even tell that he was blonde, anyway, what with all the blood!”

That sobers them up quickly, and Harry glances around at the Weasleys. “Was it that bad?” He asks carefully.

“Yeah.” George grimaces. “We only caught a glimpse of him when Dad carried him out of the basem*nt, but Ron here was one of the firsts on the scene and saw everything.”

Ron nods, his face drawn. “It was bad. He was as white as a sheet. I honestly thought there was a dead girl in the basem*nt. The smell was…” He swallows, “It was a lot of blood.”

Liking this turn of conversation even less, Harry quickly asks, “But he’s better now, right? Madam Pomfrey took care of him?”

“Oh yeah!” Fred, enthusiastic for the chance to dispel the depressive atmosphere descending on them. “Yeah, the bloke’s as good as new, according to Mum and Madam Pomfrey at least.”

“He just won’t wake up though.” Harry frowns, thinking back to the conversation at dinner.

Fred’s smile dims a little, “Right. No one seems to know why.”

Before they can discuss this any further, they hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Mum!” George mutters, and with a crack, it is just Ron and Harry inside the room again. The two boys stay quiet as footsteps stop just behind their door and Mrs. Weasley listens to see if they are still talking about the conversation at dinner. After a while, footsteps resume away from the door.

“She doesn’t trust us at all, you know,” Rom mumbles as he settles back down onto his bed, throwing Harry a sleepy goodnight.

Mumbling a goodnight back, Harry slides under his blanket. He thought that his mind would be too worked up for him to sleep, but his exhaustion won out, and before he knew it, he was out like a light.

Chapter 2: The After Life

Chapter Text

Deidara is certain that he is dead.

He has triggered his C0, after all. There is no walking out of that. For all of his time thinking about how his final masterpiece would look like and when would be the perfect time to use it, the blonde had hardly thought about what would come after. He had never bought any concepts about the Pure Lands. Surely, dead is the definitive end, right?

He’s beginning to think he’s wrong. After all, he can still hear himself think. His consciousness is still here. He feels like he’s floating in an endless void with only his thoughts for company.

No wait. He can hear something else.

A woman’s voice.

For a split second, he thought that the Pure Land does exist after all and he was hearing his mother calling out to him. But, no. The voice is wrong, and it is speaking in a language he does not understand.

All at once, he is aware that he is, in fact, not dead.

Consciousness slams into him like a Chidori through the chest, but decades of training hold fast as he keeps his body still and his breathing perfectly level. He feels fine. No pain or anything at all. He is lying on a rather uncomfortable bed, and there are voices of two women next to him. Deidara is not a sensor, but he can feel that something is not quite right. He remains still, trying to put a finger on it while listening to the women talk.

However, patience has never been his strong suit, so after a while of listening fruitlessly to see if he can get anything out of this at all, he decides that the best way of understanding whatever the hell is going on would be to confront it head-on.

So, he opens his eye.

Immediately, the woman sitting right by his bedside notices him. She is obviously a medic of some kind with her white apron and stern but concerned demeanor. The way she immediately snaps into action, checking his vitals over only cements this fact to him. The healer calls out something to the other woman in the room, who immediately sets down a tray of delicious-smelling sandwiches and leaves the room, but not before casting him a look of worry.

He is now alone in the room with the medic. The place he is in must be underground, judging by the fact that there is no windows and he can hear many more footsteps and voices above him. However, it doesn’t look like a torture chamber or anything like that, just a regular room with a bed, a chair, and a desk with miscellaneous stuff scattered about.

The medic is now asking him questions while waving a thin wooden stick at him like a conductor waves at a music sheet. Deidara frowns and tries to tell her that he can not understand a word she’s saying, but all that comes out of his throat is a feeble rasp.

Immediately, hands appear to help him sit up, and a glass of water is pressed against his lips. Deciding that if they wanted to kill him, they would have done so by now and save themselves some poison, he carefully opens his mouth and takes a sip which turns into several greedy gulps as cool water slides down his extremely patchy throat.

Yeah, there’s no way I’m dead. Deidara thinks as he drinks the last of the water. There is no way death feels this… mundane.

Which begs the question of how the f*ck he is still alive. He carefully peels back the oversized shirt they put on him and peers down at his chest. The mouth is still there but no longer stitched close. He can feel the tongue there wriggling about. C0 is a literal suicide bomb. He designed it with the full expectation that he would not live through it, so how…?

Tobi. It’s f*cking Tobi.

His mouth twists into a scowl as a sinking feeling settles in his gut. However, the blonde does not allow himself to wonder what his bumbling idiot of a partner did. He does not have time for it. Not until he finds out where the f*ck he is.

Which reminds him, he still can not understand a word the medic is saying to him. Clearing his throat unpleasantly, he informs her, “I can’t understand what you’re saying, yeah.”

The woman frowns, her brows furrowing together, and any hope of her knowing his language dies right then and there. Before any of them can do anything, the door opens again, and Deidara sees the redhead woman from before carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup on it. With her this time, is an elderly man with a long white beard and bright blue eyes behind half-moon glasses.

The blonde does not need to be a genius to see that this old man is the authority figure here. Despite his age, there is undoubtedly wisdom and power there. Deidara feels himself subconsciously tensing up and forces himself to relax. None of these people seem to mean him any harm so far. If anything, all of them look at him with curiosity, if not concern.

The medic tells the man something, no doubt informing him of the language barrier judging from the furrowed brows of the two newcomers as they look at him. Deidara merely shrugs ambivalently.

The old man does not remain still for long. With a considering look, he steps closer to Deidara’s bedside and says something to him. The bedridden artist frowns. He still can’t understand what he said, but something about it sounds different from what the medic was saying to him. Seeing his confusion, the man says something else, looks back at him expectantly, then continues.

He’s trying different languages. Deidara realizes. He supposes that it's only logical to try even when he’s not sure if someone who doesn’t recognize the Common Language of the Elemental Nations will even know it at all. Well, it doesn’t hurt to try. He decides to help the old man out.

“It’s the Common Tongue, old man, un.” He says.

The Old Man pauses, tilts his head, then says something back at him. This is, he is remarkably closer but still illegible to him.

“Getting warmer, yeah,” Deidara informs him.

There is another pause as the Old Man looks at him over the rim of his glasses, before smiling. “Ah, you speak Japanese.”

His accent is atrocious, but still understandable. Deidara is honestly impressed. “Japanese? Never heard of it being referred to like that, but good job, un.”

“It’s not? How curious.” The Old Man smiles warmly. “What do you call it then?”

“It’s just The Common Tongue, yeah.” Deidara shrugs. “Anyway, where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The Old Man quirks an eyebrow at him, “Do you not remember how you got here?”

Oh, Deidara does remember how he got here. That’s the problem. He chooses to ignore the man’s question for now. “Where’s here, un?” He asks instead.

The man falls silent, and bright blue eyes stare imploringly at him. A lesser man might have found that intimidating. Deidara has faced down the Sharingans before, he meets the man’s eyes evenly.

“You are in Number 12th Grimmauld Place.” The Man declares quietly. Judging from the slight gasps the red-haired woman lets out and the way the medic stiffens, that was important, but to Deidara, it means absolutely nothing.

“And where’s that, yeah?”

“In London.”

“Where’s London, un?”

This time, all three of them, even the women who should have absolutely no idea what they were talking about, are openly staring at him like he had just grown a second head. Deidara feels irritation bubbles in his guts.

“Can someone just point to me where on the map I am, yeah?” His voice is colored with frustration as he attempts to throw his hands up but lacks the strength to do so properly. His arms flop like jelly at his side, only adding to his frustration.

The Old Man pulls out a long thin wooden stick, similar to the one the medic was waving at him a couple of minutes ago. He also makes a light wave with the stick, and a piece of paper appears.

Deidara jumps. “What the f*ck!” He exclaims and jerks away from the piece of paper that had just appeared out of thin air.

Both the Old Man and the women flinched at his outburst, but the man recovered quickly. “It’s merely a bit of magic, my boy.”

“Magic.” Deidara deadpans, still leaning slightly away from the piece of paper.

“Yes. Magic.” The man nods. “Is that not how you came here? Are you a Muggle?”

I came here because I f*cking blew myself up. “What’s a Muggle, yeah?” Deidara asks instead.

“Someone who cannot do magic.” The man explains, still staring imploringly at the blonde behind his hair in a way that is starting to make him feel a bit like a butterfly pinned to a board.

“Right, un.” He huffs, but his attention is quickly caught by the piece of paper extended to him. It’s a map. It’s just not any map he had ever seen before. Without warning, he snatches the paper from the man. Ignoring the offended gasps from the redhead, he stares at the wrong landmasses and the very wrong oceans.

“What is this, un?” He demands, looking at the Old Man.

“It’s a map.” He frowns.

“Well, it’s wrong, yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s f*cking wrong, yeah.” Deidara aggressively waves the piece of paper at the man’s face. “Are you trying to f*ck with me, un?”

“I assure you, this is the most up-to-date map right now.” The Old Man says calmly, “And nobody is toying with you, young man. We are all hoping to figure out what is happening as much as you are.” Slowly extending out a finger, the man points at a tiny island just off of a giant landmass. “This is where London is. It is the capital of Britain.”

Sure enough, the small island is called Britain, and there is a tiny dot on it called London.

Deidara swallows as he stares at the map. He can not detect any hint of lies behind the man’s words.

His thoughts are racing. He is supposed to be dead, but Tobi interfered, and the idiot does have some kind of spatial Jutsu… Is it possible?

Well, he supposes that he has seen weirder stuff. He is in an organization with a shark-man, a semi-immortal man who extends his years by stealing hearts, an actual immortal zealot who gets his immortality through his god, and whatever the hell Leader is. And Sealing Jutsu does fundamentally mess with space-time… so it is not entirely out of the realm of sanity that somehow, his C0 technique plus Tobi’s whatever-he-did punt Deidara into a whole other world.

It is still a rather drastic theory though, given how the only proof he’s got is the weird language and the weird map. It could still be a very elaborate ruse he’s being put through for some dubious reason. It’s not like he’s surrounded by a whole other species.

His realization hits him like a punch to the guts. Chakra. That’s the wrong feeling he has been feeling all this time. It’s the lack of Chakra. Not within him, no. His Chakra is low, but no less than whenever he has gone through an exhausting fight, and it is replenishing normally. It’s everything else around him. He can not sense Chakra anywhere at all. Not even in the three people staring at him.

“Oh, what the hell.” Deidara chuckles weakly. “I think I’m in another world, yeah.”

Once he had gotten over the horrible feelings of being left in the dark all summer and is still being left out from the Order now, Harry admits that staying at Grimmauld Place is quite fun. It definitely beats staying at Private Drive any day. He gets to be with Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys, and Sirius, and he always enjoys the company of other Order members, except for Snape, whenever they drop by even when no one tells him anything. It helps that his friends all feel the same way, and trying to eavesdrop on the Order has become something of a sport here. Even the war on rehabilitating the ancient house is quite fun, if not exhausting. Basically, Grimmauld Place offers enough excitement for him to not feel too down all the time.

Speaking of excitement, Ginny barges into his room at one in the morning, sending him and Ron tumbling off their beds in surprise.

“Ginny!” Ron hisses groggily, his face as red as his hair.

His sister ignores him, “He’s up!” She whispers, bouncing on her feet.

“Who’s up?” Harry asks as he blearily reaches for his glasses.

“The guy in the basem*nt! I woke up and went to use the bathroom when I saw Dumbledore come down there. Hurry up!”

Harry and Ron do not need to be told twice. The boys jump out of their beds and quickly follow the youngest Weasley as they make their way down as quietly as possible. Close to the bottom of the staircase, Fred and George are already there with an Extendable Ear dangling off the side and Hermione glancing anxiously at them, caught between curiosity and nervousness.

“Come on,” hisses Ginny, “what did we miss?”

“We don’t know,” George mutters.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ron demands.

“It means we have no idea what they’re saying,” Fred answers.

Before Ron or Ginny can get any angrier at those less-than-satisfying answers, Hermione cuts in, “They’re speaking in another language.”

“Another language?” Harry blinks, taken aback. “What other language?”

“I’m not sure.” The curly-haired girl frowns, “but I think it’s Japanese.”

“How do you know?” Ron jumps in, leaning closer to the Extendable Ear like he might be able to recognize a totally foreign language if he can hear it clearly enough.

“Because I heard Dumbledore mention something about Japanese,” Hermione replies rather testily. Everyone then falls silent, and Harry can hear voices filtering through the Ear. Even when he can’t understand a word being said, he can recognize Dumbledore’s voice along with a foreign male voice. Once or twice, he thinks he can hear Grimmauld Place and London mentioned.

“I think they’re talking about where we are.” Harry guesses.

Hermione gasps, “But this place’s a secret. Dumbledore’s not telling him where this is, is he?”

“Of course not.” Ron scoffs, yawning.

“Then why was Grimmauld Place mentioned?”

“I dunno.” Mumbles Ron, “Maybe he’s just trying to see how much he knows.”

“By giving away the location of the Order’s Headquarters?”

“So what? It’s not like he can tell anyone. He’s stuck here, remember?”

Harry admits that Ron does have a pretty good point, but he also agrees that it seems pretty reckless, to let a total stranger know where the super secret headquarters is. Before he can say anything, they all jump when the foreign voice suddenly rises into a shout. The teems lapse into silence again, trying to hear more, but it’s not very useful when none of them know Japanese. The voice does not stay raised long, but the agitation in it is as clear as day. Harry tries to watch out for any more words he might recognize, but before he can glean anything else, Fred suddenly snatches the Ear up just as the basem*nt door opens and Mrs. Weasley steps outside.

Without being told, they all retreat further upstairs quietly, but the red-haired woman merely walks to the kitchen. Still, with her there, it is way too risky to cast the Extendable Ear to the basem*nt, not that it’s likely to give them anything more anyway unless one of them suddenly learns to speak a whole new language.

“Let’s go to bed,” Hermione suggests, “It’s super late, and we can talk tomorrow.”

Both Ginny and the twins look like they want to protest for a moment, but a large yawn from Ron makes them all yawn. With one last tired look, they mumble their goodnights and split off.

The next morning, both Harry and Ron roll out of bed without complaints and hurriedly put on proper clothes.

“He doesn’t look Japanese.” Ron starts as they get ready for the day.

“Really?” Harry hums as he pulls on his socks.

“Well, I didn’t get a very good look at him, but still, he has long blonde hair. That’s not exactly Japanese, is it?”

“It could be dyed.”

“I don’t think so, Bill dyed his hair blonde once, you can tell pretty easily, especially if the hair is long.”

Harry, having never paid attention to dyed hair before, decided to take his friend's words for it. “Maybe he’s not actually Japanese. Maybe he just grew up there and Japanese is his mother tongue.”

Ron nods consideringly “That does sound likely.” He finishes pulling on his shirt and walks towards the door, “Well, there’ll be plenty of time to find out more. It’s not like the bloke’s going anywhere in his condition, and from how Mum’s been talking about him, it’s like she’s gonna adopt him or something.”

Harry snorts. It is true that whenever the subject of their guest is brought up, Mrs. Weasley would inevitably go on about “that poor boy” and “look how skinny he is, not to mention his injuries and those ghastly scars!”

The bit about the scars was the subject of some speculation amongst Harry and his friends for a while. It must be something pretty bad for Mrs. Weasley to react like that.

They really did not have to wonder for very long. Ron suddenly stops at the bottom of the stairs, causing Harry to bump into him. Before he can ask, his eyes catch onto what Ron is staring at.

There, casually sitting at the kitchen table slurping a bowl of porridge, is someone who can only be their mysterious guest in the basem*nt. He does have long blonde hair reaching all the way down to his waist, just like how he was said to have for the past couple of days, but beyond that, everything else is new as not even the twins were able to sneak into the basem*nt to have a proper look.

Before they can be caught staring for too long, Harry nudges Ron forward and they move into the kitchen.

“Oh! Morning Ron, Harry!” Sirius calls from the counter, shaking a box of cereal. Both boys mumble back distracted greetings to him as they sit down on the table on the opposite side of the stranger whose singular bright blue eye flickers up to meet them.

“Hello.” Harry offers awkwardly. He can definitely see why Ron mistook the guy for a girl when he saw him. With the long hair and the eye, not to mention the guy is smaller than he first thought. As a matter of fact, he might be even shorter than Hermione.

The boy’s single blue eye stays on them for an awkwardly long time as he chews his porridge. Finally, he swallows and says back. “Hello.” The blonde says it like he was sampling a new dish, deliberately and carefully. He definitely has an accent. He then points to himself and says, “Deidara.”

Harry and Ron blink owlishly at him.

“...Day Dah Rah?” Harry manages, feeling the syllables stumbling out of his mouth clumsily.

The stranger smirks, points at himself again, and repeats, “Dei - Da - Ra.”

Harry’s ears turn pink. He has the feeling that he is being mocked somehow, but before either he or Ron can dig themselves a bigger hole, Sirius comes to the rescue. The man slides into the seat next to the blonde with his bowl of cereal. “He’s telling you his name,” Sirius tells them while sliding two bowls, the cereal box, and a box of milk towards them.

“Oh,” Harry says smartly as Ron reaches for the food. Feeling kind of silly, he points at himself. “Harry.” then at his friend, who is now vigorously shaking cereal into his bowl while determinedly not meeting anyone’s eyes, “Ron.”

The now dubbed Deidara nods, still smirking slightly as he repeats, “Harry. Ron.” Harry is somewhat relieved to hear how awkwardly their names come out of his mouth. The “R” sound is definitely not what he is used to hearing. Not knowing what else to say, Harry mutely accepts the cereal box from Ron as he gazes at Sirius for help.

His Godfather simply shakes his head with a small excited smile. “Can’t help you there, bud. This guy here still can’t understand complex sentences. He picked up a couple of words here and there, but well, progress is slow going.”

“How can we talk to him then?” Harry asks. “Would we have to bring in someone to translate?” Harry thinks of the conversation last night between Deiadara and Dumbledore. Would they have to wait for the blonde to learn English?

“Dumbledore thinks he might have a temporary solution for that.” Sirius informs them, “Some kind of trinket, I think. I didn’t learn much before he left.”

“Oh right.” Harry offers lamely, eyes darting back to the blonde, whose eye was following Harry and Sirius as if he could understand them perfectly. Harry’s gaze lingers a bit on the left side of his face, which is entirely obscured by his long bang. He finds himself wondering if he has some kind of facial scar there and that’s why he’s hiding it behind his hair. Maybe that’s the “ghastly scar” Mrs. Weasley was fussing about. His eyes flicker downward, but he can’t see much anyway. The blonde is dressed in an oversized long-sleeve shirt and trousers, no doubt a hand-me-down from the Weasleys, that doesn’t show much skin at all.

Harry wonders when Dumbledore is going to come back with the trinket Sirius mentioned. It’s frustrating sitting right next to their mysterious guest but not being able to ask questions because of a language barrier. At least they know his name now, that’s a start.

Chapter 3: Making Progress

Chapter Text

Once the excitement of seeing their comatose guest upright and about, life in Grimmauld Place more or less settled back into place. Mrs. Weasley still spearheads the campaign to make the place more or less livable, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins are more or less her troopers. Only, now, they have a blonde shadow following them.

Deidara has adjusted remarkably well for someone who was thrust into a secret society within another magical secret society in a foreign country where he doesn’t speak the language. He has learned everyone’s name by now and mainly stays out of the way, simply watching people go about their day. He seems fascinated by the displays of magic, his singular blue eye glued to the wand whenever someone waves it in front of him. This leads to him shadowing them whenever they clean out a room.

At first, Mrs. Weasley tried to dissuade him from following them into uncleaned rooms, fearing that he might get hurt. However, Deidara simply stood there and stared at her unblinkingly, using the fact that he couldn’t understand what she was saying against her until she gave up and simply steered him into a safe corner, gesturing for him to stay put in a way that he cannot pretend to not understand.

To his credit, Deidara does not get in their way at all. As a matter of fact, he once saved Fred from being impaled by a set of cursed silverware that flung themselves at him. The blonde had appeared out of nowhere and tackled the redhead onto the floor as the forks and knives stuck to the wall behind them.

Mrs. Weasley had immediately herded them out to the hallway, where she proceeded to fuss over Fred, who looked more embarrassed than scared, and Deidara, who seemed both uncomfortable and amused. One very good thing that came out of that is that they were allowed to stop cleaning for the day then, Mrs. Weasley decided to continue with Sirius while they all piled into the kitchen to celebrate.

“To my savior!” Fred hollers, laughing as he winds his arm around Deidara’s shoulders, who bears it impressively.

“That was really cool, mate.” Ron praises, “You just ran at him and tackled him. Bam! Just like that.”

Deidara, despite still not having learned much English at all, seems to have grasped the gist of what they are saying well enough, and smiles a little. “Thank you.” He says, his accent still strong.

“Nah,” George joins in, bracketing himself on the blonde’s other side, trapping him between the two redheads, “Thank YOU, mate, for saving this handsome fella over there!”

“Cheers!” The twins shout, raising imaginary cups in the air. Deidara chuckles along with their antics but nimbly slips out from their grasp at the same time.

“I can’t wait for Dumbledore to come back with something that can help us communicate.” Ginny sighs, “It would make this so much easier.”

“Why? You planning on asking him out?” George laughs, battling his eyelashes and quickly jumping out of the way as Ginny throws a punch at his arm. “Kidding! Just kidding!”

“I wanna know where he learned how to do that.” Ron pipes up. “He was so fast. I didn’t even see him move.”

“Magic, maybe?” Harry shrugs.

“Apparition?” Ginny suggests.

“It didn’t look like Apparition.” Hermione throws in her two cents, “There was no noise.”

“Maybe it’s just something that can make you move very fast?” Harry suggests. “Does a spell like that even exist?”

Hermione shrugs helplessly, “Not that I know of.”

“Can he even cast a spell?” Ginny wonders, “I mean, he doesn’t even have a wand, does he?”

All six of them fall silent, looking at Deidara, who leans back a little at the sudden attention placed on him.

“Can he even do magic?” Ginny continues, and all of them rack their mind to see if there were any instances when their Japanese guest has performed any kind of magic. No one can come up with anything.

“Well, there’s a simple way to find out, I think.” Fred grins broadly, whipping out his wand. Immediately, Deidara’s eye snaps to it. “Lumos.” With a deliberately slow flourish of his wand, a small light emerges from its tip. Deidara leans closer to the scene, brows knitted and eye narrowed. Fred snubs out the light with a quick Nox before flipping his wand around, offering the handle to the closely-watching blonde.

Hermione gasps, “Is that a good idea?” She fidgets but makes no real move to stop them, evidently just as curious as them.

“It’s fine, Hermione.” George grins, “It’s just a Lumos. What’s the worst that could happen?”

They all turn to look expectantly at Deidara, whose eye flickers from the offered wand to Fred’s face, to the watching audience, and then back to the wand again. Tentatively, he reaches out and takes it.

“Lumos,” Fred repeats with a wide grin, echoing his previous movement with his now empty hand.

With only a slight hesitation, Deidara mimics Fred’s movement. “Lumos.” The blonde calls out in that thick accent of his. His movement was impressively accurate, especially considering the fact that he had only seen it twice just now. All seven of them still and watch the wand with bated breath.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, Deidara repeats himself. “Lumos.” Another perfect flourish.

Still, nothing.

Eyebrows knitted together, the blonde waves the wand and speaks the spell again, and when nothing happens, he shrugs and holds the wand back out to Fred.

“That’s weird.” The red hair boy mutters, accepting the wand back.

“Maybe that’s because it’s your wand and not his?” Ginny ponders.

“Even then, he should have been able to produce sparks or something.” Hermione shakes her head, eyes flying from Deidara to the wand and back to him again.

Harry thinks back to his first time holding a wand at Ollivander's Shop and the chaos that happened. He nods absentmindedly. “Maybe he’s a Muggle.”

Ron snorts, “A Muggle wouldn’t have been able to get in here, mate. Wards, remember?”

“I know, I know, but remember what Sirius said about trying to find out how he came here? He said it might have been something in the house, not him.”

“What? You think the Most Noble House of Black deliberately summoned a Muggle into its basem*nt? Not bloody likely.”

Harry has to admit, that does sound ridiculous. The thought of Mrs. Black inviting a Muggle into her home for tea is hysterical.

“Besides,” Hermione adds, “Even if a Muggle was somehow teleported into the house, Wards and Charms would kick in and make them want to leave. We have something familiar at Hogwarts, too.”

“Maybe Dumbledore did something, then.” Ginny suggests, “Maybe he created some sort of loophole in the Wards to allow him here. After all, they are trying to keep him inside, right?”

“Why would Dumbledore do that?” Ron asks, “If he’s just a Muggle, he could’ve just Obliviated him and sent him on his way, right? Why go through all the trouble?”

“They are trying to figure out how he got inside in the first place. Remember?” Harry reminds him. Before Ron can answer him, however, Fred cuts in.

“I hate to break up this interesting discussion, but our esteem maybe-a-Muggle guest just left.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny look around, and sure enough, there is no blonde in the kitchen anymore.

Of all the places that he can be thrown into and trapped in, Deidara must admit that this is by far not the worst.

For one, nobody seems keen on killing him or torturing him for information. They had nursed him back to health, and despite being visibly curious about his altered anatomy, they had shelved their questions in favor of helping him. He thinks it has something to do with the fact that they all seem to think that he is younger than he actually is and consider him a child. Normally, being treated like a little kid would piss him off, but in this batsh*t insane situation, he’ll gladly take whatever advantage he can get.

The Old Man, Dumbledore, has been extremely helpful in giving him the basics of this world, but he didn’t stay for long, leaving with the promise of returning with something that can help him bridge the language barrier.

Not being able to communicate using words sucks ass, but he can deal. Everyone has been quite patient and quick on the uptake in watching him do his best charade act whenever he wants to ask for something. Not that he asked for much. He was provided with ample shelter, food, and water. He doesn’t need much more than that.

Not being able to make art, on the other hand… He does not have the necessary vocabulary to ask for clay, not even to blow up, he’s not an idiot, but just to sculpt with. His hands and mouths itch to mold and knead. He was able to ask for papers and pens, or parchments and quills, by miming the act of writing, but sketching and doodling can only do so much to help.

Still, there are plenty of other things to keep him occupied. Magic is a big one. From what he can tell, it’s basically this world’s Chakra, but only selected people have it. Deidara has no idea where it comes from and why waving a wooden stick, a wand, around is the common way of channeling it, but it is fascinating nonetheless. His favorite pastime quickly becomes watching the redhead woman, Molly Weasley, a mother of seven, his respect for her goes way up after learning that, as she performs various chores around the house with flicks and waves of her wand. He also likes to tag along with the children when they go from room to room cleaning out hazards. Watching them flail around as various whacky things try their best to escape and resist is hilarious.

He tries not to think of how it vaguely reminds him of Tobi’s various antics.

His day is spent just following either Molly or the brats around. The girl with bushy hair, Hermione, has taken to teaching him a bit of English. He has now memorized the entire English alphabet, a lot of words, and some basic sentence structures, but, in her words, without proper textbooks, she can’t really teach him much more than that. With his (slightly) improved grasp of the language, he can piece together more of what goes on in this place. Sure, Dumbledore has given him the basics: something about the return of a Dark Lord and the Order is the one opposing him and they had to do it behind their government’s back, but he begins to pick up interesting things such as the fact that Dumbledore is actually a highly respected Headmaster of a prestigious school of magic, Remus Lupin is a werewolf and used to teach there, Sirius Black is a framed murderer and the house actually belongs to his family, and lastly, there’s something going on with the kid with the cool lightning-shaped scar, Harry Potter.

From what Deidara can tell, there’s isn’t anything wrong with the kid. He seems like an average fifteen-year-old to him, albeit with some anger issues, but it’s not like Deidara can judge. The kid does have the habit of sticking his nose into other’s people business and is aided wholeheartedly by his little group of friends and the twins, who put commendable effort into eavesdropping on the adults using those strange fleshy strings with ears on them. Deidara has unabashedly pocketed one for himself for potential future use.

They speculate about him, too. He doesn’t need to be a genius to figure that out. Whenever he’s in the same room as them, at least one of them would stare at him, and hushed whispers would start up among them. It’s a little annoying, but nothing he can’t live with. He is, after all, curious about the whole lot of them, too, and it is funny listening to them try to spin theories about where he came from, his alleged scarring, and so on even when he can’t understand much of the conversation.

Once night falls and he is alone in the basem*nt-turned-bedroom, however, he no longer has anything to distract him from thinking of his situation. If his dimension-travel theory is correct, it means as far as his world is concerned, he is as good as dead. This can be his second chance at a clean slate in this world.

It’s funny. Not that long ago, the thought of finally leaving the Akatsuki would fill him with elation beyond measure, but now… Deidara begrudgingly admits that he has grown fond of the organization. He and Master Sasori had a good relationship despite their opposing views on art. They spent many evenings just sitting together in silence working on their respective arts. Once or twice, Danna even showed him a couple of woodworking techniques used in simple puppets and how to make poisons from the plants around them.

He had also gotten along well with Hidan, even to the point of considering the maniac a friend. Sure, he was a crazy zealot with a f*cked up religion, but he made a fantastic drinking buddy, and Deidara has many fond memories of going bar-hopping with the albino in Ames.

However, both of them are dead. What is even left for him with the Akatsuki anymore? Pain and Konan are distant figures, Zetsu creeps him out, Kakuzu is also dead, and Kisame is friendly enough but they were never that close since Deidara still doesn’t like Itachi at all.

Then there’s Tobi…

Deidara has no idea if the idiot is still dead or alive. He’s probably not here in this world with him. They were together when whatever happened dragged Deidara here, and if Tobi was caught in it with him, he would have been here, in the house, too.

If he was caught in the blast and died, then there is truly nothing left for Deidara to return to, but if he isn’t…

The former Akatsuki scoffs and turns in his bed. He was considering going out of his way to solve the mystery of dimension-hopping and return to a war-torn world just to see his moron of a partner again. He must be losing his mind. With that, Deidara would slip into a restless sleep, wake up next morning, and follow the inhabitants of the house around again. Rinse and repeat.

Sticking close to the brats proved beneficial in the most unexpected ways. He had been thinking about snatching one of those wands to try out for himself, but that was resolved when one of the twins willingly offered him his wand with instructions on a simple spell.

Memorizing the gestures and the words, Deidara repeated the gesture, but nothing happened. He doesn’t even feel his Chakra react at all. He tried again, this time actively pushing his Chakra towards the wand, but still, nothing. The third try yielded nothing different, so he handed the stick back, mind whirling with possibilities.

So having Chakra does not equal having magic, good to know. It means that magic is a completely different source of energy all together. Deidara wonders if he can interfere with it using his Chakra…

He does not get to wonder for very long. The front door clicks open, and with his trained ears, he can hear the hushed voice of Dumbledore. He’s back.

Slinking out of the kitchen, not that the kids would have noticed him anyway, with how busy they were talking about his lack of magic, Deidara steps into the dark hallway just in time to see the Old Man and the guy with the crazy eye, Moody, walking downstairs to the basem*nt. The blonde wastes to time in following them.

“Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Deidara.” Dumbledore greets as he holds the basem*nt door open, “After you.”

Deidara wrinkles up his nose in response but goes in anyway. The basem*nt has been converted to his personal room/infirmary where he sleeps and regularly gets checked in on by the medic lady, Poppy Pomfrey. Now, his doodle-covered parchments are scattered all over the floor, some on his bed, and a couple have fallen on the floor. Deidara doesn’t bother to clean any of that up as he makes his way to the bed and sits down, looking at the men expectantly.

Dumbledore merely smiles and follows his lead, ignoring the various parchments littering the room, but he does wave his wand to pull the chair closer to the bed. Moody, on the other hand, has his crazy eye fixed on him as he moves to stand by the door like a sentry. Deidara doesn’t bother concealing his eye roll at the action. Moody looks like he is going to snap at him, but Dumbledore sends him a glance that shuts him up.

Turning back to the blonde, the Old Man smiles as he pulls out a necklace with a golden pendant on it. “Here, something that can help us with the language barrier, as promised.”

“Really?” Deidara accepts the piece of jewelry with a frown. It looks like a normal necklace to him: thin golden links make up the string, and a small circular pendant with some sort of emblem on it. He can make out some sort of sigils etched around the thing. “This is gonna help me understand and speak English, yeah?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore nods, “It’s an old piece of magic. The man who invented it passed away before he could impart his knowledge to others, and his house was looted shortly afterward. Some of his works were recovered, but not enough to duplicate his success. This is a very valuable gift, Mr. Deidara, do be careful with it.”

Well, just this morning, he witnessed homicidal silverware, so why not a translating necklace? Shrugging, he puts it on. Deidara doesn’t feel any different besides the cool metal on his skin. He looks at Dumbledore, who smiles.

“Well, does it work?” The Old Man asks, and Deidara blinks. Yeah, that was English. He recognizes the weird sounds of the language and its words, but instead of gibberish, he is able to understand the whole thing.

“Yeah, I think it did, un.” He picks at the pendant with renewed interest.

“Excellent.” Dumbledore chuckles and claps his hands together. “Now we can properly discuss things.”

“You might want to soundproof the room first, yeah.” Deidara chuckles, dropping the pendant back under his shirt, “The brats are very good at eavesdropping.”

“Already done, Mr. Deidara.” The Headmaster grins with a flourish of his wand. Deidara notices he didn’t have to verbalize the spell at all. “Due to the unfortunate circ*mstance of our last meeting, and my Japanese is admittedly not my best language, we were not able to talk much about your theory that you are… from another world.”

“I meant exactly what I said.” It is a little disconcerting to hear his words come out in English, but not that important to focus on, “I believe I’m from another world, un. And I only believe it even more after spending a couple of days here. I managed to get the Granger girl to get me a history book, and even though I can’t understand much of it, I get enough to know that it is not my history at all, yeah.”

“Hmm…” Dumbledore hums thoughtfully, “Do you remember how you got here?”

Deidara shakes his head. “Not a clue, yeah.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. He doesn't know what Tobi did to get him here. He does have some theories though. They are, however, impossible to prove here.

Dumbledore peers at him over his glasses. Deidara meets his eyes patiently. “Do you remember what you were doing right before?” Inquires the Headmaster.

Deidara considers his options a little before answering, “I was in a fight with this kid. There was an explosion, everything went white, and then I woke up in this bed, un.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah, he pissed me off so I whacked him around a bit.” Still technically the truth.

Dumbledore blinks slowly at him, “You said there was an explosion.”

“Yeah, I have no idea where it came from though.” Now, that was total bullsh*t.

Dumbledore remains quiet for a while, still staring thoughtfully at the blonde. Finally, he breaks eye contact and pulls out a small box. Opening it, he shows the content to Deidara. He immediately recognizes the fragments of a sealing scroll.

“Where did you get this, yeah?” He demands, carefully picking up a slightly singed piece of paper and squints at the kanjis on it.

“This is the remains of what we thought to be what brought you here,” Dumbledore says, watching him like a hawk. “I take it you know what this is?”

“Yeah, it’s a sealing scroll. A common equipment from my world, uh.” He frowns, “I can’t make out what kind of sealing technique this is though. It’s too burned and missing too much, yeah. It’s useless.” He lets out a dry laugh as he lets the burned paper drift back down the box.

“Hmm. A shame.” Dumbledore remarks, clearly disappointed. “I would still advise you to keep it. Perhaps you will be able to work something out, given time.”

“Yeah, sure.” Deidara agrees unconvincingly, but the Headmaster doesn’t seem to mind much.

“Excellent.” He says, eyes twinkling, “Now, on to a more pressing matter: your living arrangement.” He elaborates, sensing Deidara’s confusion, “We believe that it is for the best that you are not confined here for the entire duration of time you are in this world. The Order lacks the resources to house you here permanently, and I can’t imagine you’d like to be stuck in here for much longer.”

When he said they lacked the resources to house him, Deidara is sure he meant they can’t afford to keep him on guard 24/7, which is fair. The second point, however, he wholeheartedly agrees with. He misses sunlight and fresh air.

“Alright, what do you propose then? I can’t imagine you just giving me a fund and sending me on my merry way into the world, yeah?”

“No, Mr. Deidara,” Dumbledore smiles good-naturally, “I want to invite you to Hogwarts.”

Chapter 4: Long Adjustment Period

Chapter Text

They did not see Deidara again for quite some time. Only when dinner comes do he and Dumbledore emerge from the basem*nt. Harry and Ron crane their neck from where they are setting the table to see into the hallway as Mrs. Weasley comes out to see them. Harry thinks for a second about dropping what he was doing to go out and talk to Dumbledore and ask why he was still kept in the dark, but before he can make up his mind, Mrs. Weasley returns with Deidara, but with no Dumbledore.

“Is Professor Dumbledore not eating with us?” Harry asks, trying to mask the disappointment in his voice.

Mrs. Weasley opens her mouth to answer, but Deidara beats her to it.

“No, the Old Man has business, but you can have dinner with yours truly, un.” He holds out his arms and puffs up his chest in a mocking display of snobbery.

Harry’s disappointment vaporizes in an instant. “You can speak English now!” He exclaims. Indeed, his accent is still as strong as ever, but his English is perfect now.

“Yeah.” The blonde smirks, showing him a new golden necklace. “Dumbledore’s gift. It’s not permanent though, but it should help while I actually learn the language properly.”

“That’s brilliant.” Cheers Ron. Both he and Harry know what this means. They can finally start asking questions.

“Now now, boys. Dinner isn’t going to set itself.” Mrs. Weasley smiles. Turning to Deidara, she says, “It is wonderful news. It must have been hard, not understanding what’s going on, but I hope this can help you feel more at home.”

“Sure, yeah. Thank you.” He smiles back, a little awkwardly.

Twin cracks echo out from the hallway and the twins appear, swinging their arms around Deidara’s shoulders, who startles a bit but lets them do it anyway.

“We heard someone finally gains the ability to speak.” Grins Fred wildly.

“And the ability to listen.” Adds George.

“Not to idiots, I don’t, un,” Deidara says dryly, prying the twins off of him. He is still grinning though.

“Ah!” Fred laughs, “I knew you have a sense of humor!” He and George guide the blonde towards the dining table and push him down a seat in the middle. They immediately sit down on either side of him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione quickly take seats in front of them.

“We have questions.” George begins.

“So many questions.” Fred nudges.

Mrs. Weasley sets a large tray of shepherd's pie down the table, frowning at them. “Boys, this is dinner, not an interrogation.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley,” Deidara offers her a brilliant smile, “I don’t mind. I also have a lot of questions.”

“Of course you do, dear.” The red-haired woman softens, “We’ll try our best to answer them for you.”

“How come only he has his questions answered?” Ron demands.

“Yeah!” Ginny, who has just come through the door, exclaims, “That’s not fair.” She nods at Deidara in greeting before taking a seat next to Hermione.

“It’s because Deidara is a guest here.” Mrs. Weasley says in a warning tone.

“You heard her.” Deidara laughs, “I have guest privilege.” He flips his long hair over his shoulder.

Sirius is the last to arrive at the kitchen, muttering something about Kreacher. He stops just long enough to say hello to everyone and congratulate Deidara on finally being able to properly communicate with everyone.

Dinner starts, and surprisingly, it is Mrs. Weasley who asks Deidara the first question. “So, Deidara dear,” She hums inquisitively, “I don’t think I’ve ever caught your last name.”

“I don’t have one, un.” He says evenly, taking a large bite out of his slice of pie.

“O-oh.” Says Mrs. Weasley, sounding confused. “May I ask why?”

He finishes chewing his food and swallows it carefully before saying curtly, “I don’t want to talk about it, yeah.”

“Oh, of course.” She clears her throat awkwardly, “Can I ask how old you are?”

“I’m nineteen.” He says, much more relaxed than before.

Harry blinks and exchanges a look with Ron and Hermione. The boy looks way younger than nineteen, but then again, maybe that’s just because he’s a good bit shorter than them. Fred and George seem to find this funny.

“Nineteen?” Fred exclaims in delight. “My my, forgive my manners, sir, I did not know we were in the presence of the elderly!”

“Forgive us, indeed!” George crows, the rest of whatever he has meant to say was swept under pearls of laughter.

Deidara scowls at them, but his blue eye is dancing with something Harry can’t identify. “You are forgiven,” He says solemnly, “infants.”

That makes the twin laugh so hard that they almost knock over their food, successfully dispelling whatever tension was left after the first question.

“So, how on earth did you get here, anyway?” It is Sirius who asks, and Harry eagerly looks to Deidara for an answer. He has been dying to know as well.

To his disappointment, the blonde shakes his head, his long hair almost dipping into his food, “I don’t know, un. Dumbledore has some theories, but I didn’t understand much of it, so you’ll have to ask him.”

“Well, that sucks.” Sirius frowns, “If we don’t know how you get here… That can be troublesome.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about your secret headquarters being exposed.” Deidara comments, “The Old Man found what brought me here, and it was destroyed beyond recognition, un.”

“Ah well, in that case…”

“Dumbledore has told me a bit of what the Order does, but he didn’t have time to go into details.” The blonde huffs, “Seeing how I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, can someone fill me in on what’s the deal with this Voldemort, yeah?”

Sirius coughs into his glass of water, Mrs. Weasley drops her fork, and everyone else freezes at the casual toss of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s name at the dinner table.

“Deidara dear.” Mrs. Weasley offers him a strained smile. “I understand that you are curious, but this is hardly an appropriate topic for the dinner table.”

For a second, Harry thinks that Deidara is going to protest, but Hermione jumps in. “I can lend you my materials on the First Wizarding War!” She says quickly, “Now that you can read English, I can give you my History of Magic book, too.”

That seems to have mollified the blonde. He nods at Hermione and returns to his food.

“What do you mean?” Ron asks, “When you said you're stuck here for the foreseeable future?”

“It means I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” He says nonchalantly, but Harry can see him tensing up a little. Seeing that this is dangerous territory, he kicks Ron’s leg before he can continue. Thankfully, that combined with his Mum’s glare is enough to get his best friend to take the hint and be quiet.

Deidara signs, “Look, you all going to find out anyway, so I might as well get it out of the way, yeah. Dumbledore thinks it would be a good idea for me to go to Hogwarts with you.”

“Really?” Harry asks, “Why?”

The blonde shrugs, “So he can keep a better eye on all of us all at once, yeah.”

Harry stares, taken aback by the blunt answer. “Keep an eye on us? What for?”

Deidara stares right back at him like he’s an idiot. “To keep you away from the Dark Lord that’s trying to kill you, duh.” Harry’s beginning to wish that he had stayed quiet a little longer. He doesn’t remember the blonde being this rude before.

Once again, Mrs. Weasley intervened, now looking a lot more miffed than before, “And what did you say, Deaidara dear?”

“I told him yes.” He says carelessly, “It was either that or getting stuck here for however long it takes for Dumbledore to sort my situation out.” He stabs his pie, “It was a no-brainer, un.” He pauses, and looks to Sirius, “No offense, yeah.”

The man chuckles, “None taken, if I were you, I would have agreed, too.” Harry didn’t miss the slight bitterness in his voice.

“Alright then.” Fred chuckles, inching a little closer to the blonde conspiringly, “But you’re a bit too old for Hogwarts, aren’t you, mate? How’s Dumbledor’s gonna pull it off?”

“I look young enough to pass as seventeen or even sixteen.” Deidara replies, smirking a little, “He also plans on using my lack of magical knowledge as an excuse to put me in Fifth Year with you three.” He juts his chin out at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The bushy-haired girl frowns, “But you’ll be missing out on five years of magical education. Fifth Year is also supposed to be the most challenging year as well. We’re supposed to take out O.W.L.s then.”

“What the hell are O.W.L.s…? Nevermind, un. You forget I’m not actually in Hogwarts to learn. I’m just in your year so that the Headmaster can monitor me effectively, yeah.” He sounds remarkably unbothered by the fact that he has agreed to be put in school with a bunch of kids four years his junior so the professors can keep a better eye on him.

Hermione looks very bothered by his careless admission that he is not in school to learn, but before she can voice her displeasure, George butts in. “How are you going to fake being a fifth-year then? I thought you couldn’t even do magic?”

Even Mrs. Weasley and Sirius look startled at that, both leaning in to look at Deidara questioningly. The blonde doesn’t look too bothered by all the attention on him. “You’re right, I can’t” He admits carelessly, “but I think I can fake it convincingly enough, especially with the help of the Professors in the Order, yeah.”

Harry feels like he has been kicked in the gut. “You’re a Muggle?” He asks disbelievingly.

“Nah.” The blonde snorts, shooting them all a look “It’s complicated, un. I’ll tell you another time, but all you need to know right now is I can do stuff that can mimic your magic well enough, and if there’s something I can’t do, well, that’s what co-conspirators are for, yeah?”

“Come on now.” Fred tuts, looking positively manic. “Don’t keep us in suspense like that, mate.”

“Yeah!” George adds in, food completely forgotten, “What kind of thing can you do that can mimic magic, huh?”

Harry casts another look around the table. Everyone has stopped eating to focus on their blonde guest. Sirius looks positively as curious as the twins while Mrs. Weasley seems a little more apprehensive, but still too curious to stop this.

Deidara blinks at them, blue eye flickers towards Mrs. Weasley. When no one stops him, he smirks, pushes his chair back a little, and brings his hand up to his chest. Then, he begins to form signs with them rapidly.

Everyone jumps when the food on the blonde’s plate bursts into flames.

“Woah!” Ron exclaims, tipping back so hard he almost topples onto the floor. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley have their hands clasped over their mouths in surprise, and Ginny is staring bug-eyed at the dancing flames. Both Fred and George have jumped clean out of their seats at the sudden burst of light and heat. Sirius, on the other hand, was leaning closer to take a better look, his face full of wonder.

“Ta da” Deidara wriggles his fingers excitedly before bringing them together in another set of rapid signs. With a small jet of water, the fire is put out. “We call those Jutsu, yeah. It’s a bit like your spells, but not really, un.”

“Wicked…” Ron and the twins whisper, eyes wild.

“Thank you. I know I’m cool, yeah.” Deidara preens like a peaco*ck.

“How did you do that?” Harry demands excitedly.

“Sorry, trade secrets, un.” The blonde smirks. For a second, his expression resembles Malfoy’s smug face to an unnerving degree.

“Is that some kind of wandless magic?” Hermione asks, a fire in her eyes, “Something where instead of using a wand, you use hand symbol to channel magic instead?”

“Sure, something like that, yeah.”

Hermione looks very unsatisfied with that, but Deidara ignores her.

“But I’m not gonna show that off to everyone in the school, yeah. Can’t stand out too much.” He says, looking a little dismayed, “And whatever I can’t fake, you guys,” he points his fork at Ron, Harry, and Hermione, “are supposed to cover for me. Dumbledore also told me he’d tell the Professors in the Order to help out whenever they can.”

Hermione now looks upset for a whole new reason. “But that’s cheating!”

Ron scoffs, “Come off it, mate. You heard him, he’s not even in Hogwarts to learn. It’s not like his life depends on him getting O.W.L.s.”

“But it can be!” She says, glaring at Ron before looking back at Deidara, who looks distinctly unimpressed at her, “You said so yourself that you’re stuck here for the foreseeable future, right? What if you’d be here for longer than that? What would you do then? I mean, well,” she fumbles a bit under the intensity of his gaze but quickly composes herself, “What happens if you’re stuck here forever? What are you going to do after we defeat You-Know-Who? Are you going to live at Grimmauld Place or -”

Deidara, whose face has gone steadily colder as Hermione spoke, abruptly stands up, cutting the bushy hair girl off completely. He looks positively thunderous, and Harry feels the hairs on his back standing up and his hand instinctively wrapping around his wand. Before he can properly orient himself, Deidara’s face turns blank and the feeling vanishes.

“I’m done with dinner, un” he announced flatly, his singular blue eye looking at nothing in particular. He deftly stands up and leaves the room without saying another word. Everyone else sits frozen as they listen to his footsteps echoing down the basem*nt and his door slamming shut.

“Bloody hell.” Ginny exhales, breaking the tense silence, and everyone subconsciously relaxes. Harry notices they all have gone for their wands as well.

“Congratulations, Hermione,” Ron mumbles after a beat. “You pissed him off.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just - I mean I was…” Hermione breathes, her face unhealthily pale. “I was just pointing it out!” She says desperately.

“Oh, I know dear.” Mrs. Weasley also stands up, her eyes lingering sympathetically on Hermione for a bit before coming to the doorway where Deidara has disappeared from. “Maybe I should go after him, the poor thing.” She mumbles.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mum,” Fred says.

“Yeah. Best let him cool off for the night first.” George agrees.

“Well, I’m also full,” Sirius says, slapping his hand on the table. “Lovely shepherd pie, Molly. Do you need help cleaning up?”

Using Sirius’ distraction, everyone quietly slips out of the kitchen into Harry and Ron’s room.

“Okay. What, the bloody hell was that?” Ginny asks once Harry shuts the door. “I can’t be the only one who felt that, right?”

“You mean like how you were gonna piss yourself?” Ron asks, “Yeah, I reckon we all felt that.” He shoots Hermione a glare, “Good going, mate.”

Hermione goes red, looking a little guilty but stubborn all the same, “I was just pointing out the obvious!” She protests, “He can’t just treat this whole thing like some sort of joke!”

“Come off it.” Ron scoffs, “You’re just mad he gets to just relax and not drowned in homework, and now he’s pissed off because you insisted on ruining it.”

“I don’t think he was angry about that.” Harry cuts in before they can start arguing. “Looks to me like he just didn’t want to think about how he might be trapped here forever and got mad when you brought it up.”

“Either way,” Ginny adds on, shooting Ron a dirty look, “It wasn’t your fault, Hermione. Deidara shouldn’t have snapped at her like that.”

“Yeah, alright.” Ron admits, looking a little chastised, “It was uncalled for.”

“Oh, yes.” Fred agrees, “Totally unexpected.”

“Who would have thought little blondie there had such a temper.” George huffs.

“He was so sweet and shy before.” Fred laughs.

“He was sweet and shy because he couldn’t talk then.” deadpanned Ginny. “Look, speculating about it now isn’t going to help. I say we wait til morning to see what he has to say for himself.”

By the time everyone leaves for their rooms, Harry is exhausted. His good mood and anticipation from hearing Deidara speak English has all but evaporated, and he finds himself a little upset at the older blonde. Sure, Hermione was a little pushy, but he didn’t have to lose his temper.

How would you feel if you were in his position? A little voice inside of him asks. How would you feel if someone told you you’d be trapped in Private Drive forever?

That’s different! Harry wrinkles his brows. Everyone here has been perfectly nice to the blonde. No one has been horrible to him or anything.

He’s still trapped in here though, and what was that he said about not having anywhere to go to? Harry’s frown deepens. He realizes that Deidara had avoided explaining that entirely by steering the conversation into Hogwarts.

That’s right, Dumbledore had thought it was a good idea to essentially monitor Deidara in Hogwarts, and he wanted to do that by putting him in Harry’s year. The black hair boy turns on his bed. He would continue to be watched even when he was in Hogwarts. What a pleasant thought.

With these turbulent feelings, Harry slowly sinks into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 5: A New Dynamic

Chapter Text

Deidara wants to blow something up. This isn’t that unusual for him, but the boiling rage that comes with it this time is. The blonde paces furiously in his room, arms curling and uncurling at his side. They keep inching towards his hip, where his bag of clay usually sits, but now, all he can grapes is air. This only pisses him off more.

His hands move up to ball up in his long hair instead. “Stupid f*cking–” He hisses, the teeth on his palm biting into his hair. “Doesn’t know what she’s f*cking talking about. Stuck here FOREVER!?” His leg lashes out and delivers a solid kick to his chair. The thing goes flying and smashes into the wall. He flinches as the loud crash echoes in his room. The walls here are thin, and he has no doubt everyone has heard that.

Deidara’s fingernails dig into his palms as he forces himself to calm down. No need to give these people any more reason to think he was more of a maniac than they already had. Heat rises to his face as he recalls how he has lost his temper and control of his Chakra, letting it flare out in a second of killing intent. He groans and flops down onto the mattress. Hopefully, it has been so quick that no one could tell what happened. He really doesn't know how to explain that to them.

He wonders why he had been so mad at the Granger girl. His temper isn’t the best, he knows, but that was just embarrassing. He remembers seeing red the second she said he might be stuck here forever, but why? Wasn’t that a good thing? He would have a clean slate here. Except, she was right. He has no idea what the hell he would do if that happened. He obviously can’t stay in this house forever. He would need to find a way to make a life for himself. What would he do then?

He has the skill set of a killer, a terrorist bomber. It’s not exactly something he’s keen on showing off here. Deidara knows that the moment these people figure out that he used to be an international criminal in a terrorist organization, any goodwill they have towards him would be gone. He would have to be on the run again, hunted like an animal.

Would that be so bad though? He would have his freedom again. Free to practice his art as much as he wants. Here, nothing has Chakra, and he doubts anyone here, aside possibly Dumbledore, poses any challenge for him. Strangely, the thoughts do not sound as appealing to him as he once thought.

Deidara quickly stops thinking before he can spiral down that rabbit hole. By Kami does he hate dealing with feelings. He'd take risking his life capturing a Tailed Beast over attempting to dissect his feelings any day. He probably should be the adult and apologize to Granger tomorrow... f*cking hell.

He misses Sasori. He misses Hidan.

He misses Tobi.

The next morning is tense. Deidara doesn’t join them for breakfast, and Hermione looks more and more anxious as the hours drag on with no sign of the blonde. Harry notices her shuffling a couple of books under her arm, the thick tome of The History of Magic keeps slipping out.

“Why do you think Dumbledore wants to keep an eye on him?” Harry wonders out loud.

“I dunno.” Ron shrugs, “Probably to make sure he’s not hurt until they figure out what to do with him.”

“Well, yeah, but why Hogwarts specifically?” Harry presses, “Surely there's better places for that? But Dumbledore insists on keeping him close. Why?”

“Who knows, but he must have a good reason.”

Harry frowns, unsatisfied with the answer but cannot think of anything else to say. It’s strange. Before, he thinks of Deidara as a source of intrigue. Theorizing about the guy has become his and his friends’ favorite pastime after theorizing about what the Order is up to. He has also thought of the blonde as a rather reserved but good-natured person, but now that they can communicate properly, he has shown himself to be somewhat talkative and quick to anger. The change leaves him a little wrong-footed. It doesn’t help that even when they can actually talk to each other, Harry now has even more questions, none of which he can get answers to if Deidara continues to avoid them.

To his relief, by the time lunch rolls around, as they descend the stairs after another round of wrestling with the house, they find a head of blonde hair rummaging in the kitchen.

“Deidara dear!” Fred calls out in an impressive imitation of his Mum, “We didn’t see you at breakfast!”

“I slept in.” The blonde replies curtly, his blue eye looking stubbornly at all of them, but Harry can see the slightest hint of red on the tips of his exposed ear. When that blue eye lands on Hermione, his jaw sets and he exhales.

Hermione jumps before he even opens his mouth. “I brought you the books.” She says hurriedly, thrusting the heavy stack out so fast it almost hit Deidara in the head. “I would advise you start with the History of Magic, it’s very helpful to help you contextualize the other ones –”

“Granger.”

“–but if you’re interested in the First Wizarding War specifically, this one here is a good start -”

“Granger.”

“If you prefer some recent news, I also have some Daily Prophets in there. Mind you, lately they’ve been saying nothing but rubbish, but-”

“Hermione.” Deidara’s accented voice rises over her slightly high-pitched one, “Thank you, yeah.” He says simply as he takes the pile of books from her hands and puts it down on the counter. “Look,” he begins, evidently uncomfortable as he runs his hand through his hair, “I’m really sorry about last night. I, uh, I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You didn't do anything wrong, yeah.” He ends lamely, but still resolutely holds eye contact with Hermione, who has gone red.

“No, of course.” She stutters, “It’s fine. I mean, you’re forgiven. I, uh, I’m sorry, too, for being so pushy.” She squares her shoulders, “If you’re serious about coming to Hogwarts with us, I’ll help you out in classes.”

Both Ron and Harry turn to stare at her.

“Blimey,” Ron mutters, astonished, “You just agreed to help him cheat in school.”

Deidara bursts into gleeful laughter, “Atta girl.” He pats her on the back cheerfully before turning to the rest of them, “So, what’s for lunch? I’m starving, yeah.”

It’s almost dizzying, Harry thinks, how fast Deidara can go from murderous rage to cheerfully laughing with the person that pissed him off so bad he stomped out of dinner just the night before.

By the time lunch ends and they all have to go back to waging war with the cabinet, Deidara joins them with an excited grin, and it’s like his outburst last night never happened at all.

The next few days passed quickly. Deidara is grateful for just how hectic life at Grimmauld Place is. The only time when the kids really have time to bother him with questions is during meal times under the strict gaze of Mrs. Weasley. Not that he doesn’t want to indulge them, but he does find their curiosity somewhat funny, but he is busy collaborating with Dumbledore for a suitable cover story for his appearance at Hogwarts. Right now, they are partial to 'distressed runaway from Japan who accidentally teleported himself to Britain and was offered the opportunity to complete his formal education at Hogwarts.'

Agreeing to be placed in the Fifth Year means that he would also have to catch up on four years of learning materials. Even with the kids and some teachers’ cooperation, it would simply be too suspicious for a fifth-year student to not know the basics. This means that Deidara has to more or less treat this like a deep undercover mission, which almost makes him regret agreeing to the Old Man’s suggestion.

Deidara might not be a prodigy, but he is a fast learner. Getting through the theories is annoying, but simple enough. It helps that the twins, the two kids old enough to be allowed to perform magic outside of school, are very eager to show off their spellwork to him.

The copy of The History of Magic the Granger kid, or Hermione, as he has begun to call her, was as dry as the dessert, but Deidara was able to skim through them to get a surface understanding of what he’s dealing with. Her other books on the last Wizarding War, however…

Deidara doesn't know how to feel about the fact that warfare in this world seems just as brutal as his previous one. The number of wars is just as numerous, too. Reading about all the horrible sh*ts that went on during Voldemort’s reign was hardly enough to make the former Akatsuki bat an eye, but it does make him think about Pain and his ambition for world peace. It looks like that really is just a pipe dream after all. Reading about what brought about the end of the First Wizarding War did give him pause and reconsider the Potter kid. Being hunted down by a fascist maniac through no fault of his own… yeah, that sounds rough. No wonder Dumbledore wants to keep an eye on him so badly.

Reading the news is also an illuminating experience. As a former Iwa-nin, he is no stranger to propaganda, and the ones being peddled by this Cornelius Fudge are so blatant it’s almost impressive in their ballsiness. The Ministry’s attitude towards this whole thing is concerning though. The longer they keep their collective heads in the sand, the more difficult it will be to fight back Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Speaking of the Ministry, Deidara finds out one day that the Potter boy was summoned to Court for a case of performing underage magic in front of a Muggle. The poor kid looks ready to faint when the blonde asks him about it.

“They can expel me if they find me guilty.” Harry said, “I might have to go back to my aunt and uncle.”

Comforting people has never been Deidara’s strong suit, so he gladly hangs back and lets the kid’s friends try to cheer him up. He can tell it doesn’t help much.

The artist has finally got around to asking for some clay. His request earned him a bewildered look from Mrs. Weasley, but she agreed easily enough. It was a relief when the shapeshifting lady, Tonk, as she insisted everyone call her, dropped in one day with a bag of white clay. It’s not quite the same as the one he was used to in his world, but it was leagues better than nothing. When he finally gets to Hogwarts and gets access to some actual earth, he can probably make his own clay.

His artistic endeavor does not go unnoticed for long, not that he was trying particularly hard to hide it. Fred and George saw his clay bird flying around one day and alerted the whole house to it.

“Nice job, mate.” Fred hoots at the little bird, “What spell is that supposed to be?”

“It’s not supposed to be a spell, un.” Deidara grunts. He can feel the tongues in his palm running along the teeth. “It’s my art.”

“Art?” Ron butts in from the doorway, sticking his head in, “I didn’t know you draw.”

“I don’t just draw, yeah.” He scowls, rolling his eyes. Ron is among the few who never helps with his catch-up work and therefore never saw him doodling on parchments. “And art isn’t just about drawing, un.”

“Yeah?” George chuckles, clearly not taking this too seriously, “What is it about then?”

Deidara bites his tongue. His hands itch. They are indoors, inside a secret building. But he hasn’t made art for so long. He eyes the little clay bird. It’s a small one. The amount of Chakra he put in it is laughably miniscule. Surely, just one tiny explosion wouldn’t hurt more than the shenanigans the twins are regularly up to?

Besides, he is growing fond of all of the brats, and no kouhai of his is going to go uneducated about true art.

Feeling unholy glee bubbling up in his chest and a somewhat unhinged grin sketching across his face, Deidara slowly brings his hands together. The kids have all taken a step backward subconsciously. Good, more room for him to work with.

“Listen closely, yeah,” His voice is trembling with excitement as the little clay bird above him speeds up in a circle, “Art is the ephemeral beauty of a single moment… True art,” He slams his hand together, “is an EXPLOSION!”

The whole house shakes. Someone screams. Deidara’s head is light with elation. He quickly becomes aware that he is laughing. That was just pure catharsis.

Even though no one was hurt and nothing was damaged, aside from the giant scorch mark now staining the basem*nt ceiling, Deidara still got an earful from Mrs. Weasley, but with the image of the explosion still branded in the back of his eyelids, he is still feeling too dizzy with ecstasy to be bothered by it.

Surprisingly, nothing really changes after that. Apparently, wizards and witches also sometimes have eccentricities that his love for pyrotechnics fits right in with. Life still goes on in Grimmauld Place as usual. Except, now, the twins and even Sirius have taken a much greater interest in him, delighted by his newfound destructive capability. The heir of the house not so subtly asks if he can blow up several family heirlooms of his, and the twins not so subtly needle him to teach them his techniques.

As much as he loves showing off, he knows that his supply of clay is limited, and if Mrs. Weasley finds out he has been using the clay given to him to make explosives, he can kiss his resupply goodbye.

As for the younger inhabitants of the house, Deidara can tell they have more questions for him than ever before, and he isn’t ashamed to admit he takes pleasure from dancing around their attempts at weaseling answers out of him. They are so transparent his old world would swallow them alive.

Hermione, specifically, seems caught between her need to know more and her disapproval of his blatant love for blowing things up. Deidara wonders briefly if he should say something to her, but ultimately decides against it. He hasn’t done anything wrong here as far as he’s concerned, and if she has a problem with his art, she can come and say so to his face.

As for her two friends, Ron is only interested for a brief moment, but when Deidara doesn’t blow anything up anymore, he quickly loses interest, and Harry is too preoccupied with his upcoming trial to give it much thought.

They did once ask him how he made his clay creatures, and that has led to him finally showing them his hand-mouths, and the reaction to that has been… interesting.

“Bloody Hell! What is that!” Ron jumps as his right mouth blows a raspberry at him.

“My mouths.” Deidara deadpans, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when Hermione hits him for his rudeness even when she herself is busy gaping at his hand unabashedly.

Harry, whom by now Deidara has come to know as the one who knows the least about magic in general, stares uncomprehendingly at the blonde before looking to his friends, “Is that not normal? For magic, I mean.”

“No, not at all.” Hermione answers with her hands reaching out hesitantly like she wants to poke at his mouths but then realizes that it would be extremely rude. Fred and George have no such reservation.

“Woahh!” George chuckles as he prods at the left mouth with his hand, “Freaky.”

“Freaky cool!” Fred laughs then yelps when the right mouth bites at him.

“Hey!” Deidara chides playfully, “These are my instruments of art, yeah. Treat them with respect, un.”

“How did you… get those?” Ginny asks. She was in the middle of copying Fred and George in examining his hands but quickly changed her mind when Fred drew back.

Deidara, already having prepared a suitable magical version to explain away his kinjutsu, just shrugs, “Got hit with an experimental spell, un. They’re useful and don't really hurt me so I keep them.”

“Can you eat with those?” Ron, having gotten over his initial surprise, comes closer but wisely keeps his hands to himself.

“No, un. They don’t connect to my stomach or anything, yeah.”

“You said you make… art with those.” Harry says wearily, “How?”

Deidara reaches for his little bag of clay and lets his right mouth bite a chunk off of it and starts chewing. A moment later, a little white grasshopper is spat out.

“You sculpt with your mouths?” Hermione demands, looking caught between mild disgust and impressed.

“Yeah.” Deidara laughs as he makes the hand signs to get the little critter to move.

“Wicked,” Fred says in awe, watching the little thing take flight.

George, however, has a different idea, “What other wicked things can you do with those tongues of yours, huh?”

Deidara chokes out a laugh. It is not the first time he had heard that joke, but it caught him off guard to hear it from the seventeen-year-old redhead. “You,” He chuckles, “are way too young to worry about that, yeah.”

Three of them laugh while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stare at them in confusion. The joke, thankfully, went right over their heads.

The time for Harry’s trial swiftly approaches, but while the boy is busy with that, Deidara has his own things to worry about. Mrs. Weasley summons him into the kitchen where he finds both her and her husband waiting. Already having a good feeling about what this is about, he joins in.

“Professor Dumbledore has finalized the paperwork, Deidara.” Mr. Weasley grins and hands a long parchment over to him. He takes it with a distracted thanks and looks it over. Paperwork for a foster program for international students. At the very bottom, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s signature sit neatly. Next to that, a blank space for his name.

“Oh, before you sign that, dear.” The Weasley matriarch says hurriedly, “We also have to get proper citizenship documents for you, and, well,” She continues, slightly flustered, “I understand you don’t have a last name, but, for the sake of believability, you would need to pick one. Well, anything will do really, we just need it for the paper.” She carefully pushes several other parchments at him.

“Akatsuki.”

“I’m sorry, dear?"

“My last name, un. Put ‘Akatsuki’ down for it, un.”

A beat of silence as the two Weasleys exchange a quick look at each other. Then both beams at him.

“Lovely, young man.” Mr. Weasley grins, pulling a parchment back towards him and picking up a quill. “How do you spell that?”

The rest goes by quickly. Mr. Weasley informs him that he will be receiving his Hogwarts letter formally inviting him to the school along with a list of supplies he’ll need for the school year. Mrs. Weasley assures him that his expenses will be covered by the school, and she will take him to Diagon Alley to get his shopping done.

“You simply must see Diagon Alley at least once, dear.” She says, “And I want you to see it before it, well, gets too dangerous. Don’t worry, I’ll be picking up supplies for everyone else here, and you can give me a hand.”

Deidara finds himself excited about it. That can be his chance to catch a glimpse of the outside world here before he is confined to the school for the next 9 months.

When the day ends, he lies in bed and thinks back to the decision to put ‘Akatsuki’ down as his last name. Truth to be told, it has been a somewhat impulsive decision, but it has felt right.

Kami, that sounds so cheesy he can gag. If Hidan could hear that…

Well, it was either that or Iwagakure, and unlike Akatsuki, he has never once felt like he belonged in that sh*tty village.

Chapter 6: The Boggart

Chapter Text

The day of Harry’s trial comes, and the poor kid looks ready to faint at any second even though he does a commendable job at hiding it. Deidara pats him on the back encouragingly as Mr. Weasley leads him away.

The rest of the day is accented by a sort of nervous buzz. The Weasleys and Hermione can hardly seem to focus on anything at all. They keep telling each other that Dumbledore is showing up to Harry’s trial, and that means that the kid would be fine. The blonde has no idea who they were trying to convince: themselves or each other.

Deidara, having no patience for this sort of thing, quickly retreats to his basem*nt room to get some privacy for himself. He admits that he does worry for the kid a little, but he doesn’t see the point in getting all worked up over something they have no control over. He doesn’t think Harry is likely to be found guilty, but the whole trial sounds like a bit of a sham, and he doesn’t know to what extent the Ministry is willing to go to sabotage the Boy-Who-Lives. However, getting expelled is hardly the end of the world. Either way, he’s confident they’ll work something out.

After 15 minutes of trying and failing to ignore the nervous chatter upstairs to focus on his English, which has been improving by leaps and bounds with the help of the necklace, Deidara declares his defeat and gets up on his feet. He picks up his clay but after a while of rolling it in his palms, he sighs and lets it roll onto the floor again. It seems like the jittery energy of everyone else has affected him more than he thought.

It’s moments like these that really make him miss the outdoors. He’s not meant to be cooped up inside for so long. He misses the blue sky and feeling the wind on his skin as he soars on the back of his creations. Feeling restless, he gets on his feet. Well, if he can’t go outside, he’ll settle for the next best thing and explore the house for a bit.

While most of the rooms have been discovered and extensively cleaned, there are a few that Deidara didn’t get to see, and a few more that were off-limits due to some residues of curses that managed to hang on after the purge. Not that it would stop him, he doubts that there’s anything in the house that can pose a serious threat to him anyway.

With that, he quietly slips out of his room and sneaks upstairs. Mrs. Weasley is in the kitchen, preparing a meal for when Harry returns. Ginny is in there helping her. Judging from the noises, he can guess that Ron, Hermione, and the twins are all in the older Weasleys’ room. Deidara frowns, he can’t sense Sirius anywhere, but it just means the man is somewhere on the higher floors and hardly a problem for him.

There are two rooms that he wants to check out most: The one with the rattling cabinet that Mrs. Weasley’s waiting for Moody to come take a look at, and the one where a Hippogriff is being kept. Deidara has only seen a picture of the animal in a textbook and would very much like to see the real deal. It might give him some inspiration for his next art piece. Mind made up, he creeps his way upstairs. He can’t recall if anyone had told him where the animal is kept, but he figures it can’t be hard to figure out. An animal indoors is bound to make some noticeable noises.

Sure enough, after only a few minutes of searching, Deidara comes across a door smelling strongly of flesh and feathers, and there are noises of something ripping and crunching. Deidara can also make out faint whisperings of a man. So this is where Sirius has disappeared to.

Boldly, he pushes the door open.

“Hey,” Deidara throws out a greeting at the startled man, but his focus is solely on the great animal sitting behind him. “You’re beautiful, yeah.” He tells it, starry-eyed.

“Ah, yes.” Sirius grins once he gets over his shock, “Majestic isn’t he? Buckbeak. Saved my ass a couple of years ago.”

“Yeah?” The blonde asks, stepping closer but quickly stops when Buckbeak lets out a screech and stands up, the remains of a rat flying out of his beak.

“Woah there!” Sirius throws his hands up in a calming gesture, “Go slowly, and bow to him.”

Deidara, despite feeling a bit stupid with his head tilting towards the floor, does so anyway, and to his delight, Buckbeak bows back after a beat.

“Alright, you can approach him now, but do so slowly.”

The blonde can barely contain his excitement but complies. Soon enough, he is rewarded when he runs his hands through the great beast’s feather. The tongues on his hands slip out to take small licks at it.

“You said he saved your life, un?” Deidara asks, and he is treated to a retelling of Sirius' flight from Azkaban, his quest at Hogwarts to get back at Peter Pettigrew, and his escape from the Dementors.

By the end of it, he is rather impressed, “Does stuff like that happen often at Hogwarts? I’ve heard some things, yeah.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius chuckles fondly, “Harry is something of a trouble magnet, I’m afraid. In his first year, his DADA teacher was possessed by You-Know-Who. In his second year, he had to deal with the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk. Third year, well, there’s me and the Dementors. Just last year, a Death Eater disguised as Moody entered him into a deadly tournament to lure him into a graveyard and resurrected You-Know-Who.”

“Seriously?” Deidara asks, momentarily pausing petting Buckbeak to stare at the man, “Wow. I’m even more pumped to go to Hogwarts now, yeah.”

“Of course you are. You do seem like the type who deliberately seeks out trouble.” Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, but the blonde can hear a note of longing in it. The room lapses into silence for a beat before Sirius clears his throat.

“Listen, Deidara.” He starts, “I have been meaning to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” The blonde asks curiously. He and Sirius have never talked much, but he thinks he has a good idea of what this can be about.

“Yes,” Sirius nods, “I like you, Deidara, you’re fun to be around, but I know you’re hiding something. It’s in your eye.”

Deidara says nothing, his single blue eye stays steadily on Sirius’ dark ones.

“Of course, you are entitled to your own secrets, and Dumbledore trusts you enough to stick you in the same dormitory with my Godson and his friends, so I supposed I trust you, too.” Those dark eyes suddenly harden, and Deidara is reminded that this man once spent 12 years in Azkaban, a prison everyone shudders when mentioned, “Don’t betray that trust, Deidara. You’re smart, you know that Harry’s fifth year is not going to be peaceful. Please, keep an eye on him, would you?”

“Of course, un.” Deidara is surprised at how sincere he feels about it, “I’m fond of the brats. I’m not gonna let anything happen to them.”

Sirius and he keep eye contact for another beat before the older man finally grins grimly. “Good.” He turns away, “I wish I can do more for them, but there’s not much I can do, trapped in this f*cking place.”

The blonde suddenly feels very awkward and a bit annoyed. He can certainly sympathize with Sirius. He thinks of having to return to and stay in his old home in Iwa. His stomach turns unpleasantly.

Hesitantly, he speaks up, “You won’t be here forever, un. When your Ministry finally pulls its head out of its ass and acknowledges that Voldemort,” Sirius twitches at the name, but Deidara plows on, “is back, getting your name cleared would be a piece of cake, and you can go as a freeman, yeah.”

“You know,” Sirius chuckles, peering at the artist, “Harry says something similar to me.”

“Well, obviously, Harry knew what he was talking about, yeah.”

With a lightened atmosphere, Deidara sticks around for a bit more, carefully molding his clay into various stylized hippogriffs and letting it fly across the room much to Sirius and Buckbeak’s delight.

Mr. Weasley and Harry return with good news around lunch time to a rancorous welcome from everyone in the house.

“I knew it!” Ron punches the air triumphantly, “I knew you’d get off. You always do!”

“They were bound to clear you.” says Hermione, looking like she can collapse from sheer relief, “They have no case against you at all.”

“Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I’d get off.” Harry chuckles.

“Not me, I’m disappointed, yeah.” Deidara slaps him on the back with a crooked grin, “I’ve divided this artistic plan to burst you out in case you didn’t get off. Now, it seems all my effort is wasted, un.”

“Does this ‘artistic plan’ involve lots of explosions?” Harry deadpans.

“Yeah, duh. It’s like you don’t even know who I am, yeah.”

Mrs. Weasley is wiping her face with her apron while Fred, George, and Ginny are participating in some kind of war dance and chanting, “He got off, he got off, he got off-”

“That’s enough! Settle down!” shouts Mr. Weasley, but he is also smiling. Turning to Sirius, his smile dims a little, “Listen, Sirius, I saw Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry-”

“What?” Sirius cuts in sharply.

“Who’s Lucius Malfoy?” Deidara chimes in.

While Mr. Weasley explains what has happened in the Ministry of Magic, Harry turns to Deidara, “He’s a Death Eater. His son Draco’s in Slytherin.”

“Ah…” The artist doesn’t need more of an explanation. He has heard stories of this Draco kid before, but his father being a Death Eater working in the Ministry is news. It really brings a whole new dimension to the extent of the corruption in the government. It is also obviously concerning to think that a Death Eater is able to get that close to the figurehead of the Magic Community and no one can do anything about it.

Still, Deidara doesn’t let that gloomy thought take away from the celebratory atmosphere of the house. He even feels good enough to give Harry the new clay hippogriff he made, after promising him up and down that it is not going to explode in his face.

“ ‘Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you,” Ron declares while happily serving everyone great amounts of mashed potatoes.

“Yeah, he swung it for me.” Harry says, but he sounds pretty strange saying it. Looks like someone is upset at the Headmaster.

Before Deidara can ask him about it, the kid suddenly winces and brings a hand up to his forehead.

“What’s up?” asks Hermione, alarmed.

“Scar.” Harry mumbles. It does not explain anything to Deidara, but Ron and Hermione both seem to know what that means, and judging from the anxious look on their faces, it’s nothing good.

“What does that mean, yeah?” Deidara demands.

“Nothing,” Harry says in reflex.

“... You are a horrible liar, un.” Deidara snorts dismissively, “Whatever. If it’s important, I’ll find out later, yeah.”

On the very last day of the holidays, Hogwarts letters finally arrive. Deidara reads his without actually paying too much attention. He climbs upstairs and hands the papers over to Mrs. Weasley.

“Ah, yes. It’s finally here.” She peers at his list of material, “It’s a bit late, isn’t it? Oh, well, the only thing you really need time to get is your robes, the rest can be picked up fairly quickly. Oh! That reminds me dear, Professor Dumbledore wants you to have this.” She picks up a long thin box and hands it to him.

Inside is a long thin wooden stick. A wand. Deidara blinks as he gingerly picks it up. “Is this thing real, un?” He asks skeptically.

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Weasley says, “It’s just a regular wooden stick. Wands choose the wielder, you see, so we can’t just give you a random real wand. But if anyone asks, your wand is yew wood with a dragon heartstring, and you got it at Jimmy Kiddell's Wonderful Wands. Helps you fit in, you see.”

“Huh, thank you, yeah.” He says distractedly, waving his ‘wand’ in the motion for the Incendio charm experimentally.

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, let me collect the booklist from everyone and we’ll be right off.”

They did not get right off.

Apparently, from what Deidara can interpret from the excited squeakings and mumbling, Ron has been made ‘Prefect,’ a somewhat prestigious position at Hogwarts, although not one every student respects, evidently by Fred and George’s attitude. Still, it was big enough for Mrs. Weasley to declare a celebratory dinner and a gift for Ron, of which he asks for a new broom.

Regrettably, Deidara does not get to see much of the non-magical world. They had taken an illegally made Portkey to the Burrow, the Weasleys’ home, and then used the Floo there to get into a dinghy little bar somewhere else. While he understands the detour is necessary to avoid attention put on Grimmauld Place and make it look like the Weasley is still at their home, he’s still a little miffed at the missed opportunity.

Diagon Alley more than makes up for it though.

The former Akatsuki member remembers this massive New Year festival at a town he and Tobi came through. The idiot had insisted they spend some time there, and Deidara had agreed solely because there were a couple of ceramic stands that caught his attention. Diagon Alley makes the festive buzz of that festival look like a joke in comparison. There are colors, noises, and movements everywhere he looks. Shops and displays of all sizes fill the sidewalks.

For a split second, he stands there, stunned, until a gentle hand touches his shoulder. He jumps away from it instinctively, but Mrs. Weasley, thankfully, doesn’t comment on it. “It can be a bit overwhelming at first, I know, dear.” She smiles warmly. “Don’t worry, just stick with me and we’ll get this done.”

Having no desire to get lost in the bustling crowd, Deidara stays close to the red-haired woman as she leads him from shop to shop, all the while telling him all about all the exciting stuff around here. The only time where they separate is when Mrs. Weasley leaves him to get measured for his robes while she picks out a broom for Ron.

The trip offers him some more insight into Wizarding Society and the organized chaos that is its citizens’ daily routine. Of course, he has already gotten a taste of it at Grimmauld Place, but seeing it on such a large scale is something else entirely.

Their lives are not going to be stable for long. He thinks grimly as they make their way back. With the way things are going now, sooner or later, war is going to break out.

War is always going to break out.

The celebratory dinner is in full swing, but Deidara is still feeling somewhat somber. He listens half-heartedly to Ron rambling about his new Cleansweep, unpleasantly reminded of Tobi’s inane rambling. His stomach twists painfully. Scowling, he carefully extracts himself from the party without anyone noticing and slinks upstairs. He wants to be away from the noises but not alone. He wants to see Buckbeak.

The hippogriff is enjoying its own dinner of raw chicken when Deidara enters. Settling down a little further away from the animal to avoid the bits of meat flying about, he pulls out his clay and starts to knead.

It has been so long since he last practiced any of his battle jutsu. The inside of a house isn’t the best place to dish out high-caliber explosives. He hopes that once he gets to Hogwarts, he will have the space necessary to keep himself sharp for the upcoming conflict.

Back in the Akatsuki, his friends and comrades had been highly trained and dangerous S-ranked criminals, but that didn’t stop them from getting killed. Here, the world and its people are softer. Children are allowed to be children and people can be expected to go their entire life without even picking up a weapon. So unlike his old world where civilians go around with hidden weapons and shinobi are trained up since birth. However, a war in this world wouldn’t be softer than the one in his old world. He can’t afford to let himself get rusty.

Deidara stops suddenly, perking his head up. He hears something. Something that sounds like sobbing.

Mrs. Weasley?

Somewhere in the house, the Weasley matriarch lets out a horrible sobbing wail, and Deidara shoots to his feet, runs out of the room, and vaults over the stairwell to get to her.

He finds her crumbled on the floor in a dark room. In front of her, lying in a pool of blood, is the pale body of Ron Weasley.

Deidara has Mrs. Weasley on her feet and behind him before he can fully take in the situation. Something has happened in the short amount of time since he left the party. Ron is dead, and they can all be in danger. Mrs. Weasley lets out a startled gasp from behind him.

“No, Deidara dear! It’s just a-”

But he isn’t listening. His hands are halfway closed around the spare clay bird he’s taken to always carrying around in his pocket when the dead body of Ron Weasley disappears. In its place now stands a woman.

Deidara freezes. He recognizes her. Despite her pale bloodless face and the massive wound bleeding sluggishly from her head, he recognizes those slanted blue eyes and long chestnut brown hair. Briefly, he can smell the soft scent of clay in the air.

“M-mom?” His voice sounds strange and far away from his ears.

The… thing in front of him lets out a soft laugh that makes him flinch like he has been physically struck. “Deidara, my little bird. Look what you did to me.”

No. This isn’t real. It’s some sort of curse lingering in this place. It has to be.

“You promised to protect me, to look after me, and to give me a better life. Look what you did.”

Deidara squeezes his eye shut, feeling like a six-year-old in that house again. His nails dig deep trenches into his palms. Blood oozes from his wounds.

The thing changes again, this time, he instantly recognizes the two men in front of him, even when they are in pieces across the room, their blood staining the red clouds on their black cloaks.

Sasori and Hidan’s lifeless eyes stare accusingly back at him. Unlike the woman, they don't utter a word. He watches, mesmerized as their blood flows into a pair of eyes with the horrifyingly familiar patterns. The Sharingans stare back at him impassively and coldly from every corner of the room.

“Why are you trying so hard, senpai?” Tobi’s voice rings out. “Nobody’s going to remember you or your art anyway. Well, I would have, I guess, but you killed me.” His laughter echoes across the room. Deidara feels like he’s going to throw up.

“You kill everyone you’ve ever cared about, senpai.” Tobi’s orange mask lays at his feet, scorched and broken beyond repair.

“Riddikulus!” Someone shouts out behind him. The gory scene before him changes into a silvery globe hanging in the air before disappearing one last time into a fume of smoke.

Deidara whirls around, coming face-to-face with a very pale Mrs. Weasley, Harry, Remus Lupin, Sirius, and Moody.

“D-Deidara… dear?”

But he doesn’t stick around to hear much more than that. He pushes through the small crowd gathered in front of the doorway and doesn’t stop running until he is engulfed in the darkness of his basem*nt room. Alone.

Chapter 7: On The Express

Chapter Text

The next morning is incredibly tense. Even the excitement of finally going back to Hogwarts is not enough to quell the tension brought about by Deidara’s Boggart. Although no one was able to understand a single word from the creature’s mouth, its meaning was not lost within the gruesome scenes it showed.

He has not told Hermione or Ron about what he has seen, but his friends all know something is up. No one missed Deidara storming down the stairs and slamming his bedroom door shut, nor did they miss the incredibly pale and troubled faces Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Sirius were wearing.

It is also incredibly difficult to ignore how quiet and cold the normally fiery blonde is the entire morning. He doesn’t even react when he is almost hit with Fred and George’s trunks flying down the stairs and waking up Mrs. Black’s portraits, who starts hurling insults at the top of her lungs at him.

Harry wants to talk to Deidara, but he knows it’s not a good idea. For starters, he wouldn’t even know where to start. How would he even begin that conversation? “Hello, I know that you’ve just got your deepest and darkest fear exposed to a bunch of people, but would you mind explaining a few details of that to me?” Somehow, looking at the blonde’s dark expression, Harry doubts that would go well. He still remembers vividly his outburst at dinner.

Despite all of that, the commotion of the move-out is almost enough to distract him from his troubles. The knowledge of the fact that they’ll be moving with guards and Sirius coming downstairs in his Animagus form only compounds that. Soon enough, he finds himself staring at the gigantic gleaming red form of the Hogwarts Train.

He chances a glance at Deidara and is pleased to see the impressed gleam in his blue eye. As Harry shakes hands with Moody and Lupin, he sees Mrs. Weasley whispering something to Deidara before pulling him into a hug. The blonde looks like he was going to jerk away but hesitantly brings his hands up to pat her awkwardly on the back instead.

He is quickly brought back to himself when Sirius stands on his hind legs to place a heavy paw on his shoulder, and then he is herded onto the train along with everyone else. For a moment, they all watch and wave as the people on the platform and the great black dog chasing after them grow smaller.

“He shouldn’t have come,” Hermione whispers nervously as they round the corner and the platform disappears from view.

“Oh, lighten up,” Ron says, “He hasn’t seen daylight for months, poor bloke.”

After Fred and George leave to find their friend Lee, Harry turns to his friends. “Let’s go find an empty apartment then.”

Ron and Hermione suddenly look hesitant.

“We’re – well – Ron and I are supposed to go to the Prefect carriage,” Hermione says awkwardly.

“Oh.” says Harry “Right. Fine.”

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Deidara cuts in impatiently. “Well, come on then. I don’t want to stand out here the entire time, yeah.” Not waiting for a response, the blonde grabs Harry by the arm and drags him away from Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

“Hey.” Harry protests then yelps when he feels a pinching sensation on his arm. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Deidara says blandly, finally letting go. “They bite sometimes, un.” The mouth on his hand grins at him. He turns around, but he can no longer see his friends over the crowd of students looking for seats.

Harry is about to say something but stops at the severe look on the blonde’s face.

“You didn’t tell them about last night,” Deidara says flatly, his vivid blue eye seems to be drilling into the ravenette’s soul.

“N – No, I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Harry stammers, leaning back reflexively at the sudden intensity directed at him.

Deidara stares at him a beat more before relaxing slightly, “Thanks, un.” He turns away and begins walking again.

“Wait!” Harry finds himself calling out in a burst of irritation, but when Deidara stops and looks back at him, he suddenly remembers that asking about the boggart is a very bad idea.

The blonde seems to know what he wants anyway. A strange expression comes across his face. “I don’t want to talk about it now, Harry.” He says, his voice toneless, “but… maybe. Maybe another time, un.”

“O – oh. Right.” Harry stutters at the unexpected offer but really doesn’t think he would take it. Before this whole thing can get even weirder, Ginny catches up to them.

“There you two are.” She huffs breathlessly, casting an accusing glare at Deidara, who doesn't look the slightest bit abashed. “What’s gotten into you huh?”

“Sorry,” The blonde says flatly, “I got carried away, yeah.”

“Hey, come on.” Harry cuts in, “Let’s go find an apartment.”

They continue their way down the length of the train in silence. As they struggle with their luggage – well, Harry and Ginny struggle, Deidara doesn’t seem at all bothered by the cumbersome trunk – Harry notices people staring and pointing at them, at him.

“Ignore them,” Deidara says cooly, flipping his long blonde hair over his shoulder, “They’re probably idiots who can’t tell right from wrong even if it hits them in the face, un.”

Harry stares at him quizzes until he remembers the Daily Prophet.

“Right.” He says rather moodily.

At the very end of the train, they run into Neville Longbottom, Harry’s fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, who is struggling to pull his trunk along with one hand and with the other one busy keeping a hold of his toad, Trevor.

“Oh hi, Harry.” He greets between each panting breath, “Hi, Ginny, and, uh...”

“Deidara, un.” The blonde jerks his head in greeting, “I’m new.”

“O-oh. Neville Longbottom. Nice to meet you.” He looks like he wants to offer a handshake but can’t decide which hand to use, his right, which is holding Trevor, or his left, which is holding up the trunk.

Ginny decides to save him from his dilemma, “Come on, in here.” She says, reaching for the handle of the compartment’s door.

“Uh,” Neville says weakly, “It’s full.”

“No it’s not,” the red-haired girl rolls her eyes, “It’s just Loony Lovegood in there. She’s alright.”

Not giving the boy another say in the matter, she pulls the door open and enters it. Following her, Harry can see why Neville has hesitated. The girl inside has very pale hair and eyebrows. Her wide blue eyes have this dreamy quality to them like she is not at all paying attention to whatever that is happening around her. Couple that with the fact that she is reading her magazine upside-down and the result is an aura of distinct dottiness.

“Hi, Luna.” Greets Ginny cheerfully, “Mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

Her pale blue eyes scan over them, stopping momentarily over Harry and Deidara before she nods.

They all pile into the compartment, struggling for a bit to get all their trunks up to the luggage rack before settling down. Harry, who has taken a seat opposite Luna, is now regretting his choice as she stares unblinkingly at him.

Ginny, noticing his discomfort, speaks up, “Had a good summer, Luna?”

It doesn’t really work as Luna does not take her eyes off Harry as she answers, “Yes.” Even her voice is dreamy and unfocused. “You’re Harry Potter.” She declares in that same breezy voice.

“I know I am,” Harry replies, and Neville chuckles.

Luna turns her pale eyes over to him. “I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m nobody,” Neville says hurriedly. Next to Harry, Deidara, who has been looking out the window, gives an odd little twitch, and his blue eye darts over to look at the boy.

“No, you’re not,” Ginny says sharply and turns to Luna, “He's Neville Longbottom. Everyone, Luna Lovegood. Luna’s in my year, Ravenclaw.”

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” Says Luna in a singsong voice. She then turns her attention to Deidara, who returns her stare evenly. “And I don’t know you either.”

“I’d be concerned if you did, un.” The blonde smirks, “I’m Deidara. Transfer student from Japan. I’ll be joining Gryffindor for the fifth year, yeah.”

“Oh!” Says Neville excitedly, “You’ll be with Harry and me then. Were you sorted beforehand?”

“Yeah. They had me sorted when I took the placement test, un. It was pretty weird, having an old hat decide your fate.”

“Placement test?” Asks Neville.

“Yeah, to see which year I’ll go in.” He shrugs impassively, “I was homeschooled and missed some stuff. They decided to be thorough and put me in fifth year with you pipsqueaks even though I’m seventeen, un.”

Harry and Ginny, having heard the rehearsal for the blonde’s cover story, only snort at being called pipsqueaks by someone who is among the shortest in the compartment despite being the oldest.

“What’s Japan like?” Neville asks eagerly.

“Different, un,” replies Deidara airily, “The area I grew up in is pretty mountainous, so it’s pretty cold and there’s not a lot of tall buildings, yeah.” His blue eye hones in on the toad Neville’s holding. “Is that your pet?”

“Yeah. His name’s Trevor. Bit of an escape artist though.” He blushes. “If you see him wandering around the castle on his own, just let him be. He always comes back eventually.” The boy’s eyes suddenly light up, “Oh yeah! Look what I got for my birthday.”

He hands Trevor over to Harry and pulls out some sort of misshapen lumpy cactus from his schoolbag.

“What is that, yeah?” Deidara asks apprehensively. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to lean in for a closer look or lean away.

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia,” He said proudly. “They are super rare. I don’t think we’ve even had one at the Hogwarts’ greenhouse.”

“Uh...” Harry stares at the strangely pulsating plant, “What does it do?”

“Oh, loads of stuff! It’s got this amazing defensive mechanism. Here, look.” Neville pulls out a quill and gives the plant a decisive poke.

Immediately, liquid bursts from every single boil on the plant, coating the floor, walls, and ceiling of the compartment. Luna is protected by her magazine, and both Ginny and Deidara have managed to throw their hands up to protect their face, but Neville and Harry get coated from head to toe with the viscous liquid.

Deidara bursts out laughing.

“S-sorry,” Neville gasps. “I haven’t tried that before. Didn’t realize it would be quite so... Don’t worry, though, Stinksap’s not poisonous,” He adds nervously, as Harry spits a mouthful onto the floor.

At that precise moment, the door to their compartment slides open, and a head of dark hair pokes in.

“Oh… hello, Harry,” Says Cho Chang “Um… bad time?”

Next to him, Deidara wheezes. Harry ignores him to the best of his abilities, “H – hi.” He says smartly.

“Um…” stammers Cho. “Well… just thought I’d say hello… bye then.” And then she is gone.

The blonde continues to cackle and doesn't even flinch when Harry elbows him in the stomach.

Ginny, taking pity on him, signs as she pulls out her wand, “Here, let me. Scourgify!” The Stinksap immediately vanishes.

“Sorry,” says Neville again in a small voice.

At some point, Ron and Hermione arrive at the compartment, both looking rather disgruntled.

“Guess who’s the Slytherin Prefect,” grumbles Ron as he takes a vicious bite off of a chocolate frog.

Harry doesn’t even need to think, “Malfoy,” He groans, slumping down on his seat.

Speaking of the devil, as if summoned by their complaints, Malfoy appears before their compartment with a sneer on his face.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry spits out aggressively before he can even open his mouth.

“Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you a detention,” drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his father’s. “You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, “but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.”

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Deidara, and Neville laugh. Malfoy’s lip curls. “Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?” he asks.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” says Hermione sharply.

“I seem to have touched a nerve,” Malfoy, smirks. Then, his sneering eyes land on Deidara, who is leaning casually on the window watching the whole thing. “And you must be the new transfer student, Deidara Akatsuki.” The Japanese name is butchered horribly.

“Just Deidara, yeah.” The blonde replies breezily, “No one calls me by my last name, un.”

“Well, just Deidara,” Malfoy curls his lips, “What’s it like, having to stick with the Weasleys? I can’t imagine it being all that comfortable in that pig's den of a house. I’m surprised they even have room for you at all.”

“I’m comfortable enough, yeah.” Deidara says in that same even tone, but he is pulling himself up from his slouch against the window, “The company’s nice. They don’t randomly stick their weasel faces into other people’s business and start insulting their family, un.”

Someone lets out a snort. Harry can’t tell if it was Ron or Ginny. Malfoy’s smug sneer twists into an ugly scowl, his face red. “I’ll give you the advice I gave Potter in his first year, Akatsuki. You’ll do well to make better friends. My father –”

“– is an ass-kissing conniving bastard whose son is a little bitch that doesn’t know when to shut his mouth, yeah.”

Harry chokes on his own spit. Hermione lets out a sound between a scandalized gasp and a laugh, both Ron, Ginny, and Neville are howling with laughter. Luna continues to look at everyone with her dreamy expression.

Malfoy’s entire face has gone red in rage. He whips out his wand threateningly, but Deidara is faster. With one swift move, he has locked Malfoy’s wand arm into what looks like an extremely uncomfortable position, the tip of his wand now pointing directly at his own throat.

“Go ahead, yeah” Deidara hums slowly, his face twisted into an almost unhinged look, “I haven’t had a good fight in ages, un. Give me an excuse.”

Malfoy’s face has gone from beet red to sheet white so fast Harry didn’t think it was humanly possible. The Slytherin freezes, his hand trembling. His two goons, Crabbe and Goyle look on, bewildered, trying to look to Malfoy for a clue on what to do next. The pale blonde shakes his head.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so, un.” Deidara grins and shoves the other blonde backward, sending him crashing into the other two boys.

Sputtering in anger, Malfoy at least has the good sense not to raise his wand again. Glaring wildly at Deidara, he gives one last sneer before turning to Harry. “Well, just watch yourself, because I’ll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.”

“For f*ck sake, get out, un.” Deidara slams the door shut, narrowly missing Malfoy’s toes.

After a beat of silence, Ron says, his voice trembling from excitement, “That… was BRILLIANT, mate!”

Deidara just smirks at him and sits back down, but there is something else in his expression. Catching his eyes, Harry knows the blonde has noticed it, too. Hermione is also looking a lot more anxious.

Harry can not talk freely in front of Neville and Luna. He exchanges a nervous look with Hermione and then pretends to be interested as Ron and Neville badger Deidara with questions and congratulations. He had thought Sirius coming with him to the station was a bit of a laugh, but suddenly it seemed reckless, if not downright dangerous.

Hermione was right. Sirius shouldn’t have come. What if Lucius Malfoy had noticed the great black dog and told Draco, what if he had deduced that the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks, and Moody knew where Sirius was hiding? Or had Malfoy’s use of the word ‘dogging’ been a coincidence?

These worries follow him all the way until the train stops and Ron and Hermione have to go again.

“I wonder if you’ll be joining the first years on the lake or going to the carriage with us,” Neville says to Deidara.

“I’m going with you, un. I’m already sorted, so there’s no point for me to go with the first-years, yeah.” The blonde says, tugging at his brand new Gryffindor robe. The artist looks a little uncomfortable in the long flowy robe that makes up the uniform of the Hogwarts student, but, inexplicably, he also has this nostalgic look in his eye when he looks at the long black robe.

“Ah, that’s a shame.” Neville says, “You’ll miss out on seeing the castle from the lake. It's the best view to welcome the first years, but the view you get from the carriage isn’t bad.”

The crowd from the train is pushing them forward, and soon enough, he loses sight of Neville and Ginny. Deidara, however, somehow manages to stick by his side, which is good. He knows how overwhelming Hogwarts can be at first, and he’ll feel horrible if Deidara gets lost on his first day.

“Come on.” He tells the blonde, “Let’s go. The carriages are this way, but I want to say hi to Hagrid first… Where is he?” He looks around, but can’t see the Gamekeeper’s towering form anywhere.

Instead, a brisk female voice reaches his ears, “First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!”

“That’s Professor Grubbly-Plank.” He mutters, “Where’s Hagrid?”

Deidara shrugs and lowers his voice, “He’s got business for Dumbledore, yeah? Maybe he’s not back yet. Now come on, we’re blocking the way, un.”

Harry frowns but keeps walking anyway. He has been looking forward to seeing Hagrid again, but now it is replaced with concern. “You don’t think something happened, do you?”

“If something did, I’m sure Dumbledore would have told us, yeah. There’s no point worrying about something we can’t help. Now, come on, un.”

Not satisfied but also not wanting to get into an argument, Harry leads Deidara towards the carriages, all the while looking out for Hermione and Ron.

“Huh, cool horses, yeah.” Deidara’s accented voice grabs his attention.

“What horses-” Harry cuts himself off, starring. There, pulling the carriages, are shadowy horses with reptilian wings. The one closest to him looks up at him with white ghostly eyes, and Harry suppresses a shiver.

“Those weren’t there before.” Harry says, “In the last four years, the carriages pull themselves.”

“Maybe they’re new, yeah,” Deidara says, not looking at him. The blonde walks boldly to the nearest horse and carefully strokes his hand along its neck.

“Yeah… Maybe.” Harry follows at a much slower pace. Something about those white eyes unsettles him, but they seem harmless so far.

“Where’s Pig?” Ron suddenly says from right behind Harry.

“That Luna girl was carrying him,” says Harry, jumping slightly, but Ron isn’t looking at him. He is eyeing Deidara, who is still petting the strange horse, quizzingly.

“Mate, what are you doing?” He asks as if fearing for the blonde’s sanity.

“Petting the horse, un,” Deidara replies, finally letting his hand fall away. Harry sees the tongue in his palm darting out to get in one last lick.

“... What horse?”

Hermione chooses that moment to shove her way through a group of passing Hufflepuffs, panting. “Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there, I swear I’m going to report him, he’s only had his badge for three minutes and he’s using it to bully people worse than ever… Where’s Crookshanks?”

“Ginny’s got him,” says Harry distractedly.

“What do you mean ‘what horse,’ yeah?” Deidara frowns. “It’s standing right there. You know, winged, skeletal, dark, kinda reptilian?”

Ron’s face grows more pinched as his eyes dart from Deidara to the horse he is pointing at.

“Mate… are you alright?”

“I should be the one asking you that, yeah!” He throws his hands up, offended.

“Uh…” Hermione squints, “What are you talking about?”

Ron answers her, “Deidara’s weird invisible horses.”

“...Oh, for f*ck’s sake. Harry can see them, too, un.”

“Yeah… I can.” Harry nods, brows furrowed together.

The four of them stand there, staring at each other for a couple of seconds before Deidara lets out an irritated sigh. “Whatever. It’s probably something magic I don’t know about, un. Come one, let’s go. You said there’s gonna be a feast, and I’m starving, yeah.”

Without any better idea, Harry follows the blonde, and the carriage carries them closer to the great castle of Hogwarts.

Chapter 8: Hogwarts

Chapter Text

Hogwarts is every bit as impressive as what Deidara has been told. When he first heard of the school, he pictured something more akin to the shinobi academy. However, Hogwarts is more akin to a sprawling fortress with ancient stonewalls and sky-piercing towers. While he has never really dabbled in architecture, he can see art when he sees it. A place like this… when the day comes when its walls are torn down and its towers crumble, it would be something very artistic indeed.

Unconsciously, his hands drift downward to the pocket where he keeps his clay, his mind already thinking of the best way to produce a light show no one here has ever seen before, but he stops as the castle draws closer. There is no need to blow up the place that’s going to house him for the next 9 months, and the brats will no doubt be very upset at him if he gives in to his impulses. Besides, if what Sirius has told him about Harry’s penchant for attracting trouble is true, then there will be opportunities for him to practice his art in the future.

Deidara takes care not to lose sight of Harry, Ron, or Hermione as he gazes up at stone arches and flickering torches. How very atmospheric. His eye dances over the chittering portraits on the walls and the shiny armors lining the hall. When he is led through a great double door, his eye immediately snaps up to the ceiling, which is enchanted to show the starless black sky outside. Thousands of floating candles bathe the Great Hall in a warm and welcoming glow.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Harry nudges him, “I was speechless, too, when I first arrived. Come on, Gryffindor table’s over here.”

He lets himself be guided over to the long table on the far right and sits down with the kids in the middle of it. Some other students at the table turn to stare, but he can’t quite tell if they are staring at him, the foreign newcomer, or Harry, the boy the Daily Prophet is doing its best to paint as a nutter and a liar.

“Ah, hello!” The girl sitting next to him exclaims, giggling and nudging her friend slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. I’m Lavender Brown, and this is Parvati Patil.”

“Hi.” Parvatil waves.

“Hello.” He smiles at them. His smile turns slightly smug when both of them blush, “ I’m Deidara. I’ve just transferred over from Japan, yeah. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand, careful to keep his extra mouth shut tightly as Lavender reaches out to shake it.

The two girls giggle excitedly at him some more, but before any of them can say anything, all three of them are distracted when Hermione exclaims sharply, “Who’s that?”

Deidara follows her gaze and stops short at a squad woman drowning in pink from heads-to-toes. He is suddenly hit with the impression of staring at a giant pink toad Summon from his world… Although, even those ones were slightly more attractive than… this.

“It’s that Umbridge woman!” Harry replies, shocked.

“Who?” Deidara demands.

“She was at my hearing. She works for Fudge!”

“Nice cardigan.” Comments Ron, smirking.

“She works for Fudge?” Hermione repeats, frowning. “What on earth’s she doing here, then?”

“I dunno…”

Before they can discuss this any further, the great double door swings open again and incomes Professor McGonagall, a severe woman whom he has only talked to a little before and is very much in on Deidara’s case. Following nervously behind her is a long line of tiny eleven-year-olds, their faces pale with nerve.

“Why do they look so scared?” Deidara wonders. “They’re just here to have a hat put on them, un.”

“Ah,” Ron chuckles, “It’s something of a tradition to not tell them what the Sorting Ceremony is.”

“So, they all probably think they’re about to face something horrible, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ron agrees with a laugh. "I was terrified too when I was there. Fred and George spent all summer making it sound like I'd have to fight a troll or something."

The Great Hall grows silent. Everyone seems to be staring at a singular chair in front of the teacher’s table on which an old ratty hat sits. Despite having been told about this, Deidara still jumps a little when the hat starts to sing.

The song is long and contains a not-so-subtle warning of the dangers looming ahead along with an even less subtle advice for everyone to stick together. Judging from the mutterings of the Gryffindors around him, no one is very happy with that particular advice. Having met the delight that is Draco Malfoy, he can’t say he blames them, but at the same time, with the brewing conflicts, having a fractured student population isn’t going to help them at all.

Deidara fidgets with his clay through the entirety of the Sorting Ceremony. By the time it is over, he has already created a large fully functional beetle. He is contemplating releasing the thing into the air when Dumbledore stands up and gives a brief welcoming speech that has him chuckling. Right after that, the food comes.

He listens with half an ear as Harry, Ron, and Hermione discuss the hat’s warning with the Gryffindore’s ghost. He has his own guests to entertain. Neville, who is sitting opposite him, is beginning to ask questions again.

“So, what brings you to Hogwarts?” The boy asks, “I mean, I know that this is the best Wizarding School in, well, pretty much the whole world, but it is a long way from Japan, isn’t it? And I’ve heard that the Japanese magic school, oh… what is it called again?”

“Mahoutokoro School of Magic.” Lavender chimes in. “They have the cutest uniforms over there.”

“Right, thank you. Anyway, I heard that school is also really good.”

“I didn’t want to stay in Japan anymore, un.” Deidara replies, “I’ve always wanted to travel, and Hogwarts lets me travel and learn, yeah.”

“What’s Mahoutokoro like?” Pavarti asks eagerly, “I heard that you get to commute on giant storm petrels. Is that true?”

He shrugs, “Dunno. I was homeschooled, yeah.”

“Ohhh… What is that like?”

Deidara’s crooked smile turns a little wider, “Can’t speak for how other people’s homeschooling experience is, but mine was really chaotic. It’s how I got these babies.” He opens his palms and lets his mouths open into twin cheeky grins, tongues lolling out.

All three students, and more who were eavesdropping on the exciting new transfer, jump. Lavender even lets out a shrill little shriek. Deidara cackles as his hand-mouths blow two raspberries. Soon, curiosity overcame whatever initial feelings they’ve got and the three kids are bombarding him with questions regarding his unique anatomy, completely forgetting about his origin. Perfect.

The feast ends shortly after and the sounds around the Great Hall die down again as Dumbledore stands up.

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” The Headmaster says. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.”

Deidara doesn’t miss the smirks exchanged between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He, too, is smiling a little, already thinking about midnight excursions into the forest.

“We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons.” He continues, “We are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

A round of polite applause breaks out. Deidara hears Lavender and Parvati laugh about Professor Umbridge’s ugly cardigan. His lips quirk upwards.

“We would also like to welcome our new student transferring from Japan and joining our Gryffindor Fifth Year, Deidara Akatsuki. Please respect his culture and privacy, and give him a fantastic experience here at Hogwarts.”

The applause from the Gryffindor table is thunderous, almost enough to drown out the curious whisperings. Many students from all the tables are even standing up to look at him. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville are clapping especially hard. He smirks in amusem*nt at their antics but his chest feels warm.

Dumbledore waits patiently for all the noises to die down before continuing. “Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the –”

He stops abruptly, looking inquisitively at Professor Umbridge. It looks like the woman wants to make a speech. Funny. Judging from the reactions from the other staff members and the students, this isn’t exactly a normal, or popular, occurrence.

Following her incredibly condescending greetings, the woman delves into a rather transparent speech about what she, and the Ministry of Magic, is hoping to do here at Hogwarts. The more she drones on, the more Deidara has the urge to blow her up. Surely, she would look a lot less like an eyesore as a charred spot on the floor.

By the end of the speech, Deidara is aggressively molding his little ball of clay and doesn’t even bother to join in the scattered applause.

“Well, it certainly was illuminating,” comments Hermione in a low voice. She is frowning with her eyes still lingering on the woman.

“You’re not telling me you enjoyed it?” Ron scoffs, turning a glazed face upon Hermione. “That was about the dullest speech I’ve ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.”

“I said illuminating, not enjoyable,” Says Hermione. “It explained a lot.”

“Did it?” Harry chimes in, sounding confused and sleepy. “Sounded like a load of waffle to me.”

“There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,” Hermione nods grimly. “How about ‘progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged’? How about ‘pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited’?”

“Well, what does that mean?” says Ron impatiently.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” Hermione declares ominously. “It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

Deidara nods absentmindedly at her words. He’s not very surprised she has figured it out and managed to condense the point of the speech down for Harry and Ron. His blue eye trails up to Dumbledore, who is continuing with this interrupted speech.

Did the Headmaster know about this? Their booklist has come in very late, indicating an unexpected change in staffing. It is likely that Umbridge was forced upon him then. Was this before or after it was decided for Deidara to come to Hogwarts so Dumbledore could keep an eye on him and Harry at the same time?

Deidara thinks that later is more likely. Either way, he is a little pissed that he wasn’t given a warning beforehand. What is the Old Man playing at? Surely he sees how having a Ministry’s loyalist right here would endanger his cover, and consequently, the Order’s cover as well.

Deidara frowns at the small bird he has made in his hand and lets his hand-mouths rip it apart. Whatever. He’s not about to let his cover be blown. He’s an Akatsuki member, dammit. He’s not about to be beaten by some pink-obsessed paper pusher.

The feast ends at last and everyone stands up to leave. Ron and Hermione separate from them yet again. Deidara snorts a little when he hears the redhead refer to the first years as ‘midgets.’ His smile slips a little when he catches sight of Harry’s scowling face when a group of students walks past him, whispering and pointing.

Ignoring Neville and the two girls, who look like they want to talk to him again, he makes a beeline straight for Harry and walks with him, away from the rest of the Gryffindors.

“What did I tell you, un?” He says as he follows Harry down an empty corridor, trusting that after four years here, the kid knows where he’s going, “Just ignore them, yeah.”

“I know that!” The ravenette snaps impatiently. “That’s what Ron and Hermione have been telling me all summer long.”

“And did you ever consider that listening to what three separate people are telling you to do is a good idea, yeah?”

Harry looks slightly rebellious at Deidara’s unimpressed look. “I know that it is a good idea. It’s just… Well, how would you feel if everyone around you thinks that you’re a lying, attention-seeking, lunatic, huh?”

“I wouldn’t give a flying f*ck, un. Their opinion doesn’t matter one bit, yeah.”

“Well, I’m not you. I don’t know how to just… ignore all of that.”

Deidara shrugs and falls silent, eyeing the younger boy contemplatively. He doesn’t quite get how someone can let the opinions of others bother them that much. Who cares what some snot-nose brats think about you?

But it hasn’t always been like that for him, has it? His mind drifts back to his time in Iwa, and immediately, his mood plummets.

“Yeah,” Deidara says begrudgingly, “That sucks major ass, un.”

Now it is Harry’s turn to eye him curiously, but the former missing-nin is in no mood to talk anymore. His mind is worlds away, on the rocky buildings and stone-paved streets of Iwagakure. He finds himself once again wondering what is happening now over there. Whether the Akatsuki has gotten all the Tailed-Beasts yet, and if they had, what did they do with them.

He wonders what Tobi is doing right now, if he is still alive.

Deidara is recalled to himself when they stop in front of a giant portrait of a lady in a fancy lace pink dress.

“Uh…” Harry mutters.

“No password, no entrance.” The woman in the painting tells them loftily.

Deidara has little patience left for this bullsh*t, but, thankfully, before he can say or do anything, Neville arrives.

“Harry, Deidara, I know it!” The boy pants, face glowing. “Guess what it is? I’m actually going to be able to remember it for once.” He waves the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. “Mimbulus Mimbletonia!”

“Correct,” Declares the Fat Lady, and her portrait swings open toward them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which the three of them now climb.

Deidara has stayed in a lot of different places his whole life. Being an Akatsuki demanded a lot of travel and a lot of sleeping in different places. He remembers going undercover with Sasori once in a nobleman's house. The Gryffindor Common Room, while not quite as extravagant as that, can give that place a run for its money in terms of comfort.

It is a big circular tower room covered in cozy red and gold. The floor is carpeted in multiple mismatched rugs, and the walls are decorated with giant red banners with golden lions on them. Scattered around the room are multiple dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fireplace crackles merrily on the far side of the room, bathing the place in a warm glow. Immediately, Deidara feels himself relaxing, thoughts of Iwa and Akatsuki flowing away.

“C'mon,” Harry mutters. He doesn’t seem to want to linger for long in the room, “I’ll show you where the dorm is.”

The Gryffindor Fifth Year dormitory looks just as comfortable as its Common Room. There are six beds set in a circle facing the center of the room. Their luggage has been brought up to their room for them.

There are already two other boys in the room. They immediately cease talking when Harry pushes the door open. Deidara barely suppresses a snort at the bad attempt to pretend they weren’t discussing the dark-haired boy who has just entered.

“Hello, Harry,” The tall boy with dark skin greets, “and, uh, Day-da-ra, was it?”

“Deidara, un.” The blonde nods, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Uh, I’m Dean Thomas. That’s Seamus Finnigan.”

“Hullo.” Seamus Finnigan mumbles, his eyes going anywhere but to Harry.

Dean speaks up again, “Good holiday?”

“Not bad,” Harry smiles half-heartedly, “You?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” chuckles Dean. “Better than Seamus’s anyway, he was just telling me.”

“Why, what happened, Seamus?” Neville asked as he placed his Mimbulus Mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet.

Seamus does not answer immediately. He is making rather an ordeal out of ensuring that his poster of some people posting on broomsticks is quite straight. Then, he finally speaks up with his back still turned to Harry, “Me mam didn’t want me to come back.”

“What?” says Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes.

“She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.”

Ahh. Deidara has a good feeling he knows what this is about.

“But, why?” Harry, evidently has not caught on yet, asks bewilderedly.

“Well,” Seamus says in a measured voice, “I suppose… because of you.”

“What d’you mean?” says Harry quickly. Deidara can see realization slowly dawning on his face.

“Well,” says Seamus again, still avoiding Harry’s eyes, “She… uh… Well, it’s not just you, it’s Dumbledore, too…”

“She believes the Daily Prophet?” demands Harry hotly.

Yep, there it is. Deidara thinks tiredly.

Harry, oblivious to his thoughts, continues, “She thinks I’m a liar and Dumbledore’s an old fool?”

Seamus finally looks up at him. “Yeah, something like that.”

Harry falls into a very tense silence. Deidara looks from him to Seamus, to Neville and Dean watching nervously from the sideline. Should he say something? Peacekeeping has never been his strong suit. It’s not something he has ever done at all. But he is the oldest one here… Does that mean he has some kind of responsibility over these brats?

A vague memory of Tobi flailing his limbs around while wailing “Senpaiiii!” crosses his mind, and Deidara promptly decides he’s not even going to try to be the mature one in this. Being a role model is exhausting. However, being looked up to is a rather nice feeling…

Seamus, wholly ignorant to the blonde’s dilemma, speaks up again in a hesitant voice, “Look… what did happen that night when… you know, when… with Cedric Diggory and all?”

Seamus sounds nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who has been bending over his trunk, trying to retrieve something, goes still and Deidara doesn’t need to be a trained shinobi to know he is listening in hard.

“What are you asking me for?” Harry retorts heatedly. “Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don’t you? That’ll tell you all you need to know.”

Oh no.

“Don’t you have a go at my mother,” snaps Seamus.

“I’ll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,” Harry snaps right back.

Damn these brats. Don’t they know how awkward this is to listen to?

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Seamus hisses.

“I’ll talk to you however I want,” says Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatches his wand back from his bedside table. Deidara tenses. He’ll have to interfere if hexes start flying.

“If you’ve got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved, stop your mummy worrying –”

“Leave my mother out of this, Potter!”

“What’s going on?” Thankfully, Ron chooses that moment to step through the doorway. Deidara seizes the opportunity when everyone turns to look at the redhead to snatch the wand right out of Harry’s hand before he can do something stupid with it.

“Hey!” Harry exclaims in shock in offense. “What are you – Give that back!”

“Not until I know for sure you’re not gonna jinx your friend here over a stupid argument, yeah.”

“It’s not a stupid argument, and I wasn’t gonna jinx him!”

“Didn’t look like that to me, un.”

“Can someone just tell me what the bloody hell is going on!” Ron cuts in hotly.

“He’s having a go at my mother!” Seamus yells, his face still almost as red as Ron’s hair.

“What?” stammers Ron. “Harry wouldn’t do that. We met your mother, we liked her…”

“That’s before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!” shouts Harry at the top of his voice. Deidara is very glad that he took his wand.

“Oh,” Ron says faintly, comprehension dawning across his freckled face. “Oh… right.”

“You know what?” Seamus says through gritted teeth, casting Harry a venomous look. “He’s right, I don’t want to share a dormitory with him anymore, he’s a madman.”

“That’s out of order, Seamus,” says Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red, always a danger sign.

“Out of order, am I?” shouts Seamus, who, in contrast with Ron, is turning paler. “You believe all the rubbish he’s come out with about You-Know-Who, do you? you reckon he’s telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I do!” says Ron angrily.

“Then you’re mad too,” Seamus says in disgust.

“Yeah? Well unfortunately for you, pal, I’m also a Prefect!” warns Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger. “So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!”

Before Seamus can explode, Deidara cuts in forcefully, “Oi! That’s enough, all of you, un!”

Harry, Ron, and Seamus all jump like they have forgotten they are not alone here.

The artist continues, voice low in a warning, “It’s been a long day, yeah, and I’m tired. Tomorrow is going to be my first day in Hogwarts, and I’d rather not start the school year off by being caught in a drama, un.”

All three boys blush angrily, but, faced with Deidara’s angry Chakra lightly leaking into the air, they all keep their mouths shut. The blonde tosses Harry his wand back. “Here, don’t curse anyone when I’m sleeping, un.”

A beat of silence passes before Dean comes over to Seamus and ushers him away, but not before the shorter boy throws a bitter look back at them.

“Well,” Neville clears his throat, “I just wanna say I believe you, Harry, and so does my gran. She says it’s the Daily Prophet that’s going downhill, not Dumbledore.” He says simply before slipping into his bed “She’s always said You-Know-Who would come back one day, and if Dumbledore says he’s back, he’s back.”

That seems to finally drain the last of the anger out of Harry. The boy deflates and shoots Neville a nod of gratitude before climbing onto his own bed.

Deidara sighs and does the same. It’s only the first day here, and things are already not looking too good. He knows he was asking for excitement when he came here, but dramas between schoolchildren are not what he was hoping for at all.

Chapter 9: First Day Troubles

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry has barely finished putting his socks on when Seamus storms out of the dormitory, Dean following behind after shooting him an apologetic glance. Neville and Ron both shoot him sympathetic looks, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He focuses on Deidara on the bed next to him who is still in his sleeping gown and glaring at the necktie like it has insulted his entire family tree.

“C’mon mate,” Ron nudges him, “Let’s go.”

“You go on ahead.” Harry says, “I’ll wait for Deidara. Gotta show him the way down.”

“Oh yeah. Good idea.” The redhead scratches his head. “Guess I’ll wait, too.”

“Nah, you can go on ahead. Didn’t Hermione say something about showing up early to do Prefect duties?”

Ron grumbles something unhappily under his breath, but, in the end, both he and Neville leave, and Harry is alone with Deidara.

“You gotta hurry up, mate.” He says, “Or we might miss breakfast.”

Deidara makes a grumpy noise before signing in resignation and pulling his shirt off. Immediate, Harry gapes.

He has never seen Deidara without a long-sleeved shirt before, and he cannot tear his eyes off of the strange scars littering his skin. There are long thin white lines mixed in with burned marks of various sizes, but what really caught his attention are the stitchings on his arms. Deidara’s left arm has a roll of thick black stitches across his bicep, while his right arm has two on his bicep and his forearm. The skin of his right elbow between those stitches is strangely wrinkled and several shades darker than his normal skin.

Harry is distantly reminded of the patchwork skin of Frankenstein's monster, and quickly banishes the thought out of his head.

“What?” Deidara asks, turning around as he buttons up his school shirt. Harry catches a glimpse of a strange tattoo on the left of his chest before it disappears behind the white shirt. He glances down at his arms, which are now hidden behind the long sleeves of the shirt. “Oh right.” He huffs, “I forgot you haven’t seen those yet, un.”

“S-sorry,” Harry stammers out, wishing he had chosen to wait in the Common Room instead.

“It’s fine.” Deidara waves at him dismissively. “It’s not like it was a secret or anything, yeah. Feel free to tell the others, too. Now that we’re sharing a dorm, they’re gonna see them anyway, yeah.”

Harry nods and mutely follows the blonde out of the Common Room, head swirling with questions. Is it another magic accident, like the one that gave him extra mouths on his hands? Or is it the same one?

“I can hear you thinking from wayyy over here, yeah.” The blonde says bluntly, “If you have questions, ask, un.”

Harry doesn’t think he can ever get used to how blunt the older boy can be. “Well… how did you get those?”

“From a fight, yeah.”

“A fight?” Harry echoes, horrified. What kind of fight leaves someone with arms that look like they have been ripped off and sewn back together again?

“Yeah,” Deidara replies, completely nonplussed, “It was a pretty close one, un.”

That does not explain anything at all. Before he can ask anything else, they have arrived at the Great Hall, and despite Deidara’s nonchalance at having his scars seen, Harry chooses to stay quiet. He doesn’t think Deidara would appreciate being asked these kinds of questions in front of a thousand other students.

They meet up with Ron and Hermione at the table. The bushy hair girl seems to notice something on his face. Frowning, she asks, “Are you ok, Harry?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I just-” His eyes dart over to Deidara, who is piling bacon onto his plate, “-I’ll tell you guys later.”

“He saw the scars on my arms, yeah.” Harry jumps at the blonde’s easy tone.

“Scars? What scars?” Ron demands, eyeing Deidara’s sleeves like he can see through it if he tries hard enough.

“Ron!” Hermione hisses, aghast.

“What?” Ron protests, waving at the blonde, whose face now spots an amused expression. “He doesn’t mind. Do you, mate?”

The older boy shrugs, still looking at them in amusem*nt, “They’re just old scars from a fight ages ago, un. It’s not a big deal, yeah.”

By now, almost all of the students around them are listening in. Deidara either doesn’t notice or doesn't care. Harry bets his Firebolt on the latter.

“What’s this we hear about battle scars?” Fred asks, poking his freckled face in between them.

“Oh yes, are we comparing scars?” George chimes in, “I have this gorgeous one below my knee where Ginny hit me with a Diffindo.”

“Deidara’s talking about the scars on his arms,” Ron tells them eagerly, completely ignoring Hermione’s disapproving look.

“Oohhhh,” George’s eyes light up, “Could it be the mysterious ‘ghastly scars’ Mum was always going on about?”

“Well, you definitely have to show us now, mate! Come on!”

Everyone is staring at them now. Neville looks nervous, Hermione has an outraged look on her face, Seamus and Dean are shamelessly staring, and even Lavender and Parvati are whispering to each other furiously.

Deidara does not seem to mind the attention one bit. His mouth is curved into a crooked smirk, and he slouches on the bench like a throne. “What do I get out of it, yeah?”

Fred and George pause, evidently stunned by the question. Then, twin smiles spread across their freckled faces.

“Why, our eternal gratitude, of course.” Fred snickers amusedly.

“You will have our love and friendship forever,” George adds, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Yeah, I’m not interested in that, un.” Deidara deadpans. Ron snorts pumpkin juice through his nose, and the twin gasp in unison.

“How cold!”

“And cruel!”

“How about this?” Fred smirks, “We’ll give you free samples of all our products.”

Deidara sits up straight. Harry has a very ominous feeling about the manic edge that his grin has taken on, “Oh really, un?”

“Yes really.” George nods gleefully, “It would hardly be a challenge for geniuses such as us. Tell you what, we’ll even give you some tips about secret passages in Hogwarts. Sounds good? Do we have a deal?”

“Deal, yeah.” Deidara laughs, and the twins’ cheer drowns out Hermione’s cry of protest.

Without hesitating, the blonde begins to roll up the sleeve on his right arm up to his elbow, showing off the lower row of stitches and a bit of the patch of discolored skin.

Muttering rises up around them, and Harry can see some students craning their necks to have a better look.

Ron whistles, “That looks painful, mate. What happened?”

“A painful fight, un.” Deidara curls his lips, “This asshole shot me with his absolute hack of a technique and ripped my elbow out of existence, yeah.”

Everyone takes on various looks of awe and horror. Neville looks vaguely nauseous. Even the twins are struck speechless. Harry doesn’t blame them. How do you respond to that?

“But you’re ok now, right?” Neville asks tentatively, looking green in the face.

“Yeah, I can use my arms perfectly fine, un.” Deidara shrugs and rolls his sleeve back down, “There’s no pain or anything, yeah.”

“Well, ” Hermione says nervously, “I mean, if you want, Madam Pomfrey can probably do something about those scars and stitches.”

The older blonde looks at her like she is suggesting he should start walking on his hands from now on, “And why would I wanna do that, un?”

The girl flushes bright red, but before she can say anything, hundreds of owls swoop in through the windows, and one lands right in front of her with a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“What are you still getting that for?” says Harry irritably, his mind instantly leaving Deidara’s strange scars and flashing back to Seamus, as Hermione quickly busy herself with placing a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl’s leg and extracting the paper from it. “I’m not bothering… loads of rubbish.”

“It’s best to know what the enemy are saying,” says Hermione darkly, the red on her face receding as she disappears behind the paper, not emerging until everyone has finished eating.

“Nothing,” She says simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. “Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything.”

Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.

“Look at today!” Groans Ron, “History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts… Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day!” He turns to his brothers, “When are you gonna be done with those Skiving Snackboxes?”

Harry tunes out his friends as Hermione starts to tell the twins off about advertising their products in the Common Room’s notice board. He is thinking about Deidara and his scars. Almost subconsciously, Harry raises his hand to his own lightning-shaped mark on his forehead. He tries to imagine being surrounded by people all urging him to show them his scars and shivers. How does Deidara stay so calm with all that attention? Even bargaining with the twins for it. Is it just because he’s older and therefore more confident?

Harry can’t imagine ever being comfortable with strangers scanning his forehead for his scar, let alone showing it off like that.

Hermione remains rather cold towards Ron and Deidara all the way towards the History of Magic’s classroom. Harry feels slightly bad that the first magical class the older blonde is going to experience at Hogwarts has to be the most boring one by far. He then feels even worse thinking about the other class for the rest of the day. Ron is right, this has to be the worst first day yet.

Professor Binns seems to have this kind of power to put students asleep with his voice. Only Hermione seems to be able to resist it. Deidara is not Hermione, and therefore not immune to it. Within the first five minutes of the lecture, he has given up entirely and is gazing longingly out the window with his chin in his hand while his other free hand fidgets and chews on a small lump of clay.

“Okay, mate,” Ron mumbles at Hermione, who has been shooting disapproving looks at the blonde, “What is your problem this time?”

“Nothing. I don’t have a problem, Ron.” Hermione hisses, the scratching of her quill on the parchment becomes slightly more aggressive. “I just don’t like the way he shows off his scars to the whole school, is all. It’s not appropriate.”

“Not appro-” Ron huffs, “Fred and George are right, you do sound exactly like my Mum.”

Hermione turns even redder and puts her quill down, “Yes Ron, it is not appropriate. You know what it reminds me of? Draco Malfoy waltzing around the school with his injuries in the Third Year.”

Harry gapes at her. “Did you just compare Deidara to Malfoy? Those two situations are completely different!”

“Yeah,” Ron nods vehemently, “For one, Deidara isn’t a giant git.”

“But he is a bit arrogant, isn’t he?” Hermione whispers furiously. “Oh come on, you know I’m right. He did not have to show off in front of the whole table like that, not after wearing a long-sleeve shirt every day back in Grimmauld Place.”

Harry does have to admit that it is strange, and Deidara is a little… eccentric in his behavior. Casting his mind back, if he looks at it without any bias, he supposes the image of Malfoy showing his injuries to his housemate at the Slytherin table does look very similar to Deidara rolling up his sleeve to show off his scar to the Gryffindors at breakfast. Even still…

“Look,” Hermione finally says in a much more even tone, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for him to draw so much attention to himself. That’s all. He’s here on Dumbledore’s request for the Order, and all of his background is completely made up. If he continues to stand out so much, he might draw the wrong kind of scrutiny.”

Now even Ron looks a little less rebellious. The three of them cast considering looks at Deidara, who is still looking out of the window distractedly, the lump of clay now resembles a cartoonish Professor Binns with exaggerated dropping shoulders and sleepy eyes.

Harry admits that to someone who has just met the older boy for the first time, he can stand out a lot. With his long blonde hair, half of which he keeps in a strange tall ponytail, and half of his face hidden behind a long bang, showing only one vivid blue eye, Deidara can be very eye-catching. Over the short amount of time the blonde has been at Hogwarts, more eyes have drifted over to him than they have to Harry. When he walks to class just now, he swore he heard more whisperings about Deidara’s scars than that about him.

Many other students are also watching the older boy’s hand work, fascinated with how the mouth works in tandem with his fingers to create a sculpture without him even paying attention to it.

When class ends, Hermione marches determinedly right up to Deidara, who blinks at her owlishly. Harry peers down at the blonde’s parchment and sees that it is filled with doodles and sketches of various animals.

“Look,” Hermione sucks in a deep breath, “I think you need to be a little more careful. You’ve been drawing way too much attention to yourselves.”

“...What?”

Hermione repeats to him what she has told Harry and Ron. To her frustration, Deidara just rolls his eye at her.

“Relax, Hermione, I know what I’m doing, un.” He grunts as he shoves his stuff into his school bag, stuffs the clay Professor Binns into his left hand-mouth, and stands up.

They leave the classroom hurriedly. In the hallway, the blonde continues, “I’m the mysterious foreign student with a mysterious past, un. They’re all gonna speculate and scrutinize me regardless of what I do, yeah.”

“So it’s important that you keep your head down.” Stresses Hermione, looking around in dismay as a group of passing Ravenclaws stares at them unabashedly.

“Sure, I can do that, yeah. Or I can give them something totally irrelevant to talk about, un.”

"What do you mean?” Asks Harry.

“Think about it, yeah. Instead of speculating about where I come from, now, all they’re gonna talk about is a single random fight and some old scars that don't connect to anything, un. People love action. It’s gonna keep their imagination occupied for a while, yeah.”

Hermione looks stunned. Both Ron and Harry look at Deidara’s smug face like they have never seen him before.

“Mate,” Ron whispers in awe, “Sometimes, I think if you were actually sorted by the hat, you would be wearing green by now.”

Potions passes with surprisingly little incidence. Aside from the usual sneers and insults from Snape directed at Harry and Neville, Harry has expected the man to bully Deidara as well solely due to the fact that he is a Gryffindor and is friends with Harry. However, the potion master acts like the older boy doesn’t exist at all, merely sneering at him to “stay out of trouble” when he walks past the blonde’s cauldron. Deidara discreetly flips him off once he turns his back on them, sending Ron into a coughing fit.

Harry guesses that, as part of the Order, Snape must have been warned by Dumbledore to leave Deidara alone. He sure doesn’t look happy about it, Harry thinks bitterly as he watches Snape sneer at Neville with an expression of someone biting into a lemon.

This doesn’t help him become any nicer towards Harry, either. He looks on with rage as Snape vanishes his entire cauldron. Harry seethes as he puts away his stuff and watches everyone else fill up their flagons. Next to him, Deidara looks at him and discreetly presses a finger to his lips. Smirking, the blonde opens his palm, the hand-mouth spitting out a tiny white lizard that wriggles to life and scuttles away.

When they are dismissed, Harry is fast to get out of what he knows is going to turn into the ground zero of an explosion. Despite his haste, he is already feeling a lot better.

He has already started with his lunch when Ron, Hermione, and Deidara catch up with him. Ron looks positively glowing, Hermione is trying to suppress her grin while shooting looks at the blonde next to her, and Deidara has a euphoric grin on his face that makes him look positively mad.

“Malfoy’s potion exploded,” Ron informs him gleefully. “It was brilliant. You should have seen Snape’s face.”

“It did destroy everyone else’s works though.” Hermione says, trying to sound annoyed, but mirth is dancing in her eyes, “So we’re all gonna have to make them again next class.”

“And Snape will have to grade yours again along with everyone else, yeah.” Deidara adds, grinning.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says gratefully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, un.” Deidara replies airily and starts reaching for a bowl of mashed potatoes. “On an unrelated note, I am almost out of clay. So I’ll have to talk to Fred and George about where I can get some more soon, un.”

Even Hermione doesn’t look too disapproving at that.

Imagining Snape’s outrage and Malfoy’s bafflement are enough to keep Harry in a good mood as he, Ron, and Deidara reach the Divination classroom even though it is his least favorite class after Potions. The thought of Professor Trelawney predicting his death again seems less annoying and more amusing now.

How am I gonna die this time? He finds himself wondering idly as they settle down on the table furthest away from the front. Maybe she’ll say I’ll die by getting struck by lightning. Yeah, that would be funny.

“Good day,” Says Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, “And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely, as, of course, I knew you would.”

Harry automatically tunes her out as she goes into a speech about the importance of deciphering dreams. He glances at Deidara, who has a mixture of confusion and boredom on his face.

“Don’t think too much about it, mate.” Ron whispers to him, “Professor Trelawney is a dramatic fraud. She has been predicting Harry’s horrible and unfortunate death for 2 years now. She might do the same to you, mate.”

“Yeah?” Deidara asks, the amused look back on his face again, “Can't wait to see what she comes up with, un.”

After they have all finished reading the introduction to The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago, they only have about ten minutes to get into pairs and interpret each other's dreams.

Deidara has split off to group up with Neville, who immediately launches into a detailed retelling of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother’s best hat. Harry and Ron look at each other enthusiastically.

“I never remember my dreams.” Ron tells him, “You tell one.”

Harry frowns. He only remembers one dream, and he doesn’t need any help understanding what his nightmares in the graveyard mean.

It is then that Professor Trelawney arrives at Neville and Deidara's table. Harry and Ron immediately look down at their respective textbooks, pretending to be busy looking through it while doing their best to listen in.

“Ah, our guest from the far East.” She says dreamily, “The land of the rising sun. Deidara Akatsuki is it?”

Her pronunciation of his name through her dreamy and mystic voice is probably amongst the worst Harry has heard so far.

Deidara’s mouth twitched into a polite grin, “Yeah, un.”

“If I’m not mistaken, your last name means ‘daybreak,’ isn’t it?”

Harry exchanges a look with Ron. They did not know that.

“Technically,” Deidara hums, “the kanjis for it stands for ‘red dawn,’ yeah.”

“Hm, yes, I thought so.” She says breezily.

“So cool…” Neville whispers appreciatively, and Harry has to agree. That is a very cool name.

“How very fitting,” Trelawney’s voice takes on an even more trembling tenor, “I see lots of hardship in your life, my dear boy. Lots of red. So much red.” She continues as if in a trance, staring at Deidara dead in the eye, “Red clouds on a black sky. Red eyes. An explosion brighter than the sun. You’re missing something. A mask. An orange mask that swirls like a black hole. Oh yes, you’re looking for the man behind the mask… You will find him.” She pauses, then ends ominously, “You may not like what you find, dear child.”

Harry feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up. The stuffy room suddenly feels cold and claustrophobic. Deidara’s face has gone completely bloodless. He stares at the retreating figure of Professor Trelawney like has seen a ghost. The whole class is dead silent.

Harry jumps in his seat when the bell rings and knocks his textbook off of the table.

“Oh!” Professor Trelawney says, blinking confusedly, “How the time flies when one is emerged in the world of dreams. Remember to keep your dream diary-”

Harry is no longer listening. From the short amount of time when he ducks down to grab his book to when he straightens back up again, Deidara has disappeared, leaving behind all of his school stuff and a bewildered Neville.

Chapter 10: Umbridge

Chapter Text

Deidara does not remember leaving the stuffy classroom. His legs carry him automatically away in a random direction, up staircases, down corridors, and passing students without really seeing them.

How does Trelawney know all of that? Is it magic? Can she see into his old world?

Ron has told him that the Divination Professor is something of a fraud, but evidently, she knows something.

And the stuff she says about Tobi… Everything else she says about Deidara’s past is accurate: his bloody history at the Akatsuki, his grudge against the Sharingan, and his final masterpiece. Can she be right about the future, too?

Does this mean Tobi isn’t dead and is, in fact, here after all?

His heart beats erratically at the thought and he scowls heavily. He needs answers, and he needs them now.

The problem is, the next class is with that Umbridge woman. If it was any other class, he would have skipped without hesitation, but the Ministry woman is not someone he wants in his case, and skipping her first class seems like a good way to get himself on her blacklist.

He makes his hand-mouth spit out the small bit of clay he has left. His Chakra is still completely full. Yeah, it can work.

He tosses the clay and flies through the hand signs for a clay clone. With a puff of smoke, Deidara is now staring at himself. He frowns, because of how little clay he has left, his clone is a little smaller, but he is confident that no one is going to notice, especially since he’ll just be sitting in a classroom.

“Go, un.” He tells it. The clone nods and shunshins away.

As for himself, Deidara thinks for a moment. He wants to go back to Trelawney, but she’s probably having another class right now. So that leaves only one reasonable option: he has to go see Dumbledore.

Hengeing as a nondescript Hufflepuff, he recalls the direction the Headmaster has given him at Headquarters and makes his way through the castle. There, on the third floor, he stops in front of a gargoyle statue and calls out, “Sherbet Lemon.”

The statue eyes him for a moment before jumping aside, revealing a spiral staircase moving upwards. He quickly makes his way up and knocks impatiently on the door.

“Come in.”

The door swings open and Deidara steps in.

On any other day, he might have stopped to appreciate the sheer organized chaos that is Dumbledore’s office, but today, he only has his mind on one thing.

“Tell me about Trelawney, un.” He demands, ignoring the disapproving looks the portraits are shooting at him, “Has she ever been right before?”

Dumbledore gives him a long surveying look. Deidara looks right back unflinchingly.

“I see you’ve just gotten out of Divination, Mr. Deidara. I hope you’re not skipping DADA to come here. I’m afraid Professor Umbridge is not a forgiving woman.”

“Don’t worry about that, un. I have my clone come to her class in my place. Now answer the question.”

The Old Man evidently has questions about the clone thing but chooses to focus on Deidara’s inquiry instead, “Professor Trelawney, in all of the time I’ve known her, has made two accurate predictions. May I ask what brought about this?”

“She said something to me, that’s all, yeah,” Deidara says elusively.

“Mr. Deidara. I want you to know that whenever Professor Trelawney makes a prophecy, she does not tend to remember it. If you wish for my help, you would need to tell me everything she said.”

Deidara stares at him. Great, just great.

“She alludes to the fact that I might not be the only one from my world who has come here, yeah. There’s someone else. Are you sure I was alone when I was pulled here, un?”

Dumbledore frowns, his hand stroking his long silver beard, “Yes, you were alone when you came here, Mr. Deidara. There was no one else in that basem*nt when we found you.”

“When did you become aware of my presence, and how long did it take for you to reach the basem*nt, yeah?”

“Seeing how your arrival caused an explosion and set fire to the room, we became aware of you very quickly and responded swiftly. Sirius was the first on the scene, followed closely by Arthur Weasley and his son, Ron.” Dumbledore pauses, “Do you have any idea who this other person might be?”

“Yeah, Tobi, my old partner, un. He’s tall with short spiky black hair. Covers up his entire body and wears this obnoxious swirly orange mask with one eye hole that makes him look kinda like a lollipop, yeah.”

If Dumbledore is put off by the odd description, he doesn’t show it, “And do you think your partner is likely to cause harm?”

Deidara frowns, “No, I mean- I don’t know.”

Tobi wouldn’t hurt a fly, but Tobi is also hiding a lot of things, and Deidara has caught glimpses of the man behind the mask. He is someone dangerous, and unknown.

Dumbledore stares at him for another moment, “I will alert the Order to look out for a man matching your description. But without any more information, I’m afraid I can’t help you much more.” He pauses before looking at the blonde knowingly, “I must ask you not to harass Professor Trelawney over this, Mr. Deidara, and come to me if she says anything else.”

“I’ll prod her to see if she really doesn’t remember, un.” Deidara states, “But don’t worry, I’m not going to ‘harass her,’ yeah.”

The Headmaster continues to look at him with his piercing blue eyes, and for a single moment, Deidara feels like he is faced with Pain’s Rinnigans. He swallows down the urge to look away.

“Very well.” Dumbledore says easily, finally breaking eye contact, “You should make your way back to class now, and perhaps we can discuss this some other time. You simply must tell me about this clone technique of yours. Licorice Wands?”

He holds out a box of candy. Deidara shrugs, “Sure, un.”

He grabs one before leaving the office, still feeling quite conflicted.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione enter the DADA classroom, Professor Umbridge is already seated at the front desk, still dressed in an atrocious pink ensemble. As more students come, the three of them look around anxiously for a familiar blonde ponytail, but no luck.

“He’s not skipping, is he?” Whispers Hermione nervously as they take their seats.

Harry and Ron shrug helplessly, but to their relief, at the very end of the line, Deidara slips in quietly and makes a beeline for them.

“Here, we brought your stuff for you,” Ron says, handing him his forgotten bag.

“Thank you, yeah.”

Harry and Ron sneak glances at the blonde, but he seems perfectly fine with no indication of being affected by his flight from Divination.

What Professor Trelawney has said is still very present in Harry’s mind, and he can tell Ron is eager to discuss it with him and Hermione. However, if Harry is honest, he’s not sure if he wants to. His mind flies back to the Boggart at Grimmauld Place and he grimaces, feeling nauseous.

When the last students have settled down in their seats, Professor Umbridge smiles and says in a high-pitched voice, “Well, good afternoon!”

A few people mumbled “Good afternoon,” in reply.

“Tut, tut,” says Professor Umbridge. “That won’t do, now, will it? I would like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” They chant back at her. Deidara uses his short stature to his advantage as he ducks his head and gags noiselessly. Ron has to visibly struggle to keep his face straight.

“There, now,” says Professor Umbridge sweetly, thankfully oblivious. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

The Professor pulls out her own wand, which is an unusually short one, and taps the blackboard with it. Words appeared on the board at once: “Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles.”

“A return to basics?” Deidara mouths the word, “Should’ve skipped, yeah…” He mumbles grumpily. Harry expects him to pull out his clay again, but to his surprise, the blonde merely fidgets with his quill instead.

Professor Umbridge continues with a speech reminiscent of her opening speech in the Great Hall, but this time with veiled insults thrown at the previous DADA teachers. Harry feels his mood plummeting.

She taps the blackboard again, and the first message is replaced by the course aim. Harry automatically goes to write it down while barely processing what he is reading.

Next, they are told to read chapter one, “Basics for Beginners,” a read so dull he almost prefers listening to Professor Binns’ lecture. At one point, Deidara passes his textbook to Ron, who takes one look at it and stuffs his hand over his mouth, ducking low. The redhead slides the book to Harry who looks down at the page to see that the blonde has been doodling onto the margins of the book and almost snorts out loud when he notices a drawing of a toad in a cardigan waving a short wand. But then, his eyes catch onto another doodle close by. It is of a man wearing a swirly mask with only one dark eyehole.

Discreetly, Harry picks up his own quill and writes on the spot next to the strange man, “Who is this?” He passes the book to Ron, who glances at the message with a raised eyebrow but passes it back to Deidara quickly.

The blonde scans his message and his single blue eye narrows. He looks up at Harry but freezes, looking past him instead. Confused, Harry turns to his right and also freezes in shock.

Next to him, Hermione has not even opened her copy of the book yet. Instead, she is staring at Professor Umbridge determinedly, her hand piercing the air.

She meets his questioning stare but shakes her head, continuing to try and catch Professor Umbridge’s attention. By now, almost half of the class has abandoned their reading to watch Hermione’s one-sided staring contest with Professor Umbridge.

Deidara, having zero patience for this kind of thing, raises his own hand and calls out loudly, “Professor, Hermione has a question, yeah.”

Having no way to ignore that, Professor Umbridge finally looks up, acting as though she has only noticed them just now, “Ah, is that so, Mr… Akatsuki, is it?”

“Yeah,” He pauses, then adds belatedly, “Professor Umbridge.”

“Of course, of course.” She smiles sweetly at him before finally looking over to Hermione, “Yes dear, did you want to ask something about the chapter?”

“Not about the chapter, no.” Hermione replies.

“Well, we’re reading that just now,” smiles Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” Hermione continues. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

“And your name is…?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,” Professor Umbridge says in a voice of forced sweetness.

“Well, I don’t,” says Hermione bluntly. “There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

Harry, and pretty much everyone else, looks back at the blackboard and scans the text. Sure enough, there is nothing about using spells.

“Using defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge laughs like Hermione has said something particularly funny, “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. Surely, you aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?”

What ensues is akin to a tennis match, a chaotic match in which others are free to jump in while one party is desperately trying to keep control. Harry frowns heavily when Professor Umbridge continues to dismiss Hermione’s very solid points.

“If we’re going to be attacked,” He says loudly, unabashedly cutting Professor Umbridge off, “it won’t be in a risk-free -”

“Hands! Mr. Potter.” Screeches Professor Umbridge. Harry thrusts his fist in the air aggressively, but she has turned away from him.

The argument continues to go in circles to his mounting frustration. Every word that comes out of Professor Umbridge’s mouth only makes him angrier and angrier. How can she be so… so… shameless? Surely she knows what she’s doing, or is she really that blind?

“And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” Harry exclaims again.

Professor Umbridge looks at him. “This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world,” she says flatly. Deidara snorts. The blonde has stayed completely silent so far, but it is not effortless at all: his face is mixed between anger and morbidly amused, his right index finger is tapping fast against his thigh, and his shoulders are tense.

“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting out there?” Harry demands.

“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” said Harry. His temper is quickly reaching its boiling point.

“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” inquires Professor Umbridge in a poisonously sweet tone.

“Hmm, let’s think…” hums Harry in a mockingly thoughtful voice, “Maybe Lord Voldemort?”

The reaction is instantaneous: Ron chokes on air, Lavender Brown lets out a little scream, and Neville slips sideways off his stool. Deidara, however, only lets out a heavy sigh.

Professor Umbridge, surprisingly, does not flinch. She is staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. “Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.”

Everything goes downhill from there. Before he knows it, he has landed himself in detention. He can’t even stop to consider the consequences of this. He doesn’t remember feeling this angry in his life. His mind is back at that graveyard again. One thing leads to another, and he is now walking briskly out of the class with an ugly pink slip of paper balled up in his hand.

The talk with Professor McGonagall goes better than he had expected. She, at least, seems sympathetic to him and his anger.

Before he can get up to leave, however, Professor McGonagall asks, “Tell me, Potter, how is Mr. Deidara adjusting to life here?”

Harry startles at the unexpected question, his mind flashing back once again to Divination, “Uh, he’s doing fine, I think.”

The Professor stares long and hard at him. Finally, she says in a measured voice, “I know he is your friend, but I want you to be careful around him, Potter.”

“What? Why?” He asks, bewildered.

“I’m not asking you to stay away from him, no. All I am saying is, he has a big secret, and not even Professor Dumbledore knows all of it. The Headmaster does not think the boy will do you any harm, but his secret might.”

“Secret? What kind of secret? And what do you mean it can bring me harm?” He demands, but Professor Mcgonagall merely shakes her head.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything more than that, Potter. Now, I believe that was the bell. Off you go.”

Harry, knowing that he is dismissed, quietly leaves. His thoughts aren't even on the upcoming detentions with Professor Umbridge.

After Harry storms out of the class, the room stays dead quiet. Deidara’s urge to chew on clay is stronger than ever. He hates it. Hates having to act submissive in front of this disgusting piece of work. He could kill her so easily. Hell, he wouldn’t even need his clay for it. Right here, right now, he could just stand up, walk right up to her, and snap her neck, and no one here would be able to do anything about it.

He glances at Ron and Hermione’s furious faces, and, strangely enough, feels his own anger lessen. He forces himself to take in deep breaths, the same exercise he used when dealing with Tobi.

Great, now his anger is replaced with an uncomfortable co*cktail of emotions he can’t even identify.

Deidara heaves a great sigh of relief when the class ends, rushing out of the classroom with Ron and Hermione without looking back at the Umbridge woman and excusing himself to use the bathroom. Once he is sure he is alone, the clone promptly disappears.

Deidara feels his clone releasing itself sometimes later and feels its memory flowing back to him.

He scrunches his face up and makes his way down to the Great Hall, processing everything. One detail that really sticks out to him is that Harry seems to want to know about Tobi. Frankly, he’s surprised that the kid has managed to hold in his curiosity until now. No doubt, he feels uncomfortable asking Deidara about the gorier scenes in his Boggart and feels that Tobi would be a safer topic. The real question is, what should he do about it?

He doesn’t like to lie, having little patience for deception, especially when he likes the people he’s lying to. However, revealing his past to them is a singularly bad idea. Should he continue to tell them half-truths then? That seems to be the most sensible option, even if it does leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Dinner does not make him feel any better. He listens with half an ear as the three kids discuss the Daily Prophet’s smear campaign. He also listens to the whispers around him, and he has to say one good thing about Harry’s outburst in DADA is that it seems to have completely overshadowed what happened in Divination. Not many are talking about it as far as he can tell. How lucky.

Harry’s harsh voice cuts through the chatters. He sounds exceptionally angry, and Deidara briefly wonders if he was that bad when he was fifteen.

Nah, he was definitely way worse. He has already committed several war crimes at that tender age. Harry, despite all of his history with trouble and Voldemort, is still practically a civilian by shinobi’s standard.

They finish their dinner quickly, not wanting to linger in the Great Hall and move back to the Common Room to do their homework. Deidara stares at the list of work he has to do, his mind flashing back to his academy days, and contemplates pushing the whole thing into the fireplace.

His eye flickers over to the corner and sees the twins with their friend and a gaggle of first-years. He stands up and makes his way over to them.

“Ah, here’s our favorite pyromaniac,” Fred greets. The first-years stare at him with wide eyes.

“How may we help you?” George asks.

“The deal,” Deidara states bluntly, “How fast can you get me those samples, yeah?”

“Well, let's see…”

“How fast can we go?”

“How about three days? The stuff we have right now isn’t exactly safe for consumption.”

“And if we give them to you and someone ends up in the infirmary, our dear lady Prefect will have our heads!”

Deidara frowns, “That’s not fast enough, yeah. But fine. Three days it is.”

He marches back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who cease their conversation the moment he draws near and throws him looks.

“What, un?” He demands.

“Nothing,” Hermione says unconvincingly.

“... Have I ever told you that you’re a horrible liar, yeah? Because you are.”

All three of them blush, Ron looks at him mulishly, “We were talking about what Professor Trelawney said.”

“Ron!” Hisses Hermione, eyes wide, but Ron ignores her, still looking at him stubbornly.

“What? You can’t just expect us to ignore that. She said something about red clouds and orange masks, and you just vanished. Poof.”

“That’s none of your business, un,” Deidara says darkly, but Ron still looks rebellious.

“Shut up, Ron!” Hermione hisses, then turns to the blonde, “Do you remember what I said to you after breakfast? About keeping your head down? All we’re worried about is that it caused a bit of a scene, and a lot of people saw that.”

“Oh yeah?” Deidara asks, “It’s a good thing that right after that, Harry lost his temper and caused an even bigger scene then. That’s all everyone is talking about now, un.”

Harry looks furious, “Oh, so me trying to tell the truth is your meat shield now, is it?”

“I’m saying that it was stupid, yeah.” Deidara snaps back, “You should not have let her rile you up like that. Have you ever stopped to consider that you played right into her f*cking hands?”

“Would you people stop saying that? First, it’s Professor McGonagall and now-”

“If even McGonagall agrees with me, don’t you think you should at least consider it, un?”

“Well, maybe I should also consider what she said about being careful around you, too!”

Whatever Deidara is about to say disappears from his mind entirely. It doesn’t take him long to realize why Mcgonagall has said that. This has to be about his talk to Dumbledore earlier today.

“Professor McGonagall said what?” Ron demands, eyes zipping from a silent Deidara to a fuming Harry, who is still busy trying to dig holes into the blonde’s head by glaring at him.

Deidara takes a deep breath, aware that more than a few pairs of eyes have strayed over to them. He needs to diffuse the situation, fast.

“Alright,” He whispers, bringing both his hands up in a soothing gesture, “Fine, tell me what she said to you, yeah.”

“... She said you’re keeping a big secret, even from Dumbledore, and she thinks that secret can hurt us, or something,” Harry says.

That’s not a lot to go off of, Deidara frowns, mind casting back to every conversation he has had with the Headmaster.

“Look, where I grew up is a lot different than here, yeah” Deidara begins slowly, “I have met a lot of… shady people, and Dumbledore and I think that one of them might have found a way here as well, un.”

“You mean from Japan?” Ron demands.

“...Yeah.”

“Is he dangerous? Is that what Professor McGonagall is worried about?” Harry asks.

“He can be, un. I… I don’t know much about him, yeah.” For some reason, that hurts to say out loud.

It is true, though. He doesn’t know much about Tobi. He doesn’t know where he came from, why he joined the Akatsuki, or what kind of Jutsu he uses to allow him to do that freaky thing where he slips right through solid objects. Hell, he doesn’t even know what he looks like. It’s aggravating.

And yet, through their short-lived partnership, Deidara has grown… fond… of the man. Towards the end of his time there, Tobi has let the mask slip more often around him. Moments where the childish personality gave way to something more sad and somber. Those moments have felt… special. Like he was allowed to peer into some forbidden secret. Not that he would ever say it out loud, not even under threats of torture.

After a beat of silence, Hermione clears her throat, “...I think we should focus on Snape’s homework for now…”

Reluctantly, the boys drop the subject and pull out their essays. Deidara looks disdainfully at his own parchment. f*cking homework. Still, he grits his teeth and gets to work. If nothing else, agonizing over Snape’s essay is enough to keep his mind off of Tobi, at least for now.

Chapter 11: Heart-to-heart

Chapter Text

Deidara does not sleep well that night. He lies in bed, feeling disgustingly like a love-sick teenager, thinking about Tobi, trying to imagine what the masked man would do if he was somehow transported into this world but landed somewhere else.

Surely, in a situation as outlandish as this, even Tobi would know to exercise some form of caution and lay low. The man is, after all, a shinobi good enough to be accepted into the Akatsuki. Surely, in this whole new world where nobody even knows what the Elemental Nations even is, Tobi wouldn’t feel the need to stay masked and keep up that annoying persona. After all, whatever secret he was hiding back then would no longer exist here.

After tossing and turning for a while, feeling absolutely furious at himself for thinking so much about Tobi of all things, Deidara gives up and sits up in his bed. Judging from the breathing, all the other boys are sound asleep. He gets up and walks out to the Common Room.

The fire is still going despite the empty room, probably sustained by magic. The empty room somehow makes him feel even more restless. After pacing around for a while without calming down, he decides to go for a walk. Deidara knows there’s a curfew in Hogwarts, but f*ck if he cares.

The winding corridors of the school take on a whole new and scarier atmosphere after dark when almost all the torches have gone out. He wanders aimlessly, looking around at whatever catches his eyes without really paying attention. His mind is endlessly replaying his final moments in his old world when his idiot of a partner lost all senses of self-preservation and jumped right in front of him.

Deidara tries to recall that strange sensation he felt then. The feeling of air twisting around him like he was being sucked into a black hole. Funny enough, it had felt vaguely like that time the Copy-nin ripped his elbow off with that f*cking Sharingan of his.

Deidara briefly considers the possibility of Tobi also having a Sharingan. It is, admittedly, not the first time he has entertained that theory, and, much like then, he can’t do much more than speculation now.It’s frustrating, and a little crazy as well, how at the end of the day, his thoughts always seem to circle back to Tobi. He’d think that getting punted into a whole other universe would finally set him free of the idiot, but noooooo.He blames it on being cooped up for too long. He has not had any opportunity to let loose, to really let loose, make some art, and blow some stuff up. Maybe then, he’d finally relax a little.

Deidara pauses and looks up. There’s a door here that he swears wasn’t there a second ago, like it has just appeared here. Honestly, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing in this school, what with all the moving staircases and whatnot.

Curios, Deidara carefully pushes it open and stares.

It’s like he was back in the Akatsuki’s base again, specifically, its training room. A wide spacious cavern with weapon racks decorating the walls, hardy wooden dummies spread out in strategic locations, and –

“No f*cking way,” Deidara whispers as he inches closer, still not believing his eyes. His old clay bag, along with his old shinobi attire, lies invitingly on a table.

Is this some kind of trap? He pauses, looking around. Is he hallucinating? He turns around and looks at the way he came from. The door is ajar, showing the corridor of Hogwarts behind him. This, he decides, is most likely more magic bullsh*t. Well, he’s certainly not going to complain.

He picks up his clay bag eagerly and gets to work, fully aware of the slightly unhinged smile that creeps up to his face. He has so many new ideas for his art.

The second day at Hogwarts starts out a little better than the first despite the gloomy weather. For once, as Ron points out, there’s no Snape today. Even Deidara seems to be in a good mood when Harry has braced himself for an icy attitude from the blonde. He begins to suspect that anticipating the older boy’s mood is a bit of an impossible task.

Harry feels conflicted. Professor McGonagall’s warning is still fresh in his mind, but she did say that Dumbledore thinks Deidara is unlikely to harm him. However, Dumbledore has been wrong before. Harry hopes that this is not one of those times. He likes hanging out with Deidara.

Despite his various eccentricities and his short temper, the blonde is charismatic and fun to be around. Harry remembers him sticking it to Malfoy, and him setting off an explosion in Snape’s class just so Harry can have a second chance. It feels nice. He thinks it’s kind of like having an older brother who’s not afraid to get into trouble and look out for you at the same time.

Except, Harry hardly knows anything about him. He suspects that Deidara leads a rough life. Harry remembers the boggart. The blonde has called the bloody woman ‘mum.’ ‘Harry thinks about his own parents and winces.

He also has to consider what Deidara has revealed to him last night, about a potentially dangerous man from his past being here. Maybe that’s the secret. Perhaps, Deidara, at some point in his tumultuous life, has gotten tangled up with the wrong people, and now, these people have sent someone after him.

Maybe that’s why Dumbledore wanted the blonde to come to Hogwarts and stay in the same year and house as Harry so that the Headmaster could protect them both at the same time. Yeah, that makes sense. It lines up with everything he knows, too.

Feeling a little better, Harry lets himself laugh when Deidara says he’s considering blowing up Umbridge’s office to get him out of detention.

Professor Flitwick starts off the lesson by impressing upon them the importance of O.W.L.s before letting them spend the next hour practicing the Summoning Charm.

“Ahh, Mr. Akatsuki,” He says cheerfully as he walks up to their table, “I hope you are enjoying Hogwarts.”

“I am, the castle is amazing, yeah.” Deidara smiles back.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Although, I must say, your transfer is a little bit unorthodox. No matter, if you have any trouble at all, I am here to help.” Professor Flitwick says, “Now, would you mind demonstrating the Summoning Charm for me?”

Deidara casts his blue eye around at the various objects flying around the room. “Sure, un.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione stop practicing their own charm to watch as the blonde pulls out his wand.

Deidara has told them frankly that he plans on faking magic, but apart from that one time he sets his dinner on fire, he has not shown them much.

“Accio book.” The blonde calls out, his accent still heavy but the words are perfectly pronounced. His wand movement is near perfect, too. Although Harry notices as he casts with his right hand, his left hand subtly jerks. A heavy book on the shelf goes flying towards them, which Deidara catches with his left hand.

“Wonderful, wonderful, my boy.” Professor Flitwick claps, “Keep this up, and you will have no problem at all. Very good.”

The moment he steps out of earshot, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all turn to Deidara.

“How did you do that?” Hermione, who has spent a considerable amount of time perfecting this charm, asks.

“Just something I picked up from my old partner, yeah.” The blonde looks nostalgic. He holds out his left hand again and makes a quick motion with his index finger. Harry’s book goes flying but misses his hand by a couple of inches, nearly careening off the table before he manages to catch it, “I’m not very good at it, not like he was, un.”

“Is this some form of wandless magic?” Hermione asks, “Instead of using your wand to channel magic, you use hand signs instead?”

“I guess you can say that, yeah.” Deidara hums consideringly.

“But… how?” Hermione whispers furiously, “Surely such a technique would have been known and practiced by someone. I have never read about such a thing before. Where did you learn it?”

“Somewhere you’ve probably never heard of before, yeah.”

“Try me.”

Deidara peers at her, his lips curling up into a crooked grin, “Alright. Let’s make a bet, un. I tell you where I’m from, and you’re free to go look it up in the library. If you can’t find it by the end of… say… September, you have to let me copy your homework, yeah.”

Hermione stares at him, her eyes narrowed, “And if I do find it?”

Deidara shrugs carelessly, “If you can find it, I’ll answer whatever questions you three have about me. All of them, truthfully. Deal?” He holds out his hand.

The bushy hair girl purses her lips, glancing at his outstretched hand and back to his impishly grinning face.

“Fine. It’s a deal.” She takes his hand and gives it a determined shake.

“Are you mad!” Ron exclaims in a harsh whisper.

Hermione ignores him. Still looking at a smugly grinning Deidara, she asks, “Well, what is it?”

Deidara chuckles, “I’m from a village called Iwagakure, or Iwa for short. It literally translates to ‘the village hidden by rocks,’ yeah.” He pulls out a piece of scrap parchment and scribbles on it, “And to make it even easier for you, here’s the kanji for it, yeah.”

He slides it over to her. Harry stares at the meaningless squiggles on the page, wondering how the hell Hermione's gonna find anything with this. She takes the piece of paper with a look of determination on her face and carefully puts it in her bag.

Transfiguration goes a little less smoothly for Deidara, who seems absolutely stumped at the prospect of the Vanishing Spell.

“There’s only so much I can fake, un” He hisses. “This is not it, yeah.”

To his credit, Deidara performs the pronunciation and the wand movement flawlessly, but his snail remains stubbornly un-vanished on the table. Not that Harry and Ron have managed any better. Although, Ron seems optimistic that his is a little paler. Hermione, on the other hand, has managed to completely vanish hers after the third try. She is the only one who doesn’t get assigned the homework of practicing the spell for tomorrow's class.

With the mounting amount of homework, Harry and Ron are forced to spend their lunch period in the library, researching the application of moonstone in potion-making for Snape. Hermione is also there with them, but she disappears quickly among the tall shelves with the piece of parchment Deidara gives her. Strangely enough, the blonde doesn’t join them despite Harry knowing that he also has not finished his essay.

When they get to Care for Magical Creatures, they find him already there, waiting for them.

“I just talked to Professor Grubbly-Plank,” He tells them, “She doesn’t seem to know when Hagrid’s gonna be back, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing if you ask me.” Malfoy’s annoying voice reaches them. He has made his way right next to the three of them. “That lousy oaf should not have been allowed to teach in the first place.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry says through gritted teeth.

Thankfully, before anything can happen, the lesson starts. However, as soon as they are split into groups and Professor Grubbly-Plank looks the other way, Malfoy weasels up to them again.

“Maybe,” Says Malfoy in an undertone, so that no one else can hear him, “The stupid great oaf’s got himself badly injured.”

“Maybe you will if you don’t shut up,” says Harry out of the side of his mouth.

“Maybe he’s been messing with stuff that’s too big for him, if you get my drift.”

He walks away, but once he is on the other side of the field, the end of his robe spontaneously combusts, and he shrieks, loudly. Deidara lets out a borderline maniacal laugh, and even Hermione is giggling into her hands.

“Have I ever told you that you are brilliant, mate?” Ron gasps through pearls of laughter, “Because you are.”

“I know.” Deidara smirks, “But just keep on saying it, yeah.” He looks at Harry, “Ignore that asshole, un. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Yeah, and Professor Dumbledore would know if something happened to him,” Hermione says, unknowingly echoing what Deidara had told him when they arrived at Hogwarts and didn't see the giant man anywhere.

Deidara sits in the Common Room with Hermione, waiting for Harry to come back from detention and for Ron to come back from… somewhere.

“How’s your Potions essay coming along?” Asks Hermione, who has finished her last night.

“Hm, I finished it, yeah.”

“Really?” She asks, skeptically, “I can look it over for you to see if you’ve made any mistakes.”

“Thanks, yeah.” He shrugs and hands it over.

He looks back down to his dream diary. Deidara is having a bit of fun writing down sly references to his past life in these diaries. Just last night, he wrote that he was riding on a giant white dragon. Now, he’s thinking of writing “blown up a forest” down.

“You’re essay’s pretty good.” Hermione says, impressed, “Here, you made a couple of mistakes about the first recorded instance of moonstone used in potion-making, and you misspelled several names as well… I’ve corrected them for you.”

“Thanks, yeah.” He takes the parchment back and gives her a sly look, “You know, if you want to admit your defeat, you can just say it, un. I wasn’t actually about to make you correct my homework.”

“Admit defeat? What are you talking about?” She asks, bewildered.

“You know, the deal, yeah.”

“Oh right, that… I have not admitted defeat.” She says adamantly, “This is me holding up my promise to help you with magic stuff.”

Deidara honestly has nearly forgotten about that, “Speaking of, have you found out anything yet?”

“Well,” She gives him a measured look, “I’m starting by looking at hidden magical communities in Japanese mountains.”

“What gives you that idea, yeah?”

“For your… background, you said you lived in the mountains, and the name of your village collaborates that as well.”

“True, but it doesn’t have to be a magical community, yeah? I could have been living among Muggles while being taught by my Wizard parents.”

“Well,” She looks away from him nervously, “I think you did grow up in a magical community because… because of what you said last night. You know, about meeting a lot of shady people. You seem wary of one of them being in Wizarding Britain, that means he can’t be a Muggle, and he can’t be a Wizard either, because you didn’t know what magic was when you first saw it here. So, this person must be able to do the same thing you do. Therefore, it is logical to guess that there is a secret community somewhere in the mountains of Japan where they practice your kind of magic.”

Deidara is honestly impressed. He has heard people call Hermione the brightest witch of her age, but seeing it in action is something else.

“Well?” She asks

“Well… what, un?”

“Well, am I on the right track?”

“Sorry,” Deidara grins unapologetically, “I can’t say, yeah.”

Hermione wrinkles her nose at him but doesn’t push. A few beats of quiet pass before she speaks again, “Deidara, you have to tell me, are you being hunted?”

“... What?”

Hermione looks a little uncomfortable, but bravely pushes on, “The potentially dangerous man that might be here, is he hunting you? Is that why Dumbledore tells you to come to Hogwarts, so he can protect you?”

Deidara stares at her dumbfounded.

She apparently takes his silence for nerve because she quickly adds, “No one is going to judge you if you are. I mean, I’m just saying, Harry has been a target for You-Know-Who since first year, and we’re still sticking by him. We’re used to danger. I mean –”

Deidara laughs. Kami, these kids really are still only fifteen and are so sincere it hurts. Hermione is trying to save his feelings by reassuring him that he will not be ostracized even if a dangerous man is coming to hunt him down. It’s honestly very endearing.

“Look, Hermione. That’s very sweet of you, yeah.” He chuckles, “But you don’t have to worry about any of that. The man I mentioned is only dangerous because he’s skilled and unpredictable towards strangers. He wouldn’t hurt me. That, I am certain, yeah.” At least, he hopes so. Even if Tobi for some reason is out for his blood, Deidara would be damned if he dragged these kids into a fight between two shinobi.

Hermione still looks skeptical, “So… if he’s not here for you… what do you think he’s here for then?”

Deidara shakes his head, “I didn’t intend to end up here in Wizarding Britain, un. And he was there with me when I was hit with… whatever that sent me here. If he’s here, and that is still a big if, he would try to figure out what to do, yeah. Hell, he probably won’t even know I’m also here, un.”

“Right.” Hermione nods, evidently deep in thought.

Eventually, the girl decides to turn in for the night, leaving Deidara alone to wait for Harry and Ron. He is beginning to grow a bit concerned and is considering going out to look for the two boys when the redhead stumbles back in.

“Where have you been, yeah?” Deidara asks and chuckles when Ron startles so hard he almost falls over.

“Nowhere.” He says hurriedly, and without waiting for a reply, books it towards the dormitory and disappears from view.

After a moment, he comes back, resolutely not looking at Deidara, and pulls out his potion essay.

“Is Harry not back yet?” Ron asks.

“No, yeah.”

“... Is that a ‘no’ or a –”

“That’s a ‘no’, un.”

“What is that woman making him do in there?” The redhead grumbles as he aggressively scratches his quill across the parchment.

After a moment, the sound of a quill moving across parchment stops, and Deidara looks up to see Ron staring at him contemplatively.

“What, un?” He asks.

Ron frowns, eyes glancing away. “Nothin’.”

“Ron, you know I don’t have the patience for this kind of thing, un. If you have anything to say to me, just go ahead and say it, yeah.”

“... I’m just thinking of the time I saw you in that basem*nt.” Ron grimaces, “You were covered in blood. I honestly thought I was looking at a corpse then.”

“Ahh…” Deidara hums awkwardly, “That’s got to be… traumatizing, yeah…”

Ron just shrugs, “I’m not squeamish, mate. I’m friends with Harry Potter. I’ve seen a lot of things. The thing is, it’s obvious that you’re a dangerous bloke. Even without all the weird things Professor Trelawney said, I can see you like blowing things up way too much to be considered normal.”

“Yeah, and?” Deidara says, now a little tense.

“And, I honestly don’t care,” Ron says, now looking directly at Deidara. “But, Harry is my best friend, and if you do anything to hurt him, I’ll kill you.”

The red-haired boy has said it so flippantly that just for a split second, Deidara wonders if he can actually do it.

Ron isn’t done, “Harry has this theory that you messed with the wrong people in the past, and now you’re being hunted down or something. Obviously, if that’s true, we’ll help you, but –”

“For f*ck sake, is that where Hermione got the idea?” Deidara groans, throwing his hands upward, “I’m not being hunted, yeah. The guy I said might be here, and I have no evidence to suggest so, is not on a manhunt for my head, un. He’s my bumbling idiot of a partner who has the habit of running away and forcing me to do all the work, un. And if he somehow managed to get his moronic ass over here, yeah, I’ll be the one hunting him down to kill him for being a stupid asshole who threw himself in front of an explosion for –”

Deidara cuts himself off when he hears footsteps, and Harry emerges from the dark hallway, looking at him and Ron worriedly.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“f*cking –” Deidara mutters and sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted. He regrets spending too much time in that mysterious training room and not sleeping properly yesterday, “Fine. Since you’re here, I might as well get this over with, yeah.”

Harry still looks bewildered but comes closer and sits at the little table anyway.

“First of all,” Deidara takes in a deep breath, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not being hunted, un.”

“You told him?” Demands Harry, staring at Ron.

“Yeah, he told me,” Deidara cuts in before this whole thing can get derailed, “As I was saying, I am not being hunted down. Tobi, my old partner, was with me when I was hit with something that put me in that basem*nt in Grimmauld Place. I only begin to suspect he was also hit by it, and might be in Wizarding Britain, after Professor Trelawney’s maybe prophecy, yeah. It’s only a suspicion, that’s all. If Tobi is really here, he would only be dangerous because he’s skilled and can react violently to perceived threats, not because he wants to hunt me down and kill me, yeah.”

By the end of all that, Harry and Ron are both looking at him with wide eyes. The blonde feels the teeth in the palm biting into his legs. He suddenly feels a lot more nervous about this. It was an impulsive decision, telling them about Tobi, but he is sure that he didn’t say anything that can reveal his past as a missing-nin from another world.

“This… Toby,” Harry begins.

“It’s Tobi, yeah.” Deidara corrects automatically.

“Right, Tobi. Is he the bloke with the swirly orange mask?”

Of all the questions he thinks they can ask, that is not one of them. “Yeah, un”

“I see…”

A beat of silence passes. Deidara frowns and stretches. “I’m going to bed. Feel free to tell Hermione what I told you, un. Goodnight.”

But he doesn’t fall asleep right away. His mind is now filled with the thought of Tobi coming after to kill him. It’s absurd, he thinks, Tobi has no reason to want him dead. It’s true that their partnership had a rough start, but Deidara thought they had become something like friends after a while. Friends that push each other around and make fun of one another, sure, but friends nonetheless. Tobi had even tried to stop Deidara from killing himself in the end. Surely, the masked man wouldn’t want him dead now.

But maybe he would want revenge for that, a dark voice in Deidara’s head says. Maybe, if he is here, he would want to hurt you for stranding him here.

That’s f*cking stupid, Deidara thinks vehemently and turns in his bed, Tobi, on a revenge quest, that’s ridiculous. The image of the flailing idiot having such a motive is incomprehensible.

Except, it’s not that unthinkable, is it? After all, how much do you know about him exactly? He could be capable of it. Who knows.

The thought makes him physically nauseous, and he physically shakes his head to dispel the feelings.

If in the highly unlikely event that Tobi was after his head, Deidara would just have to treat this as any other occasion when an upstart bounty hunter thinks they have a chance at bagging an Akatsuki member and deal with it. No matter how much the idea makes his stomach turn.

Chapter 12: A Bond Forged Through Blood

Chapter Text

The next few days at Hogwarts pass without too many incidents. The only thing that stands out in Deidara’s mind is Angelina Jones, the Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain, yelling at Harry for getting detention and missing tryouts in the middle of the Great Hall.

Deidara continues to abuse his clones to attend classes for him while he hangs out in the mysterious training room. The place is practically heaven. It supplies him with everything he asks for: clay, weapons, a big open space, and there’s even a ceramic studio in the back. He hasn’t told anyone about the room since it is the only place in this castle where he has the privacy and means to practice his art. He still doesn’t dare to deploy anything more destructive than a C1 for fear of actually destroying the castle, but he does get to ride on his C2 dragon, and even though it's in an enclosed space, it is still enough to scratch his itch for the time being.

Both Harry and Ron, however, are acting a little funny. They are most likely hiding something, but Deidara isn’t sure what. Either way, whatever they’re occupied by it prevents them from thinking too deeply about what he told them about Tobi. Deidara doesn’t think he would enjoy being interrogated about his old partner.

He is, however, a little bit concerned about what Harry is hiding. The kid looks shifty when he tells them that he had to do lines for Unbridge’s detention, and while both Hermione and Ron buy it, he isn’t completely convinced. Harry seems to sense this as the kid has been doing an admittedly impressive job at avoiding him.

It all comes to a head on Thursday when the black-haired boy returns from yet another round of detention.

“So, what did she say?” Asks Ron, who is trying out for the Keeper position, and has asked Harry to try and convince Umbridge to let him attend the tryout on Friday. Personally, Deidara does not have high hopes.

Sure enough, Harry shakes his head sullenly and flops down on the couch. That’s when Deidara catches a glimpse of his left hand.

“What is that, un?” The blonde asks sharply.

“What? Hey!” Harry yelps, but Deidara has already snatched his hand up before he can stuff it into his pocket. “Ow!”

Deidara stares unblinkingly at the bleeding 'I must not tell lies' carved into his hand.

“Harry!” Hermione gasps in horror.

“I thought you said she was giving you lines!” Shouts Ron, looking equally sick and angry.

For a second Harry looks like he might be considering denying everything, but, realizing that he can’t possibly give any convincing excuse for this, he gives in and tells them that Umbridge has been forcing him to essentially carve words into his own skin.

“The old hag!” Ron says in a revolted whisper, “She’s sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione urges harshly, “You can’t let her get away with this!”

“No,” Says Harry at once. “I’m not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she’s got to me.”

“Got to you? Harry, she’s torturing you!” Hermione protests.

“I don’t know how much power McGonagall’s got over her,” Harry says, changing tactics.

“Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!”

“No,” said Harry flatly.

“Why not?” Ron demands.

“He’s got enough on his mind,” Harry replies convincingly.

“Harry, you have to tell somebody!” Hermione pleads. “Please, Deidara, talk some sense into him.”

“... No, un”

“What!?” Both Hermione and Ron whisper harshly at him.

Deidara is staring at Harry, who is looking back at him in bewilderment. Clearly, the kid did not expect him to take his side, but Deidara understands. He understands perfectly why Harry is so unwilling to tell anyone about this and prefers to suffer in silence instead. It’s the sort of bullheaded pride that drove Deidara through most of his youth, and the blonde knows that even if he had joined in with Ron and Hermione, Harry would not change his mind.

“So you want him to do nothing and let the toad get away with it? What if she does it to somebody else?” Ron demands, his face growing as red as his hair.

“I didn’t say that, un.” Deidara snaps, leaning back into his chair contemplatively. “I agree with Harry that going to a professor would give that bitch the satisfaction of thinking he came crying to the professors, yeah, and it could make things even more difficult for him.”

Ron and Hermione still look upset, but his last point seems to calm them down a little bit.

“Well, what do we do then?” Asks Hermione, still looking at Harry’s hand worriedly.

Despite himself, Deidara feels excitement creeping on him. “Do you know how many of those quills Umbridge has, yeah?” He asks Harry.

“Dunno,” The boy frowns, “I saw her pull one out during my first detention, but for the other ones after that, she had it waiting for me on the desk.”

“Hm,” Deidara hums thoughtfully, his hands subconsciously beginning to mold clay again, “Well, just to be sure, I might have to get in there and confirm it for myself, un. Can’t let any target escape my art after all, yeah…”

“Wait,” Hermione interrupts, her eyes widening, “You’re not thinking about blowing up Umbridge’s office, are you?”

“No, of course not, un.” He says, “I’m just thinking of blowing up those stupid quills, yeah. No need to blow up her entire office, yet.”

“You can’t do that!” Hermione whispers furiously, her face lined with worry, “What if you get caught? Do you know what she’s going to do to you?”

“I’m not going to get caught, yeah.” Deidara snorts, “Trust me, this is by far not the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, un.”

“That may be so, but you have to remember that if you get caught, you can endanger the Order.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Deidara grunts distractedly, his mind is already miles ahead. “Believe me, I know what I’m doing, un.”

Deidara does seem to know what he is doing, as when Harry walks into detention for Friday, he finds a fuming Umbridge waiting for him and an office that smells vaguely of smoke.

“Mr. Potter,” She hisses. Her sweet smile now looks more like a grimace, “Take a seat.”

Harry complies, his eye drifting to the various scorched marks on the floors and walls around him.

“Ahh, you noticed those, didn’t you, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge says, her beady eyes gleaming menacing.

“Yes, Professor.” Harry answers honestly, “What happened?”

“Some troublemaker thought it would be a funny prank to unleash fireworks in my office during the first period this morning, Mr. Potter. Do you, by any chance, know who it can be?”

“No, Professor. Not a clue.” Harry shakes his head. “I was in Charms then.” He internally grins. Whatever Deidara did and however he did it, he managed to accomplish it while he and the rest of Gryffindors were in a classroom full of witnesses to testify.

Professor Umbridge evidently knows this, too as her fake smile turns even more sour. “Very well then, Mr. Potter. You know what to do.”

Harry picks up the quill (bright pink with an obnoxiously puffy plumage), dips it into the pot of ink that has never been there before and begins. Although Umbridge keeps him there for much longer than usual, he can’t help but feel giddy at the dissatisfied look on her face when she finally lets him go.

When he returns to the Common Room, his giddiness heightens even more when he finds out Ron has been made Keeper.

“Congratulations, mate!” Harry says sincerely, “I knew you would get it.”

Ron grins happily at him, but his blue eyes are fixed on Harry’s non-bleeding hand, “Your hand!” He points out unnecessarily.

“Yeah, I know.” Harry grins widely back, holding up his hand. The scraps from yesterday are still there, but it no longer hurts.

Ron leads him further into the Common Room where Hermione and Deidara are waiting for him. Hermione, who has looked very anxious ever since the blonde announced his plan to sabotage Umbridge, visibly deflates with relief when she sees the two boy’s grinning faces.

“See, what did I tell you, un?” Deidara says, looking very much like a smug cat lounging in the armchair. “I know what I’m doing. She can’t prove anything at all, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, thinking with great satisfaction back to Umbridge’s unhappy expression, “She obviously wants to blame me for it, but she couldn’t.”

Deidara laughs and goes on a tangent about the brilliant supremacy of his art. This is by far not the first time he has done this, and Harry finds himself grinning at the blonde gestures animated with his hand. Whatever Deidara’s business is, however shady his past seems to be, he still stands up for him. Harry feels much more assured in his wish to maintain their friendship.

The story of someone unleashing explosives into her office while she was still inside has spread across the school the very next morning, and students can be seen giggling to each other about it. Most think that it’s Fred and George who had done it, and Deidara seems perfectly content to keep it that way. Fred and George, of course, had nothing to do with this and seemed to know exactly who had done it. Their attempt to hound Deidara for answers ends with the blonde vanishing entirely shortly after breakfast.

Harry watches him go in amusem*nt as he continues to try and get Ron to eat something before Quidditch practice later.

“I don’t think I can, mate.” Ron says miserably, “I’d probably throw it back up later… Listen, do you reckon you can come with me to the pitch a little earlier? You know, just to get some warm-ups.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” He agrees readily, but Hermione does not look happy. She points out that the two of them still have an enormous amount of homework to do, and Harry’s good mood dampens. She’s right, of course. With everything else that was going on, he had hardly made any progress in his homework at all.

Ron, who also does not want to think about the homework they have, tells her that Quidditch is important, too, and if she can find additional time to research Deidara’s place of origin, they can find extra time for the most important thing in the world.

“Quidditch is not the most important thing in the world!” Hermione says, exasperated. Ron looks like she has said something particularly blasphemous.

Not wanting his two friends to get into an argument this early in the morning, Harry hastily changes the subject, “Hermione, have you made any progress on… what’s it called again… Iwa?”

The girl throws Ron one last look before turning to him, “Yes, Iwa… And no, I haven’t found much… There are small secret magical communities across Japan and a lot of them are in the mountains, but there’s none that’s called Iwa or anything close to it, and I haven’t found anything about wandless practice either… It makes sense, I suppose. If it’s that easy to find, someone must have heard about it now…”

“You’d better hurry it up then,” Ron pipes in, “September’s almost over, and if you lose, Deidara will get to copy your homework, and I might just be able to convince him to let me and Harry copy off of him.”

Harry grins, “Actually, you know what Hermione? I think you can take your time on this.”

Before the bushy-haired girl can retort, the owl carrying her copy of the Daily Prophet arrives. She takes one look at the paper and goes pale.

“Sirius!” She exclaims in a harsh whisper and pushes the paper over to Ron and Harry.

Both of them nearly knock their heads together in their haste to reach the paper. When they’ve finished reading, both spot pale faces identical to Hermione.

“The Ministry of Magic has been tipped off about Sirius’ location…” Ron repeats in disbelief

“Lucius Malfoy, I’ll bet anything,” says Harry in a low, furious voice. “He did recognize Sirius on the platform…”

The three of them exchange concerned looks with each other. Finally, Hermione closes the paper and stands up.

“Well, I should get going. I need to start that essay for Sprout on Self-fertilizing Shrubs first, and if I’m lucky, I can get some more research into Iwa in there…”

Harry determinedly ignores the tinge of guilt he feels about his homework as he watches her go. He knows he would regret procrastinating so much, but the weather is perfect for flying today, and he hasn’t sat on his Firebolt for so long…

“Do you think she’ll ever find it?” Ron asks abruptly.

“Huh? Find what?”

“Iwa or whatever Deidara said he came from.”

“Oh, right. Well, yeah. I believe so. It’s Hermione we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but Deidara seems pretty confident that she wouldn’t, and, well, you know how he can be.”

Harry shrugs. He is curious about Deidara’s origins, but after the whole Umbridge incident with Umbridge, he is no longer as inclined to dig into the blonde’s past as he did. When Deidara told him that he understood what he felt when he said he didn’t want to go to a professor, it felt good. Harry doesn’t think the older blonde was lying either. There was something in that vivid blue eye that made him feel incredibly authentic then. Suddenly, the thought of digging into his past, something that is evidently painful for the blonde, doesn’t seem so enticing anymore.

He is, admittedly, confused about Deidara’s bet with Hermione. For all of his reluctance to tell any of them about his past, he seems almost reckless about daring Hermione to look into it. Maybe Ron’s right. Perhaps Deidara is confident that wherever he comes from is so obscure that not even Hermione would be able to find it.

Whatever the case, Harry would not worry himself over it. He now feels a kinship with the blonde, and the older boy has trusted him to keep his boggart a secret, he will not let him down.

Deidara – or, more accurately, his clone – is gleefully watching Fred and George distribute their Skiving Snackbox samples to the first years when Professor McGonagall comes up to them.

At a speed that’s almost impressive, all joke products disappear from view the moment the professor is close.

“Mr. and Mr. Weasleys,” The witch greets. Deidara can see the twins beginning to sweat. Thankfully, she does not linger on them for long and turns to Deidara, “Mr. Akatsuki, please come with me to my office. I wish to discuss your process with the Vanishing Charm so far.”

“Sure, Professor, un.” Deidara easily complies, knowing this is most likely not actually about his homework. “See you later, yeah.” He nods to Fred and George and quickly follows her.

Sure enough, when they step into her office, Dumbledore is already there waiting with a cup of tea.

“Ahh, Mr. Deidara.” The Headmaster greets, “How have you been? I trust that Hogwarts has been treating you well?”

“Yeah, it’s been great, un.” He casually flops down on the spare chair in the room. “The professors have been very nice, and there have been many opportunities for me to practice my art, yeah.” He grins cheekily.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes spark with amusem*nt behind his half-moon glasses. “It is important to find time to nourish one’s hobby, and we all need a bit of art in our lives.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to encourage the boy’s hobby, Professor. It’s only been a week and there have been two ‘spontaneous combustions’ in the presence of two separate professors.”

“You can’t convince me that you didn’t think the toad had it coming, un.” Deidara says, frowning, “She is an absolute bitch, yeah!”

“Language, young man.” Professor McGonagall chides, “And the point is not whether she deserves it or not. The point is that is incredibly reckless and you can –”

“–get the Order exposed, yeah, yeah,” Deidara cuts in, now feeling quite ticked. He’s not used to having adults getting on his case for every little action he takes. Irritably, it reminds him a little of Sasori scolding him every time he gets too carried away. “I know what I’m doing, un. I planned it so there’s no possible way Umbridge can trace it back to me, nor can she blame it on Harry, yeah.”

“It is very touching that you stand up for Harry,” Dumbledore interrupts before McGonagall can say anything, “But that is not what we come here to discuss.” The Headmaster leans slightly forward. “I am hoping we can continue our conversation on Monday, about your old partner, Tobi.”

Immediately Deidara sits up straighter, “Do you have news, yeah?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Dumbledore says, “No one has heard anything about someone matching the man you describe. Are you sure you don’t know what he looks like?”

“No, un.” Deidara says in a frustrated voice, “The idiot has never taken his mask off in front of me before, yeah.”

“You said he was your partner, did you not?” Professor McGonagall asks. “But you don’t even know his face?”

Deidara makes an impatient noise, his face growing warm, “He’s entitled to his secrets, un. I’m pretty sure he has a big scar on the right side of his face, but I’m not sure what kind of scar, yeah.”

A beat of silence passes when Dumbledore and McGonagall exchange a look before the Old Man says, “Very well, I will give the Order the updated information.”

“Is that all you want to know, un?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Deidara.” The Headmaster hums, “I am hoping that you can provide us with a more comprehensive explanation of what this man can do so that our members know what to look out for.”

Deidara shrugs, “He can do pretty much all basic Jutsu I can, yeah, and he has Earth nature Chakra, I think, so lots of burying himself in the ground like a mole, un.” He pauses.

“Hmm…” Dumbledore’s blue eyes bore into his own blue one, “Is that all?”

Deidara hesitates. He understands that Tobi’s strange ability to phase through things is kinda like his trump card. The fool has emerged unscathed in many fights due to that. He likes the Orders, but he doesn’t know all of them and, therefore, does not trust them with this knowledge. Also, not that he’s worried about what the idiot thinks, but Tobi probably won’t appreciate him telling everyone about his “Super Secret Jutsu'' and would no doubt whine his ears off about it.

“He is very quick on his feet and is something of an escape artist, un,” Deidara answers resolutely. “But that’s it, yeah.”

“Very well.” The Headmaster nods. “Do you have any advice on what we should do if we do find him?”

Deidara frowns, “Just don’t be aggressive, un. Tell him that I’m with you guys. He’ll most likely follow you without much trouble, yeah. Actually, use these exact words: ‘Your senpai tells you to stop flailing around like an idiot and get your ass here before he stuffs clay down your throat, yeah’.”

Dumbledore lets out an amused chuckle, “I’ll make sure to pass that on, too.”

“Thanks, un. Is there anything else you want?”

“No, that is everything. Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Deidara.”

Knowing he has been dismissed, the blonde jumps up to his feet and walks away. Before he fully steps out of the room, he turns back and says, “Don’t hurt him, yeah.”

The door shuts behind him.

“Well,” Dumbledore begins after Deidara’s blonde hair disappears from view, “What do you think?”

“The same thing I have been thinking since we met him.” Professor McGonagall says, her mouth thin, “The boy is hiding things from us.”

“That’s true, yes.” The Headmaster swirls his tea thoughtfully, “But we can hardly be surprised by that. His past seems to be a sensitive subject to him, and we can hardly expect him to bare his soul out to us.”

“You say so yourself, his secrets might be dangerous, Headmaster.” The witch points out.

“And what do you think, Minerva?”

“I think… I think that you are letting the fun of the mystery distract you, Headmaster.” She says candidly, “You bring the boy here to keep an eye on him. So far, from what I can see, he behaves just like any other student, and actually knows how to stay out of trouble, or, at least, knows how to not get caught.”

She takes a deep breath, “He’s hiding something from us about this… old partner of his. From what he initially told us, this man seems like a dangerous and unpredictable individual, but the boy clearly seems to care for him. It is… it is concerning, Albus.”

“You are right, of course.” Dumbledore stares into his cup of tea like it might reveal all the secrets of the universe to him. “Regardless, Deidara is a lost young man who is under our protection. There is not much we can do besides continue to watch over him while he is here, and prepare to the best of our ability for whatever may come.” The Headmaster looks up, his blue eyes grim, “Something is coming, Minerva, let us hope that it may be beneficial to us.”

Chapter 13: The High Inquisitor

Chapter Text

“f*cking what.” Deidara deadpans when he stares at the black-and-white moving picture of Umbridge next to the Minister. A couple of passing second-years flinch, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione, having gotten used to Deidara’s colorful language, barely react. All three of them are busy scowling down at the front page of the Daily Prophet.

“High Inquisitor.” Hermione reads out loud in a disgusted voice, her brown eyes scanning the paper rapidly, “She’s got the power to inspect our teachers and possibly get them sacked.”

Harry and Deidara both grimace, but Ron grins broadly, “I can’t wait for her to inspect McGonagall.” He says, “Umbridge won’t know what’s hit her.” That does make Harry feel a bit better as he imagines the stern professor looking disapprovingly down at Umbridge’s squash form.

“Well, come on,” says Hermione, getting up, “We’d better get going. If she’s inspecting Binns’s class, we don’t want to be late.”

But Professor Umbridge is not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor is she in Snape’s dungeon, a fact that Harry is glad for as he stares forlornly at the spikey black “D” on his potion essay.

“Cheer up, mate.” Ron says, “I bet it’s because Snape’s still angry at the exploding potion in the last class.”

The thought does cheer him up a little. This quickly disappears when he sees Umbridge’s toad-like face peeking through the trapdoor of the Divination classroom. Harry’s attention span in the class becomes even more splintered than usual as he listens to Umbridge and Trelawney's conversation while pretending he’s trying to decipher Ron’s made-up dreams. The inspection does not seem to go well for the Divination Professor.

When the four of them make their way into the DADA classroom, Professor Umbridge seems to be in a much better mood than before, even humming to herself as the class takes their seats. It seems that being made High Inquisitor has made her forget her troubles with not catching the culprit behind the fireworks. Next to Harry, Deidara scowls intently at her, his fingers and mouths twitching as if wishing for a clump of clay to dig into.

“Mr. Akatsuki?” Umbridge’s high-pitched girlish voice rings out.

“Yeah,” Deidara asks, then adds belatedly, “Professor? Even when the blonde looks perfectly calm, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchange panicked looks. Did she find out about the fireworks after all?

“I’ve heard rumors that you have some… peculiar quirks on your hands, dear.” She walks toward him, “Would you mind showing me?”

If the demand unsettles Deidara in any way, the blonde does a remarkable job of hiding it.

“Oh, these?” He shrugs and casually shows her his palms, and the mouths curl into wide grins and the tongues lolling out. Several students snicker as Umbridge’s face twitches into one of deep disgust.

She quickly puts on a smile again as she looks at him, “Oh my. Whatever happened to you dear?” Her voice sounds sickeningly sweet.

“It’s an accident when I was still back in Japan, un,” He explains once again adding “Professor” belatedly.

“And why haven’t you had them removed?”

“I did try at the beginning, yeah. But since it doesn’t hurt and actually helps me make art, I decided to keep them… Professor.”

“But, don’t you find them… unsightly, dear? Surely you don’t want to keep them around forever?”

“But that’s exactly what I want, un.” Deidara frowns at her, “... Professor. I’ve asked Headmaster Dumbledore, and he said it’s not against any school rule or magical law for me to keep them, yeah.”

At this point, Umbridge’s face has gone very sour, and the whole class is silently snickering behind her back. Harry has to admit, the way Deidara keeps ‘forgetting’ to address her as ‘Professor’ is hilarious, and he no doubt is only getting away with it by playing up the clueless foreigner act with his thick accent and big innocent blue eye.

However, no matter how displeased Umbridge is, it would seem she knows Deidara is right about not breaking any laws or rules by keeping the hand-mouths. She is, however, not willing to let him go so easily as she switches targets instead.

“Don’t you find having such a long bang cumbersome, Mr. Akatsuki? Can you see through all that hair? It would be a shame if you have trouble learning in the class if you can’t see properly, dear.”

Deidara, who is showing some remarkable self-control, smiles blandly back at her, “Professor, I’m blind in my left eye, un.”

This time, whisperings erupt all around them, and Professor Umbridge turns so red Harry fears she might actually explode. However, it seems that Professor Umbridge is determined to be an awful human being today. She clears her throat and says with a stiff smile, “Well, I would still advise you to cut your hair, dear. It’s not proper for a boy such as yourself to have hair like that. It makes you look rather, hem hem, girlish.”

Deidara’s bland smile vanishes off his face. He stares at her for an uncomfortably long moment before saying, “I’ll consider it, yeah.” He looks away without acknowledging her before once again belatedly adding, “Professor.”

Looking rather pleased with herself, she struts back to the front of the class. Harry glances at Deidara’s half-obscured face and is startled to see the sheer rage on his face. A shiver runs down his back as he is reminded of the diner's outburst again. Except, this time, Deidara’s murderous face does not leave him at all. For some reason, Umbridge’s comment about his hair really, really, pissed the blonde off. Harry can’t imagine it’s about him looking ‘girlish’ specifically. The blonde does not seem the type to care about that at all. After all, this is someone who has managed to get his hands on eyeliners and nail polish and actively wears them every day.

Harry never has a chance to examine these questions clearly as, once again, Hermione asks a question about the class that quickly spirals into him losing his temper and getting detention again.

Things get even worse at lunch. Angelina shouts at him so harshly she summons Professor McGonagall from the teacher’s table, who then proceeds to deduct house points from him. Then, to rub salt to the wound, Hermione takes her side as well.

By the end of lunch, Harry’s mood is about as bad as Deidara’s, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal.

However, when Harry enters Transfiguration and spots Professor Umbridge with her obnoxious pink clipboard waiting for them, his anger instantly disappears and is replaced with anticipation.

Professor McGonagall does not disappoint. Throughout the entire period, the severe witch treats Umbridge the same way someone might treat an annoying unremovable stain on their coat. By the end of the lesson, his anger at his head of House has completely evaporated. Deidara especially seems to have taken a vindictive glee at seeing Umbridge being so thoroughly curbed.

Their high spirit does not last long, however. By the end of Care for Magical Creatures, Harry has gone back to feeling quite miserable. When he steps into Umbridge’s classroom for detention, the Blood Quill is back, much to his horror.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter.” Umbridge grins sickeningly at him, “I hope you haven’t forgotten what to do.”

Deidara stares grimly as Harry submerges his bleeding hand into a bowl of yellow liquid. The kid lets out a sharp hiss as he sits down, looking miserable.

“I should have known, yeah.” The blonde mutters in disgust, “of course, the bitch would restock, un.”

“I still reckon you should complain about this,” says Ron in a low voice.

“No,” Says Harry flatly.

“McGonagall would go nuts if she knew -”

“Yeah, she probably would,” Harry says. “And how long do you reckon it’d take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?”

Ron opens his mouth to retort but nothing comes out, and after a moment he closes it again in a defeated sort of way.

“I’m going to kill her, yeah.” Deidara sneers. It speaks volumes about how much they all hate the woman when none of the kids react to his proclamation of murder.

“I suggest poison,” says Ron grimly.

“She’s just… awful.” Hermione exhales forcefully, “Worst part is, she won’t even teach us anything! The Order seems to think that a war is coming, and we’re stuck with this, this troll of a teacher who’d rather us sit nice and pretty as the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who come for us.”

“Just call her a bitch, Hermione.” Deidara scoffs, “That’s what she is, yeah.”

“Well, what can we do about her teaching?” Ron mutters despondently. “ ’S too late, isn’t it? She got the job, she’s here to stay, Fudge’ll make sure of that.”

“Well,” says Hermione tentatively. “You know, I was thinking today…” She shoots a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunges on, “I was thinking that, maybe, the time’s come when we should just, just do it ourselves.”

“Do what ourselves?” asks Harry suspiciously, but Deidara is quicker to catch on.

“You mean learn Defense ourselves?” He asks, and she nods.

“Come off it,” groans Ron. “You want us to do extra work? D’you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it’s only the second week?”

“I think it’s a great idea, yeah,” Deidara says, blue eye gleaming. “Learning how to defend yourself for what’s out there is definitely more important than homework, un.” It’s about time the kids get into gear and prepare themselves. He chuckles. A week into the school year and they’re already thinking of opening an underground training club. He’s so proud of them.

Unfortunately, not all the kids seem to be as enthusiastic about it as he is. Ron doesn’t seem too optimistic about it at all. “We can’t do much by ourselves,” Says the redhead in a defeated voice. “I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose…”

“No, we’ve gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,” said Hermione. “We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we’re going wrong.”

“If you’re talking about Lupin…” Harry begins.

“No, no, I’m not talking about Lupin,” Hermione shakes her head. “He’s too busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that’s not nearly often enough.”

“Who, then?” said Harry, frowning at her. Deidara smirks at the kid’s obliviousness. It’s cute.

Hermione heaves a very deep sigh. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m talking about you, Harry.”

There is a moment’s silence. A light night breeze rattles the window panes behind Ron and the fire flutters. Deidara can barely keep his face straight.

“About me what?” says Harry, and Deidara barks out a rough laugh.

“She’s talking about you teaching, yeah.” The blonde exclaims. At the green-eyed teen’s dubious look, he forges on, “And I think it is a good idea, un. You of all people need to prepare the most, and nothing helps you learn more than teaching.” He should know after spending hours showing Tobi how to sculpt with a pottery wheel when they visited the Ceramic Village. Even though he hasn't worked a kiln in ages, all the knowledge came back that day, and he hasn't forgotten about it all the way now.

“That’s right.” Hermione, emboldened by the older boy’s support, continues, “And you’re the best in our year in DADA, too. You’re the perfect candidate to teach us.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Harry denies, still smiling bewilderedly at the two of them. He glances over at Ron for support, but the redhead seems to be considering what Hermione and Deidara said rather seriously.

“Yes, you are Harry.” Hermione points out impatiently, “You beat me in our third year, the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I’m not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you’ve done!”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what, I’m not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,” Ron says to Hermione, smirking slightly. He then starts to list off everything the black hair boy had done during his years at Hogwarts, much to his increasing irritation. Deidara senses an explosion of temper coming fast.

Sure enough, Harry blows up at his two best friends. The kid shoots to his feet and the bowl of healing liquid shatters onto the floor. However, Deidara doesn’t pay attention to what Ron and Hermione say to the boy at all. He is too caught up in what Harry has managed to say in his jumbled speech messed up by his anger.

The boy has been angry at his two friends because he thought their nonchalant attitude toward all of his feats was a disrespect to his dead friend who did not survive their encounter with Voldemort. It was a sort of righteous anger Deidara isn’t used to at all, and he is once again reminded of just how different they are from him. At fifteen years old, he would not have given his dead comrade a second thought beyond how weak they were to have gotten themselves killed.

With the war looming on the horizon, this sort of mentality can very much get all three of them killed. Here, in this world, children are allowed to be children for much longer, and even if these kids have been through a lot more than a normal teenager here has, they are still children. Neither Harry, Ron, or Hermione has had to kill a fellow human being before, and has not had to watch as they plead fruitlessly as the light fades out of their eyes. With the upcoming war, they may very well have to.

The thought unsettles Deidara greatly, and he does not like that. He has gotten soft and far too attached to these three. If one of them dies…

No, no. Worrying about the far future is useless. The real question is what he’s going to do with this. Deidara, as much as he’s never going to admit it out loud, values their friendship and does not want it to end. He does not want to sever the bonds he has, and he sure as f*ck does not want them to die.

There’s only one obvious way forward for him: Deidara has to prepare them to the best of his ability.

Ron and Hermione have left for their dormitory, but Harry lingers behind. Deidara suddenly realized this is the first time in a while he is left alone with the kid. Harry carefully repairs the broken bowl with a spell but can not do much about the spilled liquid. The kid is very much not looking at him.

“I think you should do it, yeah,” Deidara repeats himself stubbornly.

Harry lets out a tired sigh, “I’ve already said I’ll consider it.”

“You’ve only said that to pacify them, un.” Deidara dismisses, “Hermione made a good point, though. You know what facing real danger felt like. When you look back at those moments, I bet you wish you had prepared yourself more or had known more spells, yeah? Well, this is your opportunity to teach others the things you wished you’d known then, so that when it’s their turn to face danger, they’re more prepared than you were, un.”

“Did you feel like that?” Harry asks abruptly, finally turning around to face him.

“What?”

Harry winces, “When you… when you - I mean, your boggart.” He finishes lamely, but Deidara understands perfectly what the kid is asking.

Deidara tips his head back. He did tell the kid on the train they might discuss it someday, but… Deidara peers at Harry and considers the boy in front of him. Harry is famous whether he likes it or not, and it did not take Deidara long to dig up information about the Boy-Who-Lived and the night that made him a legend in the Wizarding Community. He knows the boy lost his parents in one night, and now the man who did it is coming after him.

“Yeah, I did at first, un. And then it just sorta blurs together for me.” He says quietly, his mind back in that little house in Iwa. The smell of blood hangs in the air. “Like I said, the place I grew up in is not a nice place, and death is a common part of life there, yeah.”

"Does that mean it will get easier?"

Deidara stops and carefully considers what he should say. He doubts telling the kid he actively enjoys dangerous situations as the feeling of blood and adrenaline pumping through your veins is simply divine would help here. "It did for me, yeah... But I don't think it will be for you, though. Unlike me, you're a good person, un."

Harry frowns, "I think you're a good person."

It takes considerable effort from the blonde not to laugh. "Sure, if you say so, un." Before the kid can say anything more, Deidara stands up and makes a show out of stretching and yawning, "I'm heading to bed. Give that teaching defense thing some serious thoughts, yeah."

With that last note, he climbs the stairs, leaving the kid alone in front of the crackling fireplace.

Deidara is back in Iwagakure. He is sitting in front of a potter wheel watching the woman in front of him shape a small flower pot while humming an old forgotten tune. His mother is looking better this morning than before. His salary as a Chunin is a good deal more than what he made as a Genin, and it has evidently helped her a lot. When he gets promoted to Jonin, he can surely afford to move her to a better part of town. He might even be able to get her a large house with her own studio where they can make as much art as they want.

“Is your head in the cloud again, Deidara?” Mother asks, her blue eyes as clear as the sky above them.

“No, un.” He pouts, “I’m just watching you work. Who is it for, yeah?”

“Ah, this is for Mr. Hajime next door.”

Deidara instantly scowls, “Did the bastard throw a tantrum and break his stuff again, un? I told you, you gotta report him, yeah. You’ll never get a good night's sleep with all the noises he makes at this rate.”

Mother laughs, “And lose my best customer? I don’t think so.” She lifts up the now-finished pot. “Here, take a look at this for me, see if you can spot any blemish.”

“I don’t see why I have to, yeah. Your stuff is always perfect, un.” Deidara says but gives the pot a once-over anyway.

“Such a flatterer, my little bird.” She chuckles and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Ignoring his protesting squawk, she runs her fingers down his golden hair, the tip of which reaches just below his shoulders, “Your hair is getting quite long now. Don’t you want a haircut?”

He shakes his head vehemently, “No, mom. I want my hair to be as long and as pretty as yours, yeah! Besides,” His blue eyes turn gloomy, “I look way too much like that bastard with short hair, un.”

“Deidara, how many times must I tell you,” Mother frowns and places her hands on his shoulders, “You must not talk about your father that way,”

The blonde scowls fiercely at the floor but doesn’t say anything. He does not want to have an argument with his mother over him again.

After a while, a gentle smile returns to her face, but there is worry in her eyes, “I’m just concerned. Doesn’t long hair get in the way of your training? I heard that shinobi with long hair often get them tangled in branches.”

Deidara huffs and puffs out his tiny chest, “Only amateurs do something as dumb as that, un. I’m gonna be the best out there, and then our art will be known across the Elemental Nation, yeah, and you’re gonna get tons of customers!”

His mother’s smile inexplicably turns sad, “Oh, my little bird.” She suddenly pulls him into a hug, “You’re working so hard for me. I wish I could… I just want to… If only I could do more, then maybe… maybe you wouldn’t have to become a shinobi at all.”

Deidara frowns and carefully hugs her back, “It’s ok, Mom. I don’t mind, un. Well, the Old Man is really naggy, Akatsuchi and Kurotsuchi can be annoying, but I’m learning a ton, yeah. I’ve learned a new way to make my sculptures fly now, yeah! I’ll show you!”

“My little bird,” She kisses his forehead.“I can’t wait to see it. I bet it’s the most beautiful explosion anyone has ever seen. I’m so proud of you.” She smiles at him with tear-stained lips.

When Deidara wakes up, his cheeks are wet with tears.

Chapter 14: Mounting Resistance

Chapter Text

For the next few days, Hermione makes no mention of teaching DADA to Harry. She does, however, keep an extra close eye on her friend. She’s going to give him some time to consider her idea, and, in the meantime, she and Deidara have their own project to look into regarding what to do about the Blood Quill.

Obviously, they cannot let Umbridge continue carving Harry’s hand bloody. Already, Hermione is afraid that those scars are never going to fade completely. Deidara tells her he can, in fact, keep destroying those quills, but he’s hesitant that it will only escalate what the woman’s willing to do to others once her favorite toy is taken away. While Hermione is certain that the Quill is banned, that still doesn’t explain where Umbridge keeps getting them, and the worst-case scenario is that the Minister knows about them too and is actively supplying her with more. That would make any sabotage effort from Deidara completely null.

“If she’s doing it without the Minister's knowledge,” Deidara clicks his tongue while watching his clay birds fly around, “It would make things so much simpler, yeah. It would mean I can keep destroying them and she won’t be able to investigate too deeply or she might risk people finding out she’s using banned Dark Objects to torture students, un.”

“But if the Minister knows and approves…” Hermione shudders and exchanges dark looks with Deidara.

It’s a horrible thought, their own government being so corrupted that torturing kids is okay in their book. Eleven-year-old Hermione might have been outraged at the mere suggestion that the Ministry is doing this, but now, she’s considering the possibility with extreme seriousness.

As a result, her research into Deidara’s homeland has taken a back seat to her research on the Blood Quill. Unfortunately, her effort has hit a dead end since no matter how much she learns, unless she can know for sure if Cornelius Fudge knows about the Quills, all of her knowledge is essentially useless.

Deidara is getting restless. By the second night when Harry comes back with a bloody hand, the blonde already looks like he’s ready to commit murder, and Ron looks like he’s perfectly willing to lend a hand. While it is heartwarming to see, she knows it’s not going to resolve anything.

Harry’s attitude towards the whole thing does not help much. She knows that he’s self-sufficient and reluctant to reach out for help, not that she blames him, considering all the times they had to solve the problems themselves before.

It all comes to a head on the third day at breakfast when Deidara declares he’s going to get himself detention with Umbridge, on purpose.

“Are you mental, mate?” was Ron’s very understandable reaction. Several of their housemates turn to look at them.

“Shut up, un.” Deidara hisses and kicks him under the table. “I just need to get some evidence about what’s going on, yeah, and I can ‘accidentally’ show the scar to Professor McGonagall while Umbridge is there to see it, un. Or, better yet,” Deidara grins widely, “I can just play the ‘clueless foreigner’ card and ask her if this is a normal thing here and then tell her that I’ll double-check with McGonagall because I don’t want to 'accidentally break the rules,' yeah.”

Admittedly, that does sound like a solid plan, and it is certainly better than no plan at all, but there are still several problems.

“You’ll be painting a target on your back!” Hermione says in a harsh whisper.

Harry continues her train of thought, “Not to mention, you’re talking about voluntarily getting yourself… cut up for this.”

“It’s cute you’re this worried, yeah.” He waves them all off. “But I can handle it, un. Besides, I’m not asking for permission, I’m just informing you of my decision, yeah.”

And that was the end of that.

Later, words spread around the school that the new foreign student had matched right up to Umbridge and loudly declared his opinion on You-Know-Who returning and called the Ministry ‘a bunch of incompetent morons.’ At least, that’s the gist of it without the cussings. This then devolved into a shouting match between the blonde and the Professor that landed him squarely in detention. Harry will have company tonight.

Deidara walks with Harry to Umbridge’s office in silence. He’s not afraid of what’s going to happen. He once lost both his arms in two battles, one after another with a period of three days spent in the Tailed Beast extraction ritual without any rest. A few scratches on his hand aren’t going to do anything to him at all. Harry, on the other hand, looks quite nervous. Although, Deidara bets good money it’s on his behalf and not the kid’s, which the blonde thinks is quite touching, if not necessary.

Umbridge’s office is… an abomination. As an artist, Deidara likes all colors and believes they can all be beautiful if utilized correctly. This… is just too much: the pink, the laces, the chinas, and the cats make him pause at the door for a solid second.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Akatsuki.” Chitters Umbridge who is sitting at a table also covered in pink.

“Good evening, Professor.” Both of them chant back at her and take a seat.

“You know what to do, Mr. Potter.” She tells Harry airily, and Deidara watches as Harry picks up his Blood Quill with gritted teeth.

Umbridge then turns to the blonde. “You will also be doing lines for me, Mr. Akatsuki. Use the quill I have given you, dear.”

“What do I write, un?” He asks and carelessly picks up the black quill.

“I believe ‘I must control my temper’ would be appropriate, dear.” She grins at him.

To keep up appearances, he reaches into his bag and pulls out his ink bottle, just for Umbridge to stop him, “Oh no, you won’t need that for this, Mr. Akatsuki.”

And so, he gets to work. It’s honestly fascinating how these quills work, and it is a reminder that despite how soft this world is, it can still be incredibly f*cked up. Magic allows people to be very creative, even in areas such as torture methods. The ‘I must control my temper’ lines appear on his parchment in what he knows to be his own blood, judging by the slight coppery smell, and followed soon after that is an itching sensation as his skin is cut open in his own handwriting. Truly diabolical stuff. Deidara would be impressed if this thing weren’t used on the kids.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Akatsuki?” Umbridge asks sweetly after he stops writing to stare at his hand. Deidara can tell she can barely suppress her own glee watching him bleed.

“Actually, yeah, Professor.” Deidara replies as calmly as he can, showing her his bleeding skin, “I’m sorry, but I can’t see how this is appropriate, yeah.”

Umbridge’s smile turns cold. Clearly, she never expected anyone to stand up against this, at least not directly to her face, before. She has amble cruelty, Deidara notes darkly, but not enough intelligence to do anything substantial with it. If she had been born in a Hidden Village, her cruelty would have been honed and polished into a fearsome weapon. Here, however, overt cruelty is frowned upon, and she has never had to deal with a shinobi before.

“I’m afraid this is an appropriate punishment for you, dear,” Umbridge says in her high-pitched tone. “You know you have done something wrong, and so you know you need to be punished.”

Deidara almost laughs if he’s not so angry. Harry is watching them with a clenched fist. His blood is dripping steadily onto his parchment.

“You went on and on about how we students won’t be harmed in school, but here you are, literally making us cut our own hands open. I’m pretty sure this is illegal, yeah.”

Umbridge’s false smile vanishes, and her face abruptly turns as pale as a sheet at the word 'illegal'. Bingo. It looks like she’s doing this behind the Ministry’s back after all.

Having gotten what he wanted, Deidara does his best not to let his victorious grin show on his face and turns away, not waiting for the woman to form a reply. “I’m reporting this.” Turning to Harry, he grabs the kid’s Quill and puts it with his own. “Come on, we’re done here, un.” The kid hurriedly stands up to join him.

Umbridge, finally snapping out of her shock, turns beet red, “You cannot just walk out of here, Mr. Akatsuki. This is detention!”

Not stopping at all, Deidara calls back, “I can if you’re torturing your students, yeah!” Before she can actually draw her wand, he tugged Harry out and slammed the door shut.

“Come on, “ Deidara urges as they break into a run, “Before she tries anything, un.”

The two of them don't stop running until they’re two stories away from the hellish pink office. Harry looks out of breath but is grinning from ear to ear.

“That. Was. Brilliant.” He pants, but he then looks a little worried.

“What’s wrong, yeah?” Deidara asks.

“Won’t this get McGonagall in trouble?” Harry says in a low whisper, “I mean, Umbridge’s High Inquisitor. She can sack anyone.”

“That’s why we’re not actually reporting this, un.” Deidara smiles, pocketing the stolen Quills.

“What? But, what are we going to do then?”

“Nothing, yeah.” Deidara chuckles ominously, “Did you see her face when I said the word ‘illegal?’ She went completely white. That means that she is doing this illicitly, and the Minister has no idea. As long as we have these,” He pats his bag where the quills are, “She won’t be able to do anything to us unless she wants us to actually report her.”

“But – That’s… Isn’t that blackmail?”

Deidara barks out a laugh. “Yeah, it is, un.”

Harry stares at him for another moment before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Ron’s right. If you were actually sorted through the Hat, you might be wearing green right now.”

The two of them begin to walk back to the Common Room, their spirits high. After a while, Harry speaks up, “I’m going to do it.”

“Do what, un?”

“Teach DADA.” Harry replies, “I’ve given it a lot of thoughts and, well. All of you are right. There’s a war coming, and I need to help as many people as I can. I do know how it feels to… to face down danger, and I can help others prepare for it.”

“That’s the spirit, yeah.” Deidara chuckles.

A beat of silence passes before Harry speaks up again, “I think you should teach, too.”

The blonde’s lips curl upward, “I’m already thinking about it, yeah. Hogwarts is great, but you guys are really lacking any sort of physical exercise, un.”

“... You’re not gonna make us run laps while shouting at us like a drill sergeant, are you?”

The two boy’s laughter can be heard echoing through the quiet corridors that night.

When Harry tells Hermione and Ron about what happened the next morning, the two of them look positively giddy. They both also seem very excited when Harry informs them that he has also decided to go with the idea of teaching people DADA.

“We need to figure out where to meet up and actually plan this,” Hermione says.

“I’m still not sure about telling others about this, though,” Harry tells her. “I mean, how many people would be interested in this? They all think I’m off my rockers.”

“Well, I think you’ll be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you’ve got to say,” Hermione says seriously. “Look, you know the first weekend in October is Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who’s interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?”

“Sounds like a good idea, yeah.” Deidara hums, “I’ve never been there before, is there a good place for this kinda thing, un?”

Hermione’s face adopts a contemplative look, “I was thinking… The Hog’s Head.”

“The Hog’s Head?” Ron mutters incredibly, “You mean that super shady pub on the outskirts of town? I don’t even think students are allowed in there.”

“We are allowed. I’ll have to double-check, but I’m sure there’s nothing in the rules that say we can’t.”

Deidara interrupts them, “No, that’s not a good idea, un.”

All three of them turn their wide eyes on him. “Why not?” Hermione asks, “It’s quiet, out of sight, and nobody here actually goes there. It’s perfect for secret meetings.”

“It’s precisely because no one goes there that it’s not a good idea, yeah. Think how suspicious it’s gonna look if suddenly a bunch of students just decide to come into a shady pub they don’t ever go to, un. Also, it’s very easy to be eavesdropped, too.”

Hermione frowns but nods contemplatively. “So, following that logic, would the Three Broomsticks work? It’s always very crowded during Hogsmeade weekends. Loads of students and teachers go there, and it can be very noisy.”

“But what if a lot of people show up?” Ron pipes in, “Wouldn’t it look suspicious if a large group of students just suddenly bunches together?”

Deidara hums, “That would still be less suspicious than a large group of students meeting in a shady pub, yeah. The way I see it, regardless of where we meet, we’re bound to draw some attention, un” He gestures toward himself and Harry, “So it’s better to do it in a place where being listened to is a lot harder, yeah.”

On the last day of September, Hermione comes up to Deidara where he’s researching McGonagall’s assignment in the library, her face set.

“What’s wrong, un?” He asks.

“You win.” She tells him.

“...Huh? Win what?”

“The bet, Deidara.” Hermione lets out a loud breath and sits down on the empty opposite of him, “I can’t find anything on Iwa at all. There’s quite a bit on Japanese secret societies, but none mentioned anything about wandless magic. There are a couple of times that ‘Chakra’ is brought up, but it’s nothing like what you’ve shown so far… I’ve even borrowed Harry’s cloak to visit the Restricted section, but still, nothing.”

Now Deidara is feeling a little bad. Hermione truly has no chance of finding his hometown in the first place, what with it being non-existence here, and now she looks quite miserable over it.

Not knowing how to make her feel better, he decides to change the subject, “You said you found something about ‘Chakra’?”

She nods, “It’s mostly a concept that’s used interchangeably with ‘Magic’ in Asia. You know, an internal form of energy that can be channeled outward to perform spells and such, nothing about utilizing hand signs like you do.”

“Yeah?” Deidara hums, his interest now piqued. “Does it say anything about the source of Chakra? Like, from inside the human body, I mean.”

The blonde shrugs, “I’m just asking because I’m quite curious about what allows certain people to do magic, yeah. Is it genetic? Pureblood families do seem to always have magical children, don’t they?” He asks, his mind drifting towards the concept of Kekkei Genkai back in his old world.

“Well, yes, but sometimes they have Squibs as well.”

“That can be explained as a mutation in the gene or something, un. Like how sometimes two Muggles have magical children, like you.”

Hermione’s face scrunches up, “I… have never really given it much thought… It’s possible, I suppose. There’s not a lot of books about the origin of magic…”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Deidara snorts, “Wizards seem to have a tendency of making baseless theories with nothing substantial backing it up, un.”

The bushy-haired girl smiles a little, “That they do. As much as I love the Magic Community, it did take me a while to get used to how they do things… My mom and dad are dentists, you see. They work on people’s teeth. Really precise and scientific stuff. I can’t really explain how magic works to them either.”

“Has anyone ever done a thorough examination between a wizard’s body and a Muggle’s?” Deidara wonders with a teasing grin, “Maybe you guys have an extra organ somewhere that allows you to do magic, yeah.”

Hermione, however, looks contemplative, “I’m pretty sure that’s not it… I’ve been X-rayed before when I accidentally broke one of my ribs falling off a swing, and if there was anything abnormal, I’m sure my parents would have noticed it.” She then looks very intently at him, “You said ‘you guys,’ like you’re not a wizard, too.”

Deidara internally curses his big mouth, “Did I?”

“You did.” She says firmly. Then, worryingly, her eyes light up, “Is that it? Do you have some kind of genetic mutation that allows you to perform magic in a completely different way?”

“Uh…”

But Hermione is now on a roll, “Is this Iwa a secret place within Magical Communities that allows people with these genes to safely practice magic? If that’s the case, no wonder your magic is so different. That would explain why you can't use wands. Also, when I tried to take apart that sculpture you gave me to analyze it, none of my spells would work on it. If the magic you use, this ‘Chakra’, is something completely different, then it can explain why –”

Deidara, now desperate for her to stop, exclaims, “– You took apart the cat sculpture I made for your birthday?”

Thankfully, that does the trick. Hermione’s face goes pink, “Um… Yes?”

The blonde stares at her and then snorts, “I should have known… Don’t worry, yeah, I can make you another one.”

“Thanks… But don’t change the subject!” She says, her face suddenly turns intense again, “Am I on the right track?”

Deidara begins to sweat. What should he say? Perhaps he can deny it entirely, but that likely will only make her even more suspicious and potentially drag others into this. Or, he can play it off as no big deal and hope that she’ll drop this on her own, which is also unlikely, judging from what he knows of how curious she can be.

“I don’t know about the ‘genetic mutation’ part,” Deidara asserts carefully, “but you are right that the kind of magic we perform is not the same as yours. Wands are useless to us, and we mostly use hand signs to perform Jutsu.”

“I already know that.” She retorts with a hint of impatience in her voice.

“Sorry, I can’t offer you any more than that, yeah.” He says firmly but lets a note of apologeticness bleed into his tone to pacify her. “All I know is that my magic is different. I’m clueless as to how and why, un.”

“But don’t you want to know?” Hermione asks. She doesn’t sound angry, just curious, which is a win in his book.

“Not really,” Deidara smiles ruefully down at the parchment containing his unfinished Transfiguration essay, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had quite enough of researching for class, yeah, I don’t really need more for my free time, too.”

Hermione frowns, riffles through a school bag, and puts a long scroll of parchment down in front of him, “Here, my Transfiguration homework, the first of many to come, as promised.”

Deidara stares at it, “You know… I was sort of kidding when I said you have to let me copy your homework, un.”

“Well, a bet is a bet, and you won fair and square. I have to keep my word.”

“... Even if you were to actually let me copy your homework, I won’t help you research wizard biology, yeah.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” She says stubbornly, “I can’t force you into something you don’t like,” the girl suddenly looks a bit mollified, “especially with something that’s a bit… invasive… I’m sorry if I came off as pushy. I’ll stop looking into it if you want.”

Hiding just how relieved he is, Deidara smiles and takes the offered parchment, “That would be for the best, yeah…” He glances at her work, which is written in neat tiny handwriting, no doubt containing a lot of her effort. “Are you still sure about this, yeah? I know how you feel about cheating…”

“It’s fine.” She confirms brusquely, “It’s like you said, you’re not actually here to study… It’s a bit unfair to force you to do this on your own, especially when most of this is probably useless to you anyway.”

Deidara lets out a laugh, “You’re right, you’re right. Just don’t regret it when Harry and Ron ask me to copy off of it, too, yeah.”

“Don’t push it, Deidara, I can always change my mind.”

Hogsmeade weekend arrives on a beautiful day with clear blue sky and a pleasant autumn chill. Deidara is actually looking forward to an opportunity to get out of the castle and relax. Hogwarts is great, but the amount of work he has to do is very annoying, and he had heard great things about the joke shop here from the twins.

But, before he can do that, he has a meeting to chaperone.

The Three Broomsticks, as Hemrione has described, is a very busy and rowdy place. It seems to be a favorite destination for students, teachers, and many townsfolk alike to get out of the autumn chill and hurdle together in the warm and cozy atmosphere of the bar. It is also very noisy with conversation, laughter, and patrons shouting out their orders.

“This is perfect, yeah.” Deidara grins, his blue eye sweeping the place.

“I don’t know…” Harry mutters, looking very nervous, “There are some professors here…”

“Just act natural, un.” Deidara grunts, pushing him forward, “Even if Umbridge herself is here, she can’t stop us from gathering in a place where students gather to have fun, yeah, and if anyone ask, we can tell them we’re thinking of creating a study group for the upcoming O.W.L.s, which is also not against the rules, right?”

Hermione shakes her head, “No, there’s no rule against inter-house study groups.”

“See? It’s perfect, un.”

They all make their way towards an unoccupied corner of the bar where the noise level is slightly lower. Sitting down, Deidara turns to see that Harry still looks very uncomfortable.

“So…” The kid whispers to Hermione, “How many people are coming?”

“Just a hand-full,” Hermione answers, her eyes scanning the entrance of the bar “I told them to be here about now and I’m sure they all know where it is – oh look, this might be them now –”

Deidara watches in amusem*nt as Harry grows paler and paler as student after student comes in, looks around, and makes a beeline toward the four of them. He recognized Neville, Dean, Lavender, Fred and George, Ginny, Parvati and who can only be her twin sister, and Luna Lovegood. He also recognizes some of Harry and Ron’s Quidditch teammates. There are eighteen of them in total, and they end up having to drag more chairs into the corner.

“A hand-full?” says Harry hoarsely to Hermione. “A hand-full?”

“Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,” Hermione replies happily, completely oblivious to the dark-haired boy’s plight.

A woman comes over to them with a grin, “Well well, you’re a rowdy bunch, aren’t you? What’s the occasion?”

Deidara is quick to answer, “We’re discussing a study group for O.W.L.s, yeah. Sorry if we’re taking up too much room, un.” He gives a bright grin.

The lady chuckles and waves her hand dismissively, “Oh, that’s sweet of you to worry, but it’s no trouble at all, dear. It’s important for young’uns like you to be so diligent. Now,” She flips open her notepad, “What can I get y’all?”

Fred and George are quick to take over, and soon enough, there is Butterbeer for everyone. Deidara sniffs at the drink but, to his disappointment, it’s not actually alcoholic.

Next to him, Harry is gripping his mug of drink like he’s also wishing for it to be alcoholic. “What have you been telling people?” He whispers harshly to Hermione, who begins to look a bit nervous, too.

“I’ve told you, they just want to hear what you’ve got to say,” says Hermione soothingly, although Deidara can’t tell if she’s trying to calm Harry or herself down. When Harry continues to look like he’s considering bolting out the nearest window, she adds hurriedly, “You don’t have to do anything yet, I’ll speak to them first.”

Deidara looks around. Their large crowd is drawing some curious looks, but most people don't bother giving them a second glance. He can’t sense anyone staring at them too closely. This is going fine so far.

He keeps half an ear on what the kids are discussing while discretely keeping a lookout on the entrance of the bar, keeping tabs on anyone who arrives and anyone who leaves. At one point, he sees Professor McGonagall walk in with Professor Grubbly-Plank. The stern woman sees them first. Catching her eyes, Deidara quietly shakes his head. The Professor gives him a look so dry, for a second he thinks he is back in the desert of Suna, and then she carefully steers her colleague in the opposite direction of the bar.

Deidara sighs softly, he’ll have to tell her what’s going on after this. Hopefully, being a part of the Order, she’ll understand.

He turns back to the discussion around him, it seems the conversation has turned from DADA to the death of Cedric Diggory and the validity of Harry’s claims. Predictable, but no less annoying.

Deidara clears his throat noisily. All eighteen (twenty-one counting Harry, Ron, and Hermione) pairs of eyes turn to look at him. “Regardless of whether Voldemort is back or not,” All of them flinch at the name, and he ignores them, “The point is to learn how to defend yourself properly, yeah. The Dark Lord isn’t the only threat out there, un. You’ve got serial killers, Death Eaters who haven't been caught, assholes who like to push people around, pedophiles, and Kami knows what else. Even if Voldemort isn’t back, I say we still have to learn how to defend ourselves, yeah.”

A beat of silence descends on their group, everyone thinking what he said over. The blonde Hufflepuff who was questioning Harry speaks up again, “Do you really believe him? About You-Know-Who being back?”

Deidara looked at the kid dead in his eyes, “Yes, I do, un. There’s a war brewing on the horizon, and I’d rather be prepared than not, yeah.”

Another beat of silence. The Hufflepuff still looks unsure, his eyes darting from Deidara’s dead serious face to Harry and back again.

“Well…” The boy mutters, “What makes him,” he jerks his head at Harry, “qualify to teach us, then?”

Both Ron and Hermione look ready to retort, but a girl with long plaited hair cuts in, “Is it true,” She asks, looking at Harry, “That you can produce a fully corporeal Patronus?”

To Deidara’s pleasure, the conversation turns into listing off Harry’s feats during his school years. The more people talk, the redder Harry becomes, but the crowd around him seems more and more impressed.

Harry, ever the modest kid, begins protesting all the praises that are being heaped onto him, but this causes the same Hufflepuff boy to jump in and accuse him of holding out on them, which in turn gets him threatened by Ron and the Weasley twins. It is honestly very amusing to watch.

His mind begins to wander again. How would he explain this to McGonagall? He doubts he can lie to her. All it would take for her to find out the truth is asking another student here. So, he’d have to tell the truth, and she’d try and stop them no doubt. However, there isn’t much she can actually do without exposing them to Umbridge, and Deidara is confident that would not happen. Ideally, he would convince her that what they are doing is a good thing and maybe even get her help to cover for them. It sounds unlikely, but Deidara just might be able to leverage McGonagall’s distaste for Umbridge to get her on board.

If McGonagall knows, the Order will know, too. Deidara can already imagine how they would react. Mrs. Weasley would try to stop them, but she, too, would not do anything too drastic for fear of getting them in trouble. Sirius, and maybe Lupin, would approve. The man isn’t afraid of causing trouble, and he wants Harry to prepare himself.

The real question is, how Dumbledore would react. The man is hard to read, and Deidara can only gauge the Headmaster’s reaction. The Headmaster was forced to give Umbridge the position of DADA professor and most likely does not want his students to sit on their thumbs while the war draws closer. Therefore, he probably won’t stop them. However, he is not likely to help, either. The man’s under far too much supervision from the Ministry to do anything overt. The best thing they can expect from the Headmaster is for him to turn a blind eye, which is not too bad an option.

Despite himself, Deidara feels a thrum of excitement. He’ll be sneaking around a huge castle underneath the nose of that old toad while teaching others how to fight. It’s not much, but it is a taste of his old life.

He is recalled to himself when Hemione jumps in for damage control and gets everyone to agree to take lessons from Harry. Getting people to put their name on a piece of paper is a strange decision, but, not wanting to question her authority in front of an already hesitant crowd, he takes the quill and signs his name without complaint. They’ll just have to take extra care of that.

Building a schedule that fits all of them is a lot more difficult. Deidara listens impatiently as the kids fuss over other commitments such as sports and other clubs. As a result, they can only spare one night per week for DADA lessons. The blonde idly chews on his clay as the discussion turns to where they are going to hold these lessons.

After listening to suggestions after suggestions, the blonde's mind wanders to the secret training room where he spends the majority of his time while sending clones to attend classes. It looks like he might have to sacrifice his little sanctuary for this.

These brats have better appreciate this.

Clearing his throat again, he says, “I think I know a good place, yeah.”

Chapter 15: Playing Ninja

Chapter Text

Harry is in an excellent mood all weekend. The knowledge that he and his friends are rebelling right under Umbridge’s nose is so powerful it keeps him happy even when he has to catch up on his mountain of homework. He keeps thinking back to the meeting and reliving every little detail: everyone eagerly listening to him and believing him, all of them signing up to learn defense. They didn’t think he was a raving liar but someone to look up to. It was… it was a wonderful feeling.

This is only compounded when Deidara leads them to his ‘secret room,’ a large room filled with everything they need for a DADA class.

“This is amazing.” Gasps Hermione as she runs her hand over the books on a large shelf. “How did you find this place?”

Deidara, who looks a bit confused as he looks at everything around him, says “Those weren’t there before, yeah. When I first found the room, it was just a large room with training mats, dummies, and ceramic supplies. You know, for my art, not… this.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asks, eyeing a dummy in a Death Eater costume warily, but before Deidara can answer, Hermione’s eyes light up.

“I bet this is the Room of Requirement!”

“The Room of what?” Asks Harry.

“It’s also called the ‘Come and Go’ room.” Hermione explains, “I heard that it only appears when someone really needs it, and it can change its content to suit the needs of whoever goes in.”

“Huh.” Deidara hums as he picks up a strangely shaped knife from one of the drawers, “So when I really wanted a training room and happened to walk past here…”

“It gave you a training room.” Hermione finishes excitedly, “And when you returned to this spot, you probably were expecting the same thing, so it kept giving you the same thing.”

“Yeah, makes sense, un. And now, since all of us want a place to practice DADA, it changes to fit that.” Deidara chuckles. “Have I ever told you how much I love this castle, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins brightly, “Hogwarts is the best.”

On Monday, however, his good mood vanishes.

He, Ron, Hermione, and Deidara see it right at the entrance of the Great Hall. A large new sign has been affixed there, being gawked at by a group of second-years. It is printed in large blocky letters with a very official-looking red seal stamped onto it.

EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO. 68

All Student Organisations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No Student Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

As Harry’s eyes travel down the notice, his mood drops lower and lower.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” He hisses through gritted teeth, “She knows.”

“No,” Deidara quietly rebutes. Strangely, he looks quite unbothered by this, “She only suspects, un.”

“What’s the difference?” Ron demands, “She still found out somehow. I bet that pompous prat Zacharia Smith snitched.”

Deidara shakes his head, “This is just her being paranoid after hearing about a bunch of students gathering in one place with you, yeah,” he gestures at Harry, “She has no evidence of anything fishy going on. If she did, she would have straight-up summoned all of us into her office and rub it in our face, not put up a preventative measure, un.”

“Deidara’s right,” Hermione nods, “Besides, if someone really went to her about this, we would know.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

“Well,” She shuffles on her feet, “I sort of put a hex on the paper that we used to sign our names on, and if someone snitched, well, let’s just say they’ll make Eloise Midgen’s acne look like a couple of cute freckles.”

Deidara laughs, “So that’s what it was for. I thought putting all of our names on a piece of parchment was a pretty stupid idea, yeah, but this is genius, un.”

Hermione blushes at the praise, looking very pleased with herself.

“Come on,” Urges Harry, “Let’s see what everyone else is saying.”

They do not have to wait for long to find out. It’s evident that everyone has seen the notice board as the moment the four of them sit down, they are surrounded by Neville, Ginny, Fred and George, and Dean.

“Did you see it?” Asks Neville nervously, his eyes darting up to the teacher’s table where, thankfully, Umbridge is absent.

“D’you reckon she knows?” Ginny whispers.

“She suspects, yeah, but she doesn’t know,” Deidara repeats what he told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The others look a little more relaxed but not by much.

“So, what should we do?” Fred asks.

They are all looking at Harry. He glances around to make sure there are no teachers near them. “We’re going to do it anyway, of course,” he says quietly.

“Knew you’d say that,” chuckles George as he slaps Harry on the arm.

“Ah f*ck,” Deidara mutters, his face screwed up in annoyance, “Everyone’s coming over. You dumbasses really don’t know subtlety even when it hits you over the head, yeah.”

Sure enough, Harry can see Ernie, Hannah Abbott, and a couple of Ravenclaws heading over. Before anyone can do anything, the blonde glares at them so harshly that they immediately stop in their tracks. After a few shoo-ing motions from him, all of them reluctantly shuffle back to their table.

“Idiots.” Deidara grunts.

Ginny leaves soon after that to warn her boyfriend in Ravenclaw. As Harry watches her go, he sees Cho and hopes that Umbridge’s warning won’t be enough to dissuade her from joining them. His bad mood plummets even further when Angelina tells him that they will have to talk to Umbridge to reform their Quidditch team. He has no doubt the toad is going to hold it over their heads for as long as she can possibly get away with.

Things do not improve when he sees Hedwig injured outside of Professor Binn’s class. Making up a hasty excuse to the ghost, he dashes out of the classroom towards the staffroom, hoping to find Professor Grubbly-Plank. Instead, he runs straight into Professor McGonagall.

“Potter?” She raises her eyebrow in surprise. Almost immediately, her expression darkens, “Don’t tell me you’ve landed yourself in detention again.”

“No, Professor!” He exclaims, “I’m looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank.” He carefully shows Hedwig to her, “My owl’s hurt.”

Thankfully, the Care for Magical Creatures Professor chooses that moment to make herself known.

“Did you say your owl’s hurt?”

“Yes, Professor,” He replies hurriedly and watches anxiously as the woman checks his snow-white owl over.

“Hm,” The Professor hums thoughtfully, “Looks like she was attacked by something… Can’t think of what though… Thestrals sometimes attack birds, but the herd here is trained not to go after Hogwarts owls…”

Professor McGonagall looks sharply at him, “Do you know how far your owl has traveled, Potter?”

“Uh…” Harry thinks quickly. There’s really only one place she could’ve gone to, “London, I think.”

From the way she immediately knits her eyebrows together, Harry knows she understands ‘London’ to mean ‘Number 12 Grimmauld Place.’

“Well,” Professor Grubbly-Plank speaks up, “You’re owl’ll be fine. I just need to keep her with me for a couple of days, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, uh, of course. Thank you, Professor.” He quickly says. The woman nods at him before disappearing into the room with Hedwig in tow.

“Hold on a moment!” Professor McGonagall calls out, “Potter’s letter!” She quickly reaches out and detaches the parchment from Hedwig before quickly handing it to Harry. He thanks her, but before he can walk away, the stern witch places a hand on his shoulder, halting him. She scans the corridor warrily before leaning closer to him. “Bear in mind,” She whispers urgently, her eyes on the scroll in his hand, “That channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched, won’t you?”

Before he can reply, she retreats into the staffroom, and the door closes, leaving Harry alone in the empty corridor.

“Of course your letters are being read, yeah.” Deidara scoffs from the armchair he is slouching in. Multiple white birds are flying in circles above him. Across the room, students who are aware of what his art really does are watching him warily. “Hell, all of our letters are likely being read, too, un.” He adds thoughtfully.

Ron and Hermione look up from the letter with twin frowns on their faces.

“This is too dangerous.” Hermione whispers, looking down at the parchment again, “‘Fireplace, tonight.’ He is obviously talking about reaching out through the Floo network. Anyone who reads this will know. What was Sirius thinking?”

“Not just anyone, un.” Deidara chimes in, tossing another clay bird at the ceiling which twitches to life mid-air and joins its three siblings, “Umbridge, yeah.”

Harry, whose face is getting paler and paler, balls the letter up in his hand and tosses it into the fire. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t stop him from coming, can we?”

Ron shakes his head, “Not unless you can figure out a way to magically send him a message right now, mate.”

Deidara straightens up in his chair, thinking. He stares into the dancing flames of the Gryffindor’s fireplace contemplative.

“I read about the Floo system, un.” He says, turning to Hermione, “You can assess any fireplace within the Floo network if you have the powder, right?”

“Yes, but you need to do it at another fireplace.” Hermione nods cautiously, “Why? What are you planning?”

“What happens if the fireplace you’re trying to reach is destroyed, yeah?”

“Well, then you won’t be able to connect at all, and nothing will happen.” She squints at him, “You’re not planning to blow up the Gryffindor’s fireplace, are you?”

“Of course not, un.” Deidara scoffs, “If I do that, Sirius won’t be able to talk to us, yeah, and it must be important if he’s being this reckless.” He smiles, and the three kids lean slightly backward at his slightly unhinged smile cast in the dancing flame, “I’m going to blow up Umbridge’s fireplace.”

Silence greets his declaration.

“No.” Hermione hisses, “No, absolutely not, you can’t!”

“Yeah, I can.” Deidara huffs, “I thought I had made that clear, un.” He looks over to Ron and Harry. To his satisfaction, both boys look like they’re considering it.

“Well,” Ron begins slowly, not meeting Hemrione’s eyes when she whirls to look at him, “I mean, you have done this kind of stuff before…”

“And you haven’t been caught…” Harry adds.

“That does not mean we should continue to tempt it,” Hermione says.

“Oh, ye of little faith, un.” Deidara smirks, “I’m not gonna be caught, yeah. Besides, this is an excellent opportunity for me to practice my art, and you’re not going to stop me, un.”

Hermione glares at him so fiercely he half expects her to set him on fire, but, eventually, knowing the futility of stopping him from making his art, she relents, “Fine. Can I at least know how you’re gonna do this?”

“What do you mean ‘how?’ I’ll just blow up her fireplace, yeah. I’ve already known where it is since I saw it during my last detention, so I won’t even have to break in or anything.”

“But she can very easily repair her fireplace even after you blow it up.” Hermione counters, “What are you going to do? Keep blowing it up after she fixes it?”

Deidara hums, “You know… I can absolutely do that, yeah.” He chuckles, “Imagine the look on her face!”

“This is serious!” The bushy-hair girl mutters angrily, “That’s too risky, and what if you accidentally hurt her?”

“So what if he accidentally hurt her?” Harry jumps in, “She’ll have it coming.”

“No,” Deidara says, suddenly serious, “Hermione’s right. Hurting her’s not a good thing, yeah.”

Both Ron and Harry look at him like he has grown a second head, not that he blames them. It does sound very insane coming out of his mouth. A younger him might have scoffed the same way Harry did, but he has learned to be less short-sighted.

“If something were to happen to Umbridge,” He explains, “She would raise hell over it. Hogwarts's already not in a good light in the Ministry’s eyes. If one of their beloved dogs got hurt in it, that could be grounds for a lawsuit, yeah.”

“Are you saying Fudge will try to cause trouble if Umbridge gets hurt?” Ron demands incredulously.

“Yeah,” Hermione answers darkly, “I can already see the headlines in the Daily Prophets,” Her voice raises into a scathing pitch, “ ‘High Inquisitor grievously injured while performing duties at Hogwarts, is the school too dangerous for staffs and students?’ The Ministry would have a field day with it.”

Silence descends.

“So…” Ron speaks up hesitantly, looking at Deidara, “What are you going to do?”

Deidara leans back against his armchair and stares up at the circling birds. “Well, if I can’t use my explosives directly, I guess I’ll have to get a bit more creative, un.” He tosses his ball of clay up in the air and brings his hands together in the confirmation seal, and the tiny ball expands into the size of a melon. “My clay can do more than just explode, yeah.”

Staking out in front of Umbridge’s office is as easy as he has predicted. It is made even easier by Harry’s Invisibility Cloak which was lent to him for this venture. He doesn’t even have to waste his Chakra on a Genjutsu. Listening to Umbridge's increasing struggle against the clay clogging up her fireplace is all the entertainment he needs to turn an otherwise boring affair into a funny one. The spells she casts serve as minor nuisances to keep him from completely checking out. Eventually, the woman begrudgingly steps outside, no doubt trying to get some assistance. Deidara wishes her luck. No one in this castle has any fondness for her at all, especially after her inspections.

He watches her walk away as fast as she possibly can from a dark corner and eyes the now-empty office. Deidara quietly slips inside. The room is just as nauseously pink as he remembers. Not wanting to waste time, he walks right over to her desk and starts rifling through documents and papers. A lot of it is things related to the inner workings of the Ministry. He spots a couple of Daily Prophets articles dating until last summer, most of them featuring the smear campaign against Dumbledore and Harry.

He finds the letter from the Minister approving her for the position of High Inquisitor, lovingly preserved with not a single cease on it. He gags silently and drops it back into the drawer. He can find no personal artifact, nothing about her private life outside of work. What a boring woman.

However, he does find something quite alarming, a draft letter asking for permission for harsher punishments on ‘delinquent students,’ and an appeal for a stricter dress code for everyone. Deidara carefully picks that up and gives it a quick read. Sure enough, the letter heavily features him and Harry as the ‘delinquent student,’ with the blonde’s ‘unseemly long hair’ as an excuse for a dress code. Deidara scowls. If the hag really is going to make him cut his hair… Well, Dumbledore would have to find himself a new DADA professor before the school year ends.

He hears footsteps approaching. Judging from the sounds, it’s Umbridge and Professor Flitwick. Not wasting another second, he pockets the draft letter and jumps onto the ceiling, careful not to let the Invisibility Cloak slip.

He watches as the Charms Professor gives a few half-hearted tries to get the clay out of the fireplace before declaring defeat. Instead, he begins asking her questions about why she needed the fireplace so badly. The conversation is short-lived as Umbridge quickly dismisses the shorter man, the sickly sweet smile on her face looks more like an angry grimace. Deidara smirks as he slips out unseen alongside Professor Flitwick.

His good mood does not last long as he remembers the unsent letter in his pocket. He has delayed it somewhat by stealing the letter, but for how much longer can he stall? With how much the Minister seems to hate Harry and Dumbledore, he has no doubt Umbridge’s suggestions will be approved. When that happens, the Blood Quills will be in use again, and the threat of blackmail will be useless. How long would it take for him to have to use more drastic measures?

The image of Harry’s bleeding hand comes into his mind, and the letter is crumbled up in Deidara’s clenched fist.

When morning comes, the story of how Professor Umbridge’s fireplace exploded has already made its way around the student population of Hogwarts. Allegedly, last night, something blocked off her fireplace, and after trying and failing to unblock it, she stepped outside to request assistance. None of the other professors has been much help, for some mysterious reasons, not even Professor Flitwick who is an expert at this kind of stuff. Allegedly, Umbridge has continued to struggle with her fireplace without giving any reason why she needs it so badly or why she can’t just use the one in the common staff’s room. Then when morning came and Umbridge finally left defeated, the fireplace blew up right behind her back.

Now, this is the second time something inside of Umbridge’s office has blown up, and the students are beginning to theorize that someone is behind both instances. It has to be someone crazy enough not only to do it once, but twice.

Once again, no matter how hard Harry, Ron, and Hermione pry, Deidara refuses to say a word about how he did it.

Not that Harry can get annoyed at him. The blonde has, after all, given him an opportunity to talk to Sirius. He did not realize how much he missed his Godfather until the man’s head appeared in the fire last night. Thanks to Deidara, they were able to talk uninterrupted, and he very nearly stayed up all night catching him up to what was going on at Hogwarts and their plan for the DADA secret meetings.

However, he does notice the blonde is not as smug about his feat this time around. In fact, he seems almost… worried. His friends notice it, too.

“She didn’t see you, did she?” Hermione whispers at him in Charms. The classroom is even noisier than usual today with croaking bullfrogs, cawing ravens, and the loud beatings of raindrops on the window, making it the perfect place for hushed discussions.

“Of course not, un.” Deidara looks very insulted at the notion, “Who do you take me for? An idiot?” His face immediately turns neutral, and he goes back to waving his wand at the bullfrog when Professor Flitwick walks past them.

After a beat of silence, Deidara pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to them, “Here,” He says gruffly, “Take a look, yeah.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately huddle together to peer at the piece of paper.

“That hag!” Ron hisses venomously.

“She can’t be serious.” Hermione whispers, “She’s petitioning for torture to be used against students. Surely the Ministry wouldn’t approve of this, right?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Says Harry darkly, glaring at the white scars on his hand, “They just might hate me enough to agree to it.”

The rest of Charm passes in silence between the four of them.

When lunch comes around, Harry finally receives some good news from Angelina about reforming their Quidditch Team. It seems like the Captain has taken matters directly to McGonagall, who was able to pressure Umbridge into approving it.

However, this bit of good news does not keep his mood up for long when he finds Hermione staring unseeingly out the window.

“What’s up with you, Hermione?” Asks Ron.

She doesn’t turn to look at them, “... I was just thinking…”

“About what?” Harry asks, “The letter? Snuffles?”

“No, not exactly,” She says slowly, “I’m just wondering… about whether what we’re doing is the right thing… starting this DADA club.”

The three boys stare at her in disbelief.

“You’re kidding, right?” Deidara says, “Tell me you’re kidding, yeah.”

“This whole thing was your idea in the first place!” Ron whispers harshly.

“I know, I know,” Hermione swallows, “It’s just that… after the conversation with Siri - Snuffles…”

“But he was all for it!” Harry says.

“Yes, he did.” Hermione frowns and turns to look out the window again, “That’s why I’m rethinking this…”

Harry can not believe what he’s hearing. “So, let me get this straight,” He bristles, “You’re rethinking this entire thing, which was your idea in the first place, because Sirius says we should do it?”

“Not just because of that, but yes,” Hermione says tensely, “I’m also thinking about the letter, too.”

“Oh, so you’re also afraid of punishment, un.” Deidara sneers, “I thought Gryffindors are known for their bravery, yeah.”

“Bravery is one thing, but recklessness is another!” Hermione says hotly, “Umbridge can torture us if she catches us, think about it for one second!”

“I have thought about it!” Harry retorts, waving his scarred hand at her face, “Every time I look at my hand!”

Hermione’s red face turns pale, “Then you have to know that’s what’s awaiting everyone in the club if we’re caught. Do you honestly want that to happen?”

For a split second, the image of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Fred and George, and Cho with bleeding hands flashes across his mind, and he feels vaguely ill. For a moment, he can understand Hermione’s reservation.

“When we set out to set up this club,” Deidara begins slowly, “We’ve always known there’s a risk, yeah. Are you really going to turn back now, when we’ve come so far, yeah? Are you really going to roll over for that toad? I know her type, un. You give up now, and she’ll continue to reign unchallenged. She’ll still use those f*cking Quills on whoever she wants, yeah. She’s a f*cking tyrant, and there’s really only one way we deal with those, yeah.”

With that, he stands up and leaves them. His single bright blue eye darkens with storm clouds.

After all of that, his scar flaring up in pain is the last thing Harry needs. Something is happening with Voldemort that causes him such intense anger, and yet, there is a hint of anticipation mixed in it, too. Harry shudders to think about it. That night, when he dozes off in front of the fireplace trying to read his textbook, his dreams once again take him back to that strange windowless corridor. He’s so close to the black door at the end. If he can just reach out…

He’s standing somewhere else now, somewhere new. The walls and ceilings are different from the dark corridor. This place is well-kept with elaborate decor and sculptures lining the spotless room. On the far wall of the room, above the fireplace, he sees a large painting of three people. The woman has long black hair, but the two men have platinum blonde hair. Harry knows them.

He does not linger long in the room. He’s walking down flights of stairs, deeper and deeper underground until he reaches the very bottom. Here, the basem*nt has been converted into a dungeon. He walks past many cells, some empty, some not, to the very end of the corridor.

There, behind thick bars, chained a man dressed in a dark cloak. Under the dim torchlight, he can not make out much of the man, but he can see short black hair, and strange lined scars on the right side of his pale face. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises steadily like he’s in a deep sleep. The flickering light grows brighter, and Harry can make out more of the cell. From floor to ceiling, the cell is covered in delicate symbols drawn in black ink. They are strangely familiar to him. Harry wonders where he has seen them before.

The man remains unresponsive as he draws closer and is unlikely to wake up anytime soon. He feels his temper rising. His patience is running out. This has been a stretch from the very beginning, an experiment with some old artifacts found in the Malfoy Manor. Some fools have thought that they can summon a demon to add to his army, and all they had to show is… this. How pathetic. If this creature does not make itself useful soon…

Harry wakes up on the carpet floor, his textbooks next to him. His head feels like someone has been hammering a hot nail into it. Despite the pain, he finally remembers where he has seen those strange symbols: He has seen Deidara write them whenever he practices his English.

Chapter 16: Partners, Companions, Friends

Chapter Text

Deidara shunshins directly away from the Common Room into Dumbledore’s office, subtlety be damned. He knows Harry will have a lot of questions for him later, but, right now, he could not care less about that.

“Where’s Malfoy Manor, un?” He demands as he marches up to the Headmaster, who does not show any signs of surprise at his abrupt entrance. The portraits above chitter angrily at him, but he ignores them all.

“Malfoy Manor?” Dumbledore asks, his eyebrows raised, “Why would you want to know that, Mr. Deidara?”

“Harry had a dream.” Deidra explains impatiently, “He saw a man kept in the dungeon of the manor. I believe that’s my partner, or, at the very least, someone from my world, yeah.”

The Old Man’s blue eyes drill into his own. Deidara stares back at him as realization dawns, “You knew.”

“I suspected, yes.” Dumbledore nods, “Severus reported back to me a few days ago about an experimental summoning ritual conducted at the Manor. The Death Eaters believed they were summoning a demon to aid their ranks, but only a scarred man came out of the ritual. We have been conducting a plan to get him out of there and back to Headquarters.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Deidara shouts, his voice trembling with rage.

“I did not feel the need to burden you with the knowledge,” Dumbledore says calmly, “Especially when there is nothing we can do about this yet.”

“Bullsh*t,” Deidara hisses, “It’s f*cking simple: Just grab him and go, yeah.” Someone shouts at him to mind his language, he shoots the portrait a look poisonous enough to curdle milk, “And you have no right to keep me in the dark about this, yeah. I am not a child, dammit, and this is my business, un.”

“I apologize for keeping this information from you, Mr. Deidara,” Dumbledore says solemnly, “But I’m afraid getting your friend out is not as simple as you think.”

“He’s not my friend,” Deidara protests automatically before quickly getting back to the point, “And why is it so complicated, yeah?”

“I can not risk Severus’s identity as a spy, Mr. Deidara. Unfortunately, the Order can not take drastic actions right now.”

“... The Order can’t, but I can, yeah.” Deidara argues, “Just give me the location of Malfoy Manor, and I’ll get the idiot out myself, un.”

Dumbledore stares at him for a long moment, his fingers laced together, “I hope you understand you’re asking me to let you go to the hideout of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, where if something happens to you, there will be nothing I or the Order can do for you, yes?”

“Yes, I know,” Deidara replies steadily.

Another moment of silence passes where the blonde has the distinct feeling of Dumbledore trying to see into his soul. The artist does not shy away.

“Very well.” The Headmaster says gravely and pulls out a small piece of parchment. Before giving it to Deidara, the Old Man peers at him intensely, “Remember, Mr. Deidara, the safety of the Order comes first. No matter what you do, you must not blow Severus’ cover, and you can not lead them back to us. Do you understand?”

Feeling very much like a Jonin accepting his first S-rank mission again, Deidara nods solemnly, “I know, un.”

The piece of parchment lands on his palms like a piece of lead. Giving the Headmaster one last look, Deidara shunshins out of Hogwarts entirely.

The sky of England is clear today with large white clouds drifting lazily across the sky. It’s a wonderful day, and many people are taking advantage of the rare break from the rain to go outside. It’s the perfect condition for a flight across the country.

Deidara sits on top of his giant clay bird, watching the landscape below zipping by distractedly. His mind is busy replaying the conversation between him and Harry this morning in the Common Room. It was unbelievable, and Deidara initially thought Harry was out of his mind. However, as soon as he remembers that the kid has had dreams like that before, and the fact that there was no way in hell he could make something like that up, he immediately left the kid in the Common Room and went to Dumbledore.

His mind now whirls with possibilities. According to Snape’s intelligence, the ritual has taken place only a few days before, much later than his own arrival to this world. Does that mean Tobi actually survived the explosion and only died a couple of days ago? Or did he die then and somehow these Death Eaters managed to summon him from the after-life? Hell, did he even die at all? For all he knows, death isn’t a requirement to get to this world. Was his moronic partner just prancing around like a headless chicken as usual before these guys snatched him up?

Too many questions and no answers. Deidara regrets not looking at the damaged seals that brought him here before. He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter now. He can do that after he gets Tobi out of there.

This brings him to another question. Is whoever chained up in that basem*nt even Tobi? Deidara has never managed to see his partner’s face, but he has caught glimpses here and there when Tobi gets comfortable enough to eat around him. He has seen the scars on the right side of his lips, and Tobi himself said he had scars on his face. Harry’s description of the man’s short hair, pale face, and strange scars is far too much to be a coincidence. It has to be Tobi. It has to.

He has arrived.

Deidara looks down at the Manor from high above and bemoans the fact that he no longer has his eye scope and can’t make out much from this distance. Even then, this place has so much land surrounding it that he should not have any trouble finding a discreet place to land and close the distance on foot.

That’s exactly what he does. While he is no master at genjutsu, he did not make it as an S-rank missing-nin without knowing the basics, and a simple illusion is enough to keep him from being noticed in a world without Chakra. There are, surprisingly, no guards on the premises at all. However, in a world where houses can be charmed to guard themselves, having patrols can be redundant. Also, considering the fact that the people here are trying to hide their terrorist organization from the world, having guards posted outside might draw unwanted attention.

Whatever the case, it makes it easier for Deidara to walk right up to the giant building. He assumes that he won’t have as smooth a journey once he steps inside, the interior of Grimmauld Place fresh in his mind. As a precaution, he henges into a plain-looking civilian he once saw during his brief time in Muggle London. It’s best not to let anyone here see what he truly looks like.

He is now right up against the exterior wall of the Manor next to a tall window. Peering inside, he can see dark walls lined with torches, statues, and various other things rich people use to decorate their houses. There’s not a soul insight. Deidara frowns, one big disadvantage about this world not having Chakra is he cannot sense anyone at all, and is therefore confined to using his sense of hearing and smell to keep a lookout. Granted, as a shinobi, his senses are sharper than most, but still, it can be risky.

Deidara considers his options. He knows a place like this has to have wards protecting it against outsiders. As this place uses a somewhat similar hiding method to Grimmauld Place, he has already bypassed most of them simply by being told the location. That still leaves whatever ward that can alert people whenever someone enters the property. Hopefully, while he can’t avoid the ward’s detection, he can slip by using a strong enough genjutsu to fool whoever comes looking for him.

With that, he carefully slips a kunai into the crack of the window, and, after a few seconds, he is inside the house. Not wasting another moment, he closes the window, picks a random direction, and heads off. Deidara does not have a lot of directions to go off of, but the fact that Tobi is located at the very bottom floor of the house should be enough to go off of. He just needs to find a staircase and go down until he sees something that looks like a prison.

A couple of minutes into his journey, Deidara hears footsteps and voices coming towards him. He quickly jumps onto the tall ceiling and crouches there, listening intently.

“– Slow down, Lucius,” A tired-sounding male voice echoed through the corridor, “Think about this for a moment, would you?” Deidara pauses at the name. That’s Lucius Malfoy, the master of this Manor and father of Draco Malfoy. He has heard enough stories from Harry and the Weasleys to

“I know what the wards detected, Dolohov.” Another male voice rings out. This one is a lot more pissed off, “If someone has managed to –”

The first voice, Dolohov, cuts in, “– And who in their right mind would make such a blatant attempt to break in the Malfoy Manor, huh?”

Lucius Malfoy says nothing in return. After a moment, the two men come to a stop right below where Deidara is standing.

“This is where the ward indicates the intruder is,” Lucius mutters, his wand out and at the ready. Deidara narrows his eye. So the ward can tell them where he is. That makes things a bit more complicated.

“There’s no one here, Lucius,” Dolohov says exasperatedly with his wand held loosely at his side. “The wards can make mistakes, you know that.”

“They could be under a particularly powerful Disillusion Charm,” The pale blonde man draws, slowly spinning in a circle, “There’s a simple enough spell to reveal that –”

Not wanting to test out if his genjutsu can stand up to whatever Lucius’s about to do, Deidara shunshins away before the man can even wave his wand.

He lands in the direction where the two Death Eaters have come from and continues down that way. From their conversation, it seems the only one who is really taking this break-in seriously is Lucius himself. The other man does not sound like he believes anyone would be crazy enough to infiltrate the place so blatantly. That’s good news. The only thing he has to worry about is the ward giving away his location, but as long as he can utilize shunshin effectively, he can stay one step ahead.

It does not take long for him to locate the stairs and begin heading down. The further he descends, the more his heart begins to hammer in his chest. A part of him still can’t believe he’s doing all of this for Tobi of all people, but he can’t lie to himself and say the prospect of seeing his partner again doesn’t make him happy. Maybe it’s the idea of not being alone in this world anymore and having someone who really knows who he is that’s so appealing. Whatever the case, the idiot has better appreciate all his hard work and grovel at his feet in gratitude when this is over.

It’s getting colder and darker the lower he goes. Eventually, when he hits the very bottom, his breath is coming out in steam. This must be some kind of spell designed to keep their prisoners weak and miserable. Deidara has to admit, it’s quite clever. Unlike the upper floors, there are actually a couple of guards posted here, but neither of them has much chance to react when he stabs one in the neck with a kunai and throws another one at the other man, killing both of them instantly.

To Deidara’s displeasure, the kills do not go unnoticed. A few people in the closer cells begin to draw nearer. Their gaunt faces stare back at him in caution. The blonde gives none of them any thought, his eye is fixed on the cell at the very end of the dungeon. He can sense it, Chakra. After weeks of living in this world, a flicker of Chakra that is not his own feels foreign to his own senses, but it is unmistakable. Deidara recognizes that Chakra signature, too. It’s Tobi.

Almost like he is in a trance, Deidara’s feet carry him closer. He can make out the silhouette of a man chained up on the far wall. His features are distorted and ghostly in the flickering fire of the torches. Deidara is right up against the cell bars now. He dimly makes out the markings of a sealing technique sprawling across every flat surface, but he does not pay them any attention.

The cell has no lock or any discernible way to open. Deidara assumes some kind of spell is required for this. Also, he is certain that some sort of alarm will go off when he forces his way in, which means he has limited time to figure out a way to get Tobi and himself out. They are deep underground, and there’s only one staircase that leads upward, which makes escaping undetected with a comatose person near impossible.

Deidara did not come all this way to give up. He’s so close. Fine then, he thinks fiercely as he digs his hands into his pockets of clay, Sooner or later, they’ll find out their prisoner is gone anyway, so might as well go out with a bang!

And so, Deidara throws subtlety to the wind and blows up the cell bars. Almost immediately, alarms ring out. The artist lets out a laugh. Oh, how he’s missed this feeling of adrenaline pumping in his veins. He makes quick work of the chains holding Tobi and the man slumps forward. Deidara can barely make out any of his features as he has to support the idiot, who is both taller and heavier than him.

There will be time for him to look to his heart’s content later. Now, he needs to get them both out of here.

This place is too narrow for him to utilize his flying birds properly, so he’ll have to settle for making a Hippogriff, at least until he makes it outside. Carefully securing Tobi’s dead weight on the animal with extra clay and making sure his own Henge is still holding, he begins to run for the entrance.

They make it halfway up the stairs when the first group of Death Eaters come upon them. Not giving them a chance to react, Deidara sends a couple of birds at them and watches as the men disappear in a glorious blaze. The bright flash of true art burns itself into his soul, the smell of smoke and burned flesh surrounds him, and his laughter drowns out their screams of pain.

These Death Eaters might have been good, but they have never faced a shinobi with Chakra before, let alone an S-rank missing-nin. With the element of surprise firmly on his side, Deidara gleefully makes quick work of any Death Eaters unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Deidara is grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Oh, how he has missed this. Even when he can’t use his bigger explosives, the sight and sound of his clay going off is pure euphoria. Laughter pours unrestrained from his lips as he blows a hole into the side of the Manor. He can hear panicked and enraged voices behind him, but it is too late for them. By the time the Death Eaters have made it to the destroyed wall, Deidara is already a tiny white dot on the sky with Tobi.

Just to make absolutely sure no one would follow him back to Grimmauld Place, Deidara guides his white bird in the opposite direction. Here, hundreds of feet in the air, the blonde finally has the peace and quiet to take a proper look at his former partner.

It’s surreal, Deidara thinks, like a dream almost, to look upon Tobi’s naked face. He briefly feels like a kid doing something he’s not supposed to. Naturally, his eye is immediately drawn to the right side of his face where it is marred by strange spirally scars, almost like the pattern on his swirly mask. Unable to help himself, Deidara reaches out a hand to poke at it.

The rest of his face looks… normal. His skin is quite pale, probably a result of covering himself up so much and not getting enough sunlight. Tobi also looks a bit older than he thought. He looks peaceful when he sleeps, his thick black eye lashes resting over his cheeks and short black hair waving in the wind… Dare he says, Tobi looks pretty… handsome.

‘Ugly’, my ass. Deidara blushes and scowls heavily, remembering a conversation between the two of them when the blonde got fed up and tried to physically remove his partner’s mask. Tobi dramatically flailed away from him while exclaiming that he was too ugly to show his face at the top of his lungs. What a liar.

Now feeling vaguely like a creep for staring so much at his unconscious partner, Deidara quietly turns his back and focuses on flying, while trying his best to ignore the other man.

It is near dusk when Deidara deems it safe enough to circle back to Grimmauld Place, and by the time he lands at the front porch, the sky is already dark. After a bit of a struggle, Deidara manages to haul Tobi into the dark hallway of the Order’s Headquarters. Unfortunately, he knocks over the umbrella stand with Tobi’s leg, and the portrait of Sirius’ mother starts screaming profanities at him.

“Filthy Muggles!” The woman screams, “Disgusting creatures! Defiling the halls of my home –”

“Shut up!” Deidara shouts right back, but he is unable to wrestle the curtains close as he needs both arms to support Tobi. “You f*cking bitch! You’re lucky my hands are full right now –”

“Deidara!” exclaims Sirius, who quickly dashes over to yank the curtain close and extinguish his mother’s ear-piercing screeches. “You’re back! And you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay, yeah.” Deidara scoffs, “Now give me a hand with this idiot, un.”

Sirius, seemingly just now noticed the unconscious body slumped over the blonde’s shoulders, quickly helps him carry Tobi to the couch where they unceremoniously dump him there.

“So…” Sirius huffs, “That’s the mysterious partner of yours.” He leans closer to the man, “Those are some nasty scars.”

“They’re not that bad, un,” Deidara, who has seen way worse, just shrugs. “Now, where is Madam Pomprey? I need her to take a look at this moron and wake his lazy ass up, yeah.”

Sirius gives him a strange look. “She’s still at Hogwarts taking care of the students, but I’m sure we can figure something out. Wait here, I’ll contact the others that you’re back.”

The man walks out of the room, leaving Deidara alone with Tobi once again. The blonde drags the armchair closer and peers down at the other man’s sleeping form. It’s going to take a while before Deidara can ever get used to looking at his face and not seeing the stupid orange mask. It’s sort of… strange. Deidara isn’t sure if he likes it yet.

An absurd thought hits him. What if the idiot gets pissy because I saw his face? After all, he went out of his way to hide it, and that option was ripped out of his hand. What if he’s no longer comfortable around me? What if he wants to leave?

The thought makes him feel extremely unpleasant, and the fact that he even feels that way in the first place pisses him off.

Kami, he hates dealing with feelings.

Thankfully, at that moment, Kreacher walks in. Deidara has seen the house elf skulking around in his dirty pillowcase before, always muttering and mumbling while assuming no one can hear him. Deidara’s sure that even without the keen senses of a shinobi, he would still be able to hear him clearly.

“Filthy disgusting… thing,” The house elf glares at him, “Dragging his trash into Mistress’s house. Oh, if she sees the state of this place.”

Deidara watches as the elf stalks closer to him and Tobi like he wants to take a look. Frowning, the blonde detonates a small spider at the elf’s feet, scaring him away.

“Mind your own business, un.” He growls, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, yeah?”

“Oh course, of course,” Kreachers mutters, the rest of his insults fading away as the thing skulks out of sight.

The blonde sighs and glances back at Tobi who is still oblivious to the world. Would he be upset that more people would see his face? It’s not like he has a choice, he needs to be looked at to make sure there’s nothing wrong with him. The idiot has been dragged into a new world and held prisoner by those Death Eaters for two whole days. Kami knows what they could have done to him.

Fortunately, he does not have to wonder for long. The front doors open again, and he can hear footsteps, both of which he’s very familiar with. Deidara stands up just as Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey enter the room and Sirius returns to join them.

“Ah, Mr. Deidara,” Greets the Headmaster while the medic goes straight for her patient, “It’s good to see that your mission was successful.”

“Of course it was, un,” Deidara grunts distractedly, he’s more focused on watching the nurse wave her wand in front of Tobi. “Is he okay, yeah?”

“He doesn’t seem to have any physical injuries, no.” Madam Pomfrey says, “Mentally, however…” She casts a furtive glance at the blonde before looking at the Headmaster.

“Go ahead, Poppy, Mr. Deidara would want to know.”

“Very well,” The nurse says, looking unhappy, “I have no way of determining his mental state. Much like you,” she glances at Deidara, “he can just be unconscious for a few days, and that would be perfectly normal. However… since he’s held captive by Death Eaters…” She again casts a hesitant look at Deidara, who glares back impatiently.

“So basically we don’t know until he wakes up, yeah.” He frowns and sits back down, “Is there anything you can do to wake him up, un?”

“I’m afraid not,” The nurse shakes her head. “Much like with you, none of the basic spells worked, and his condition is too delicate for anything too complicated. It’s best if we just give him a few days. He’ll most likely wake up on his own, like you did.”

“So we can do nothing but wait. f*cking amazing, yeah.” The blonde grumbles and slumps back down the armchair.

“Well,” Sirius claps his hands together, “I’ll move him down to the basem*nt then. Molly is coming to keep an eye on him so that you can return to Hogwarts, Poppy.” As he carefully slips Tobi’s arm around his shoulder, an act made easier by the fact Sirius is a good bit taller than Deidara, the man grins at the blonde, “Your friend’s in good hand!”

Deidara recalls Mrs. Weasley feeding everyone in the house and chuckles. He has no doubt. He goes to help Sirius get Tobi down to the basem*nt. When the idiot is set comfortably on the bed, Sirius turns to Deidara with a grin. “So, I heard you’ve been looking out for Harry.”

“Yeah,” Deidara shrugs, “It’s not that hard, un. Especially since helping the kid out means pissing off that old toad, yeah.”

Sirius lets out a barking laugh, “Prongs would have loved you, kid.” He chuckles nostalgically, “I also heard you helped secure the fireplace for us to talk. I appreciate that a lot. Thank you.”

Deidara, unused to such sincerity, flushes and looks away, “Like I said, doing that means that I get to mess with the toad, so it’s no problem anyway, yeah.”

Sirius chuckles knowingly, “Well, thank you anyway. I hope you caused that old hag as much trouble as possible.” The man turns to peer at Tobi again. “So, what’s the story here?”

“Story?”

“You know, what’s the deal with your friend here?”

“He’s not my friend, un.” Deidara replies automatically and blushes when Sirius gives him a pointed look, “We used to be partners in this organization and spent a lot of time together, un. My… concern… for the moron is sorely because he would make a fool out of himself if I take my eyes off of him for more than a second, yeah.”

Sirius snorts in amusem*nt, “Sure… You dropped everything to infiltrate the hideout of Who-Know-Who and fought his Death Eaters to rescue your not-friend.”

Deidara feels his face growing hot, “Shut the hell up, yeah.”

Sirius laughs then breaks off into a yawn, “Ahhh, it’s getting late. You should get some sleep. You don’t want to doze off in class tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?” Deidara frowns, “I’m not going back to Hogwarts tomorrow, un.”

“Huh? Of course you are. You’ve already missed a whole day of class. Normally, I wouldn't get on your case about it, but with everything going on, you can’t miss any more.” Sirius says.

“Like hell I can’t, yeah! I’m not leaving until this idiot wakes up, un.”

Sirius knits his brows together, “We don’t know when he’s gonna wake up, Deidara. You were out for almost a week. You can’t be absent at Hogwarts for that long, Dumbledore won’t allow it.”

Deidara scowls defiantly at the man. After a beat of silence, he turns on his heels and dashes upstairs where he finds Dumbledore in a discussion with Mrs. Weasley who has just arrived.

Completely ignoring the Weasley matriarch, he glares at Dumbledore and says, “I’m not going anywhere until Tobi wakes up, yeah.”

“Deidara dear!” The red-haired woman exclaims in surprise, but the Old Man looks as calm as ever.

“The whole school has already noticed your absence, Mr. Deidara.” The Headmaster says, “Professor Umbridge has certainly taken note of it. I have managed to stall her questions by telling her I’ve granted you emergency permission to leave due to unforeseen private matters. However, I’m afraid that can only hold her off for so long.” Dumbledore leans forward, “She seems very eager to have an excuse to expel you. I’m sure Harry and his friends would be very upset to see you go, Mr. Deidara.”

Deidara glares at him heatedly, but before he can say anything, the Headmaster continues, “Your partner is in good hands, Mr. Deidara. We will take care of him just as we have taken care of you. I’m sure Molly will not let him out of her sight for a second too long.”

Mrs. Weasley nods reassuringly at him, “I’ll make sure your friend has everything he needs, dear.”

“He’s not my friend, un.” Deidara snaps, still glaring at Dumbledore, but he knows the Old Man is right. He has left without warning, and everyone has noticed his absence in Hogwarts. Without him there, Kami knows what sort of sh*t the three kids will get themselves into, and he cannot let Umbridge go unchecked for that long. Also, he knows he can trust Tobi in Mrs. Weasley’s hands. Can he trust Tobi to cooperate when he wakes up is another matter…

“If it helps,” Mrs. Weasley says slowly, “I’ll be happy to pass on whatever message once your… companion wakes up, dear.”

“... Fine.” He deflates, “You tell him that I’m with you, yeah. Tell him that… tell him that the first meal we shared together was dango and green tea, and he had the nerve to call my art a rip-off, un. And you’d better notify me right away when he wakes up, yeah!” He glares at Dumbledore as he says that last part.

“Of course, dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiles softly at him. “I’ll be sure to tell him all of that.” The red-haired woman quietly excuses herself, leaving Deidara alone with Dumbledore.

“I’m heading to bed, un.” The blonde mumbles.

“Wait, Mr. Deidara.” The Headmaster says, halting him, “I need you to understand something.”

“Yeah?”

“What you did today was incredibly risky, and you only got away without a scratch due to the element of surprise and luck. I hope you do not underestimate Voldemort and his Death Eaters, do you understand?”

Deidara frowns, thinking back to the dungeon with half-dead people, each looking at him with dead eyes. “Of course, yeah.” He turns and leaves.

The next morning, before he departs for Hogwarts with Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, Deidara comes up to Mrs. Weasley.

“Yes, dear?” The woman asks. “Did you forget something?”

“No, un.” He holds out what he has been working on last night, a swirly ceramic mask with a single eye hole, “Can you die this orange for me?”

Mrs. Weasley looks a little confused, but she pulls out her wand anyway. With a simple wave, the white mask turns a bright shade of orange. It’s a little brighter than what he was thinking off, but he has no doubt the idiot would like it.

“Please give this to him when he wakes up, un. Oh –” Deidara carefully takes off the little necklace that had helped him grasp the English language in the first place, “Give this to him, too. I no longer need it, yeah.”

Really, Tobi has better be very grateful for his senpai after this.

Chapter 17: Return to Normalcy

Chapter Text

Harry stares at the spot where Deidara was a second ago. The blonde has literally vanished. There’s only swirling dust where the older boy has stood, and Harry vaguely feels like he has hallucinated the entire conversation with him. But no, the entire thing was too vivid to be in his imagination.

Harry had pulled the blonde aside in the Common Room first thing in the morning to tell him about his strange dream. He had watched as the blonde’s face went through a whirlwind of emotions before… Before he’s just gone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hermione tells him, you can’t Apparate in Hogwarts.

He supposes that there is a key difference: All instances of Apparitions he has seen were always accompanied by a loud cracking sound, while what Deidara just did was completely silent. But if that wasn’t Apparition, then what is it? One second he was standing there, the next, nothing.

He thinks back to his first Divination Class with the blonde, of how he has allegedly disappeared from his seat. At the time, Harry had simply chalked it up to the blonde slipping out when the whole class was busy staring at Professor Trelawney, but now… he’s not too sure anymore.

Is it the same kind of wandless magic the blonde practices? Probably. Harry can’t really think of anything else that can explain it. So, he must have teleported away in haste. Where did he go though?

Not seeing a point in remaining here, Harry leaves for breakfast, confident that the blonde will turn up sooner or later. For now, he needs to tell Ron and Hermione of his dream.

“Hey Harry,” Greets Ron as he swallows a large mouthful of bacon, “Where’s Deidara?”

“No clue.”

"What do you mean?” Hermione asks, peering over the Daily Prophets, “He was with you, right?”

“Yeah, he was…” Harry tells them what happened.

“I knew I didn’t imagine it.” Ron says, “He did disappear during Divination.”

Hermione frowns, “But we can’t Apparate in Hogwarts.”

“I know,” Harry shrugs, pulling a bowl of jam towards him, “But I don’t think it was Apparition. It was completely silent. He just… disappeared without a noise. I think it’s whatever kind of magic he uses.”

“Probably…” Hermione hums.

“What did you talk about, anyway?” Asks Ron, and Harry quietly retells his dream to them. By the end of the story, they both stare at him owlishly, their breakfast forgotten.

“Blimey…” Ron mutters, “ D’ you reckon that’s his partner? What’s his name… Toby?”

“Tobi,” Harry corrects, thinking about how Deidara had pronounced it, “And yeah, who else can it be?”

“That must be why he left in such a hurry,” Speculates Hermione, “I bet he went to Dumbledore.”

Harry also thinks that it’s likely. Obviously, from the way the blonde has talked about him before, Deidara cares about his partner a lot, and hearing that the man is being held prisoner can’t be pleasant for him. If there’s anyone who can get him out of the Death Eater’s grasp, it’s Dumbledore.

“Tell me what You-Know-You said again?” Hermione asks.

“He didn’t say anything.” Harry mutters, “It’s like, he was thinking it, and I somehow knew.”

“You read You-Know-Who’s mind.” Whispers Ron in terrified awe.

Harry shakes his head, “It’s not like I read his mind exactly, it’s more… he was really intense about it, and I just caught a glimpse of what made him so angry.” He quickly continues before Ron or Hermione can say anything, “But he wanted Tobi to wake up and make himself useful soon. From what I can tell… Some Death Eaters were experimenting with some old relic. They were trying to summon a demon to serve Voldemort, but they got Deidara’s partner instead.”

Ron snorts, “That’s hilarious. How did Deidara describe this bloke again? Oh right, a ‘bumbling idiot.’ That’s about as far from a demon as you can get.”

Hermione does not seem to find this to be as funny. “But they did somehow manage to pull him from wherever he was into the Manor. Surely it must mean something. Besides, if Tobi is from the same place as Deidara, then he must practice the same kind of wandless magic, too. Maybe that’s what the Death Eaters were after.”

“Why?” Harry asks, “They’ve already gotten all the Dark Magic they need, right? Besides, Deidara’s magic isn’t that great. Remember all the times we had to cover for him in Transfiguration?”

“Yeah,” Hermione frowns, “But think about it, he can teleport in Hogwarts. That can be very dangerous in the wrong hands.”

Harry supposes that makes sense, albeit a little far-fetched. Not knowing what else to say, he changes the subject, “Well, I’m thinking we should start our first DADA meeting today at eight.”

“Alright,” Hermione nods and looks around, “I’ll tell the others… Deidara isn’t here yet.”

Ron shrugs, “Well, he’s better come in soon or he’ll miss breakfast.”

But Deidara does not show up at breakfast, nor does he come in at Transfiguration. Neville, who usually sits behind the blonde, notices.

“Hey, guys,” The boy asks, leaning forward, “Where’s Deidara?”

Harry frowns, his eyes keep darting over to the classroom’s entrance, searching for a head of blonde, “I dunno.”

The lesson goes on as usual, with Professor McGonagall not even acknowledging Deidara’s absence. She must know what’s going on then. Harry shoots Ron and Hermione a look, and they all stay behind as class ends.

“Ah,” The Professor tilts her head towards them, “I assume you’re here about Mr. Akatsuki.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry nods, “Do you know where he is?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Potter. Your friend has left Hogwarts with Dumbledore’s permission, but I can’t tell you where he’s gone to. However,” She leans forward, “If anyone asks, tell them he had an emergency private business, and he didn’t tell you what. Now go, you don’t want to be late for Herbology.”

The three leave her classroom feeling unsatisfied.

“Where d’you reckon he is?” Ron whispers.

“At Headquarters, maybe?” Harry offers.

“Then McGonagall would tell us, wouldn’t she?” Hermione frowns.

Not having an answer to that, the three of them quietly head to Herbology.

Deidara continues to be absent throughout the day, by the time classes end, almost all the Gryffindors have noticed. Harry also hears rumors about Madam Pomfrey being absent from the Infirmary, something that she has never done before. He can’t help but feel like the two are connected somehow.

The first DADA meeting rolls around, and he has to focus on that instead. It’s a shame, he has wanted Deidara to be present for their first meeting. The blonde has been a great motivator for him to agree to this in the first place, and Harry has wanted to bring up the idea of the older boy teaching them something. He thinks back to the time on the train when Deidara forces Malfoy’s own wand under the Slytherin’s chin. That would be something very useful to learn. Regardless, he’s not here right now, and Harry needs to teach everyone what he knows.

“Before we begin,” Hermione calls out, “I think we should elect a leader.”

“Harry’s the leader,” Cho says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Harry feels his face heating up.

“Yeah, but I think we should still vote on it,” Hermione says placatingly, “To make it formal and give him proper authority.” She raises her hand, “All in favor?”

Harry blushes even harder as several hands, including Cho’s, shoot up immediately after. The rest soon follow suit. Even Zachariah Smith has his hand up, albeit a bit slower than the rest.

“Alright then,” Hermione smiles, “I also think we should have a name, to make it official. Something we can refer to in public without drawing too much suspicion.”

“The Defense Association?” suggests Cho. “The DA for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, the DA’s good,” Ginny chimes in. “Only, let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?” There is a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

“All in favor of the DA?” says Hermione, kneeling up on her cushion to count. “That’s a majority. Motion passed!” She cheerfully pins the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall and writes DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY across the top in large letters.

“Alright then,” Harry clears his throat, grinning, “Let’s get started.”

The meeting goes very well, and by the time Harry and Ron make it back to their dormitory, Harry feels better than he had been in the last few weeks. However, as he lies down, he looks to his left where Deidara’s bed lies empty, and his feeling of unease returns.

That night, his dream is especially turbulent. He feels so angry, his whole body trembling with seething rage. Something has happened. He has lost something, but that’s not why he’s so angry. Someone was arrogant and foolish enough to break into his base of operation and steal from him. Even worse, his Death Eaters have been incompetent enough to let the thief get away.

He stares at the gaping hole on the side of the Manor and all the wreckage left in the thief’s wake. Someone must pay for this. Someone will pay for this. The room flashes green, and Harry wakes up in a cold sweat, his scar throbbing in shearing pain.

The next morning, Harry is pleasantly surprised when he sees a familiar head of blonde hair sitting in the Common Room, surrounded by Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Lavender, and Parvati.

“You’re back!” Harry exclaims, quickly moving to join the group.

“Yeah,” Deidara grins, “I seem to have missed a lot, un. They were just telling me about the meeting. Sounds like everything went well, yeah.”

“Oh yeah,” Neville says enthusiastically, “It was great. Harry’s great teacher.” He grins at Harry, and the dark-haired boy feels his face heating up once again.

“Where have you been?” Asks Ron.

“Ahh,” Deidara shakes his head, “Private business, un.” But he gives Harry, Ron, and Hermione a look that promises he’ll explain later. Abruptly, the blonde stands up, “I’m starving, yeah! Let’s go get breakfast.”

Harry doesn’t really get a good opportunity to ask Deidara questions or to tell him, Ron, and Hermione his dream. At the Gryffindor table, the blonde is continued to be swamped by housemates curious about where he has been, until a very familiar and very unwelcomed girlish cough cuts into the chatter.

“Hem, hem,” Professor Umbridge clears her throat, and the students around her quickly part ways to reveal her short form, “Mr. Akatsuki, I see you’re back.”

“Yes, I am,” He smiles blandly at her, “Professor.”

“And might I ask where have you been yesterday, dear?”

“Ahh…” Deidara does a very good job of looking politely uncomfortable, “I’m sorry, but it’s kinda… sensitive. I’m not comfortable telling anyone about it… Professor.”

Umbridge tuts, “Nonsense, I am here to help you, dear. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable coming to me about your problems.”

Behind Umbridge, Fred and George fake gag. The corner of Deidara’s mouth twitches just a hint.

“Thank you, Professor, but the Headmaster told me I don’t have to tell anyone if I don’t want to.” He gives one final crooked grin at her and doesn’t offer anything else. Instead, he turns back to take a large bite out of his toast, clearly dismissing her. Umbridge’s sickly sweet smile turns cold, but there is nothing she can do. Harry hides his grin behind his glass of pumpkin juice as the toad huffs and walks away. He has missed watching Deidara interact with the woman.

Next to him, Hermione lets out a gasp.

“What?” Ron demands, trying to peer at the Daily Prophet in her hands. Hermione carefully spreads the paper out so that both he and Harry can read it. As he scans through the paper, his eyes go wide.

“Someone robbed the Malfoy Manor?” He whispers.

“Wicked,” Ron laughs, “It says it was a male with short brown hair wearing a dark cloak. No one could take a good look at the bloke, so there’s no composite sketch or anything… I wish I knew who it was. I’d send him flowers.”

“It didn’t say what was taken either…” Harry mutters, his mind going right back to his dream last night.

Ron elbows him, chuckling “Look at Malfoy.”

Harry turns to the Slytherin table and quickly locates the head of pale blonde hair. Sure enough, Draco looks like someone has just flung mud into his porridge. Their eyes meet across the room and Malfoy’s face twists into a sneer before disappearing behind his own copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry thinks the Slytherin looks even paler than usual and quite haggard. He supposes it only makes sense. It was his father’s home that was broken into. It was his father who failed to guard whatever was taken. Voldemort can’t be too pleased with Malfoy Senior right now.

“Who would be crazy enough to break into Malfoy Manor?” Mumbles Hermione as she slides the newspaper back, “I mean… it’s almost as protected as Grimmauld Place, probably even more so since, well, that’s Vol–Voldemort’s hideout, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ron frowns, “And don’t you think it’s weird? Who-Know-Who’s hiding out right there in the Malfoy’s household, and the Minister is still insisting that he’s dead. Aren’t he and Fudge best mates or something?”

“I highly doubt Malfoy will let Fudge see the Death Eaters posting up at his house, Ron.” Hermione signs exasperatedly.

Harry tunes both of them out. His attention is on Deidara, who has been very occupied with his breakfast and suspiciously quiet during this entire discussion. He has a very good feeling the blonde is involved in, or at least knows more about, what happened at the Manor. His mind drifts to the prisoner chained in the dungeon, Deidara’s partner Tobi, and the fact that Malfoy did not specify to the Daily Prophet what was stolen from them.

But the newspaper said the one who broke in had short brown hair, not long blonde one. However, he supposes that appearances can be very easily changed with magic. He and Ron themselves have done it before during their Second Year.

Harry frowns, now he’s thinking about Deidara breaking into Malfoy Manor and bursting a man out. That’s just ridiculous. Sure, the blonde is good at sneaking around and blowing things up in a way that no one could trace back to him, but breaking into the hideout of Voldemort?

It must have been someone from the Order, Harry concludes, and Deidara was just the one who informed them of where to find Tobi.

Either way, he’ll have to wait until he can safely ask the blonde about it and tell his friends about his dream.

This opportunity does not come until the end of the day when the novelty of Deidara’s return from his one-day absence has worn off and the four of them are once again left alone in the Common Room. In a low whisper, Harry tells his friend about his dream. When he finishes, he, Ron, and Hermione all turn to look expectantly at Deidara.

“Well,” Harry asks impatiently, “Was your partner the ‘thing’ that was stolen?”

The blonde glances at all of them before nodding, “Yeah, he was. The idiot was dead weight, as usual, un.”

“Do you know who did it?” Asks Ron excitedly, “The one who broke in?”

Deidara shakes his head, “No, I just told Dumbledore about your dream and left for Grimmauld Place shortly after, yeah. I didn’t see who he sent, un.” Ron looks disappointed.

Harry chimes in, “Is he alright, Tobi?”

“Yeah, he’s alright, but he’s in a coma though, like me when I first came here, un. Madam Pomfrey doesn’t know when he’ll wake up.” The blonde looks a little upset as he says it. Abruptly, he changes the subject, “When’s the next DA meeting, yeah?”

Harry blinks, taken aback, but answers, “Next Wednesday. We’ll have to figure out how to let people know the time of the meetings. I don’t think it’s safe or efficient to keep having to pass it on my mouth.”

“That’s true, un.” The blonde nods.

“I have an idea on something that might work,” offers Hermione, “but I need to do some more research until I’m sure.”

Deidara quickly settles back to a routine at Hogwarts even though he often finds his mind drifting back to the man lying in the basem*nt of Grimmauld Place and wondering when the hell the idiot is going to wake up.

It’s in character, really, Deidara thinks sardonically, that the moron would continue to test my patient even after death. Oh, if Danna can see me now.

The excitement of his break-in at the Death Eater’s base of operation is still fresh in his mind, and he quickly finds himself craving that sort of excitement again. Needless to say, he is now more distracted and restless than ever.

Thankfully, there is now a pretty great activity for him to focus on: teaching kids how to beat people up.

He stands in front of the DA group, all of them looking at him with wide eyes. There are some skeptical gazes in there as well. No matter, he’ll have their jaws on the floor in no time.

He holds out his wands casually, “So, tell me, what do you see, yeah?”

“A wand?” Ron speaks up, clearly confused. He seemed very excited when Deidara told them he was gonna teach them something.

“Yeah, you know what a wand is?” This time, Deidara does wait for an answer, “Flimsy. It’s very flimsy, un. You trip and fall wrong and this thing is going to snap in half, leaving you completely defenseless, yeah.” He smiles down at them, a few people lean back a little at his no double slightly unhinged face, “I’m gonna teach you lot how to fight without a wand, yeah.”

There are now excited murmurings in the group. A few people, namely Ron and the twins, look like they’re ready to jump and start right then and there. However, not all seem happy.

“What? You’re gonna teach us wandless brawling like Muggles do?” Snorts a Hufflepuff derisively. “No thank you. I’d rather learn not to be disarmed in the first place.”

Ron's face goes red, but before the kid can say anything, Deidara cuts in “And your name is…?”

“Zachariah Smith.”

“Well, Zachariah, while you’re right that not getting disarmed would be very nice, but in real combat, things don’t always go your way, yeah.” Deidara begins to walk forward, “Also, considering the fact that one of the most basic spells a wizard can learn is the Expelliamus, a spell designed specifically to disarm you, I think having a contingency for having your wand taken or destroyed is a good idea. Don’t you think, un?”

The blonde is now directly in front of Zachariah, looming over him. The kid, to his credit, still looks quite defiant.

Surprisingly, it is the blonde Ravenclaw, the girl who shared the train carriage with him, who speaks up, “I saw Deidara twist Malfoy’s arm so that his wand ended up pointing right at his chin.” She says dreamily, “It would be a very useful move to learn, I think.”

“Thank you, yeah.” sh*t, what was her name again?

She smiles airily at him, “I’m Luna Lovegood.” Deidara blinks. Can the girl read minds?

Zachariah, however, does not seem completely convinced. “Only an idiot would let his opponent get up to their face. You can hit anyone with a Stupefy before they can get close enough.”

Deidara considers the kid for a second, “Alright, I think a demonstration would be good, un. Get up.”

“Wh-what?” Zachariah stutters.

“You heard me, yeah,” Deidara heads toward an area where a training mat has been conveniently set up. “Let’s have a bet. You stand over there,” He points to the far end of the mat, “and I’ll be over here,” He walks to the other end, putting a good distance between himself and the kid. “You can try to hit me with a Stupefy, un. If you can do it, you can call me an idiot and won’t have to listen to a thing I say, yeah.”

Zachariah, who has made his way to where Deidara indicated, asks cautiously, “And if I can’t?”

Deidara shrugs, “Then you can keep your mouth shut about my teaching methods, un. Bet?”

“... Alright,” Zachariah smirks despite some uncertainty in his eyes, “Let’s do it.”

Deidara can hear wagers being exchanged on the sideline, no doubt headed by the Weasley twins. His mouth curls into a wide grin. He tilts his head over to the crowd, “Harry, you count down, un.”

“Al-alright.” A pause, “3… 2… 1… Start!”

The S-rank missing-nin slows down deliberately and lets Zachariah fire off his first Stupefy. The boy’s aim isn’t half bad, but all it takes from Deidara is a slight lean to the right to let the jet of light whizz past him harmlessly. Someone from the side gasps, and Deidara can feel his grin growing.

Zachariah, to his credit, does not waste time firing off a second one, which Deidara also dodges. Now, time to really get his point across. Mimicking a speed that’s more acceptable to the people here, the artist closes the distance with three long steps, ducking under another Stupefy, and grabs Zachariah’s wrist. Just to drive the point in, he uses the same move he used on Malfoy, and neatly twists the Hufflepuff’s arm into the position where the boy’s wand is pressed right under his chin.

A ringing silence follows. Then, Fred hoots loudly and claps his hand together. The crowd breaks into a proper applause. Deidara quickly lets Zachariah go. The boy’s face is so red the blonde’s afraid he might faint, but the kid just mutters something eligible and steps back.

“That was amazing!” Cheers Harry.

“You have to teach us how to do that, mate.” Ron howlers. The redhead might be smiling even wider than Deidara is.

“Eventually, yeah.” The blonde says in amusem*nt, “But first, we have to start with the basic, un.”

They spent the rest of the meeting going over basic katas and breathing techniques. As the meeting goes on, Deidara vaguely feels like he’s back in the Academy again. However, this time, those memories do not bring his mood down.

Chapter 18: Quidditch and Hagrid

Chapter Text

Life at Hogwarts goes on as normal, or, as normal as Hogwarts can get. Deidara now splits his time between pretending to pay attention in classes, looking after the three kids, teaching DA, and using whatever time available to refine his techniques. He also makes frequent trips to the Headmaster’s office to see if Dumbledore has any news on Tobi. The Old Man seems to take him barging into his office at odd intervals quite well, but, unfortunately, nothing has changed with the comatose man.

The Headmaster seems to have told the other Order members what he did as he can feel McGonagall and Snape stare at him a lot more than usual. To be honest, it is starting to get on his nerves a little bit. Deidara wonders what they are thinking now when they look at him.

Back home, receiving looks like that from civilians is common, especially when he never bothers to hide his red and black cloak. Most people with good common sense gave him a wide berth. He didn’t care then. What use does he have for civilian friendships when most of them are going to die in a conflict or a war?

Not that simply having ties with the Akatsuki did him much good, seeing how the people he actually got along with all ended up dead in the end.

Well, he muses, not all of them. Tobi’s alive and here. He should have known the dumbass would outlive them all.

Here, Deidara has ended up making friends with people who look at him with admiration, not fear. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione find out what he did at Malfoy Manor…

But would that be such a bad thing? He did not kill anyone the kids are fond of. In fact, he did the Order a favor by offing a few Death Eaters and causing some major property damage to their base of operation. Besides, it’s arguable that he only did that out of self-defense and retaliation since they’re the ones who held Tobi hostage. Surely the three of them can understand, right?

It’s not like Deidara is going to tell them of his past as a member of a criminal syndicate or anything like that. He’s just revealing his abilities to them. Would knowing that he is more dangerous than they thought change how they act around him? If he is honest with himself, then, most likely, yeah.

Deidara doesn’t think he would want that. He likes what he has right now here at Hogwarts with these kids. The future of his life here in this world is uncertain, but that’s nothing new to him. Besides, everything will end eventually, he has to enjoy his present to the fullest. No more worrying about what to do, dammit! He has to abide by his philosophy of fleeting moments.

This means that right now, he needs to focus on calming Ron down for his upcoming Quidditch match. Personally, Deidara has never seen the appeal of the sport beyond the thrill of flying, which he cannot do because the broomsticks simply do not work for him, but, this sport seems to be taken very seriously by almost the entire population of Hogwarts. Also, with Harry and Ron having personal stakes in the game, by extension, Deidara is also a little invested in it.

“Calm down, yeah.” The blonde mutters as the four of them walk towards the Great Hall for breakfast, “It’s a game, not life or death, un.”

Ron, whose pale face is steadily approaching the color green, says nothing in return. Deidara and Harry exchange helpless looks. Leading up to this game, tension between the competitors’ houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin, has risen to a level comparable to two countries preparing for war. Hermione has warned him about this, saying, “This is what the peak of Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry looks like. I’m so sorry.”

It gets to the point where the students are actively using guerilla tactics to try and sabotage the other team. Despite how begrudgingly impressed Deidara was about how creative these tactics can get with magic, he was getting very annoyed at how frequently he and Hermione were targeted sorely for being Gryfindors and friends with Ron and Harry, the two who are players of the sport. No one actually got hurt even though the blonde had to threaten bodily harm to the Slytherin’s beater after the bastard tried to fire a hex at Harry’s back.

Draco Malfoy seems to be particularly vicious. The brat has mostly left their little group alone after the incident on the train, but, evidently, the burglary of the Malfoy Manor has left him itching for a fight, and the high tension of the upcoming Quidditch match is the perfect way for him to let out his aggression. Multiple times, he has made not-so-subtle threats of knocking Harry off his broomsticks and miming Ron dropping the Quaffle in overly dramatic fashions.

Physically, no one was harmed, but Deidara is honestly getting concerned for Ron’s mental state. It’s obvious that the none-stop jeering from the Slytherins is getting to him, no matter how much he pretends otherwise. By the time the morning of the game rolls around, the redhead looks like he’s contemplating dropping out of Hogwarts entirely.

“What was I thinking?” Ron groans miserably, staring at his plate of eggs and bacons, “I should never have joined.” He looks mournfully up at Harry, “Why did you let me join, mate? I’m rubbish.”

Harry says something reassuring to Ron, but Deidara’s attention is on a group of Slytherins entering the Great Hall. They all are gigglings and sneaking glances at Ron for some reason. Deidara sees all of them have something metallic pinned on their robes. Not for the first time, he wishes he still had his eye scope.

He is pulled out of glaring at the Slytherins when something else catches his eye. Luna Lovegood drifts over to them wearing a giant hat in the shape of a lion on her head. He watches, impressed, as the fabric animal opens its mouth and lets out a loud roar.

“Holy sh*t. That’s pretty artistic, un.” Deidara chuckles. The girl turns to smile lightly at him.

“Do you like it?” She looks at Ron and Hermione, “I wanted to make a snake and put it in the lion's mouth, but I ran out of time.”

“Yeah? Gimme a sec,” The artist quickly gets to work. In no time, he holds up a small white serpent up to the lion’s mouth and carefully puts it in. “There, perfect, un.”

“Thank you. That is lovely,” Luna grins and glances up like she can see the snake from under the hat, “You really are a good artist.”

Deidara can’t help but preen like a peaco*ck. “It’s nice to see people who can appreciate art around here, yeah, even though that’s just the first phase of my art, un.”

Hermione eyes his creation warily, “It’s not going to explode, is it?”

“Of course not! I can control myself, yeah.”

Before she can say anything back to him, a couple of Harry and Ron’s team members come up to him and quickly spirit the two boys away. As they all stand up, Hermione quickly grabs Harry’s arm and whispers urgently, “Don’t let Ron see what’s on those Slytherin badges.”

Deidara does not have to wonder what that means for long. As he follows the Gyffindors out the pitch, he catches sight of one of the crown-shaped pins on the Slytherins.

“‘Weasley is our king’… What the f*ck does that mean, yeah?” He mutters.

“Nothing good,” Harry mumbles back, throwing a nervous glance at Ron’s back.

‘Nothing good’ was an apt description. If the situation was different, Deidara might have been impressed by how much effort and creativity the Slytherins had put into this morale-trashing campaign of theirs. Coming up with a whole song and getting the entire House to learn it? That takes some serious coordination.

That being said, Deidara really wishes murder wasn’t frowned upon in this world right now.

He closes his eye and briefly imagines the glorious sight of the entire Slytherin’s stand going up in a dazzling display of true art. The image helps distract him from how badly the game is going and how much he wishes the brooms had worked for him just so he could have a good excuse to fly up in the sky again.

At last, the match comes to a close when Harry catches the tiny golden ball, and from the sounds of the thunderous applause from the stand he’s sitting in, he feels safe to assume that they won. He grins widely and joins in with the shouting and applauding. His cheer quickly turns into outrage as he sees some asshole bats a giant ball at Harry’s back.

“Watch out!” He roars, but it is too late. The thing hits the kid squarely in the small of his back. However, he somehow manages to keep a hold of his broomstick and doesn’t fall off. Ignoring the angry screams of the crowd and the shrill whistles of the referee, Deidara tears his way down to the pitch, where Harry is landing rather shakily.

He is among the first to reach the kid, who is being fretted over by his entire team, all of whom he physically pushes out of the way to get to Harry.

“Holy sh*t!” He shouts, “Are you alright, yeah?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Harry says quickly, “It wasn’t that hard of a hit. That buffoon Crabbe couldn’t hit a Budger properly even if his life depended on it.”

“Is that what that dickhe*d’s name is, Crabbe?” Deidara hisses venomously, “Good to know, un.”

“You can plan your murder later,” Laughs the team’s captain, ironically voicing exactly what the blonde was thinking, “We won!”

Harry’s face split into a shining grin, all pains from the dirty hit forgotten, but his good mood does not last long. Draco Malfoy is approaching them with an ugly sneer on his face.

Deidara immediately moves in front, sneering right back at the Slytherin, “What the f*ck do you want, yeah?”

Malfoy turns his nose up at him, and Deidara briefly thinks about punching it. “None of your business, Akatsuki. I’m here for Potter, not his babysitter.” The pale boy cranes his neck to look over Deidara at Harry, “Oi, Potter! Really saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you? I’ve never seen a worse Keeper, but then he was born in a bin. Did you like my lyrics, Potter?”

“Ignore him. He’s just being a sour grape.” The captain (he really needs to learn her name) whispers and grabs both Deidara’s and Harry’s arms, pulling them away, but Malfoy does not let up.

“We wanted to write another couple of verses!” Malfoy calls, “But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly, we wanted to sing about his mother, see—”

Deidara feels his blood boil but, not wanting to cause even more of a scene after Harry’s victory, restrains himself. “I’m going to kick his f*cking teeth in, un.” He mutters furiously.

“— we couldn’t fit in useless loser either, for his father, you know —”

Deidara sees the moment Fred and George realize what Malfoy was prattling on about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand, they stiffen, looking around at Malfoy. The blond never thought he’d see the day, but right now, he’s the one discouraging other people from committing violence. Grabbing both twins by the arm, he grits his teeth, “Ignore the bastard, un. He’s just being a sore loser, yeah. Not worth your time.”

“— but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?” continues Malfoy, his pale face twisted in angry malice. “Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys’ hovel smells okay —”

Fred and George renew their struggle to break out of Deidara’s hold.

“Let me go –” Spits George, “I’m gonna f*cking kill that little sh*t –”

Malfoy, who really does not know when to shut up, goes on, “Or perhaps,” He says, leering at Harry, who is being held back by his team captain, “You can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it —”

The black-hair boy breaks out of his captain’s grasp and is on Malfoy in a split second. Fred and George are struggling so much that Deidara has to pour a bit of Chakra into his feet to stop the two taller boys from dragging him with them. There are shoutings everywhere, but Deidara cannot hear any of it. All he can make out is the unmistakable sound of a nose breaking, and, soon after, the smell of blood reaches his nostrils.

“sh*t.” Deidara grunts, “f*cking –”

“IMPEDIMENTA!” Screeches the referee, a severe-looking woman with cropped silvery hair, and Harry is knocked backward. Only with the interference of a professor does Deidara deem it safe to release the twins. Fred and George stand there, chests heaving and faces red. They don’t seem to realize that the blonde has let go. Deidara makes his way over to Harry, who has scrambled up to his feet unsteadily.

“What do you think you’re doing?” screams Madam Hooch “I’ve never seen behavior like it! Back up to the castle, Potter, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now!”

Harry yanks his shoulder out of Deidara’s hand and marches away without another word.

The atmosphere in the Common Room later that evening can only be described as depressing. Deidara watches as Harry listlessly recounts what Umbridge has done to his captain (Angelina, that’s what her name is). The old toad has banned him from playing Quidditch, but not only that, she has dragged Fred and George into sharing the punishment as well.

“She said that if Deidara hasn’t held you two back,” Harry tiredly gestures toward the blonde and the twins, “You two would have hit him, too.”

“Damn right we’d have.” Mutters Fred.

A beat of silence follows as everyone tries to comprehend what this means.

“No Beaters, and no Seeker.” Angelina mumbles, “I’m going to bed. Maybe when I wake up, this whole thing would turn out to be a nightmare, and we haven’t actually played at all.” They watch her disappear into the girl’s dormitory. One by one, the rest of the team walks out of the Common Room until only Deidara, Harry, and Hermione are left by the fireplace.

“Have any of you seen Ron?” Hermione asks.

Deidara shrugs, “I saw him leave the pitch after the game, un. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Do you think he’s ok?”

She needn’t have to worry. At that moment, the portrait door creaks open and Ron slips in, looking quite sickly in the low light. When he sees the three of them by the fireplace, he stops dead in his tracks.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaims, “Where have you been?”

“Out for a walk…” The redhead mutters, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Deidara frowns, “Come over here, yeah. You look cold.”

Reluctantly, Ron walks over to them and flops down on the couch next to Harry.

A beat of uncomfortable silence passes before Ron, looking down at the carpet, says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Asks Harry.

“For thinking I could play Quidditch.” He says miserably, “I’m going to quit tomorrow.”

“If you quit,” Harry grits his teeth together, “Then the team will be down a Seeker, two Beater, and a Keeper.”

That finally got Ron to look up, “What do you mean?”

Hermione quickly fills him in on what happened. By the end, the redhead looks even more miserable. “This is all my fault.”

Harry scowls, “No it’s not. You didn’t make me punch Malfoy.”

“If I had played better –”

“Oh, stop it, both of you.” Deidara grumbles, “This whole pity party’s just pathetic, un. We have bigger problems to worry about, yeah.”

“Like what?” Asks Harry, slightly affronted.

“Like the fact that the pink bitch now has authority to overturn a professor’s decision on punishment, un. And remember the letter I showed you? How long do you think it’d take for every student to walk around with bleeding hands, yeah?”

They all exchange dark looks with each other.

“She’s turning Hogwarts into hell,” Harry mutters. Hermione lets out a long breath and stands up to look out the window.

“Nah, mate, not hell,” Ron shakes his head ruefully, “her personal playground. Hell’s better than that” The two of them share a humorless smile.

“Well,” says Hermione, still peering intently out the window, “I can think of one thing that can make this less hellish.”

“What?” Harry asks.

The bushy-haired girl turns around with a small smile. “Hagrid’s back.”

Deidara watches Harry, Ron, and Hermione disappear under the Invisibility Cloak. The thing can barely fit the three teenagers, so the blonde has told them he would find his own way down to Hagrid’s. They all looked at him a little skeptically but did not stop to argue. It’s very clear they all wanted to see their friend again.

The blonde watches as the portrait door swings open and closes seemingly on its own. Briefly, he thinks about following the brats, but it's a bit difficult following someone invisible, and the three have done this enough times by now. They’ll be fine. With that Deidara makes his way to the window, carefully opens it, and slips outside.

The cold winter winds hit him as he slips outside the window. Carefully keeping his henge up so that no one will be able to see his blonde hair against the gray stones, Deidara begins the descent down Gryffindor Tower. The blonde rarely ever climbs like this, preferring to use his clay birds overall, but he does not have a lot of trouble reaching the ground and begins walking toward the now-occupied cabin on the field.

Halfway there, he is joined by three sets of awkwardly shuffling footsteps.

“How did you get down here so fast?” Harry’s voice rings out from his left. Deidara twitches a little. It’s a bit weird hearing a voice right next to you without seeing who’s speaking.

“Did you use that teleport magic?” Hermione’s voice joins him. “The one Harry saw you used?”

“It’s not really teleportation, un.” Deidara deflects, not willing to tell the three that he climbed down here.

“Then what is it?” And that was Ron’s voice.

“It’s a secret, yeah.”

“Of course it is.” Harry mutters, “One of these days, you gotta tell us all about it.”

Deidara can’t see what sort of face the kid is making, “...Maybe, un.” He pauses and looks back at their footprints, “Hey, any of you know any spells to cover that up?”

“Why?” Asks Hermione. “Do you think anyone else might be down here?”

“Seeing Umbridge's reputation of discrimination against ‘half-breeds,’ I wouldn’t put it past her to drag herself out here to harass your friend at this hour, un.”

“Good point…” Hermione mutters an unfamiliar spell, and Deidara watches their footprints vanish.

They reach Hagrid’s cabin not long after, and the blonde knocks loudly on his door, which swings open almost instantly.

“Who are you?” The man asks in a gruff voice as he looks down at Deidara, his large frame looms over the tiny blonde.

“It’s us!” Harry whispers urgently from somewhere next to him.

“...Should’ve known.” Hagrid grumbles and stands aside, “Quickly now, inside.”

The four of them shuffle through the doorway into the cabin where everything is, predictably enough, massive. Deidara does not have the time to really look when he is immediately ambushed by a giant black dog.

“Holy crap!” He yelps, raising his arms to protect his face from the dog’s slobber.

“Down, Fang!” Hagrid calls out, and the dog sits, its tail thumping on the cabin floor happily.

“Hagrid!” Hermione shrieks suddenly, her tone horrified. Deidara, now free of the dog, looks up at the giant man and takes in the terrible state he is in. The giant man is covered in injuries.

“What happened to you?” Harry demands.

“It’s nothin’.” Hagrid mutters, not quite meeting any of their eyes, “Want a cuppa?”

Deidara moves to take a seat on the giant couch as the three kids attempt to weasel information out of the man by bargaining with Harry’s own summer experience. The dog, Fang, immediately moves to flop its head on his legs, demanding scratches, which he distractedly complies while listening to Hagrid retelling his journey of treating with the Giants. From what he is saying, Deidara feels safe to assume that they can expect no help from them.

Voldemort has Giants in his army, the blonde thinks, what else does he have?

As the three recount their summer to Hagrid, Deidara glances out the window and catches a tiny dot of pink approaching.

“f*ck!” He jumps onto his feet, startling the others, “It’s Umbridge. She’s coming, un.”

The three kids do not waste any time slipping under the Invisibility Cloak as Deidara scoops their tea cups in his arms and shunshins outside just as the pink toad knocks on the door. After a beat of silence, he hears the front door open, a couple of words being exchanged, and the door closing again. Deidara is now outside in the snow holding four giant cups of tea.

Sighing irritatedly, he dumps the hot liquid into the snow and sets the cups down next to the cabin. For a moment, he debates waiting for the kids, but decides against it. He really does not want to stay out in the cold, and the kids already know about his ‘teleportation’ anyway. If they don’t see him coming back in, they’ll look for him in the castle.

It did not take long for him to reach his bedroom in Gryffindor Tower. None of the other boys stir when he slips into his bed, but he does not fall asleep. He stares at the ceiling listening to Neville’s quiet snores and thinks about the war ahead.

Now that Tobi’s here, it seems very likely he will continue to stay in this world for much longer, probably all the way until the war comes. What would he do then, fight? Deidara rolls onto his side. Despite how much he relishes the opportunity to make art without restraint, he does not want to be in a war. War produces monsters like his sh*tbag father and kills innocents like his mother. It’s not about what he wants, though. When the war breaks out here, Deidara does not see another choice but to fight. Staying back is not an option for him, not when he has the power to help, not when Harry, Ron, and Hermione will no doubt be in the middle of it.

He turns to his other side. Despite all of their progress in the DA meetings, Deidara genuinely cannot imagine any of these kids in a war zone.

Danna would laugh if he could see me now, the blonde thinks dryly as he flips on his back to stare at the ceiling again, you used to go on and on about how I never think ahead, I hope you’re happy now, you old bastard.

Deidara lies there, wide awake, long after Ron and Harry come in and slip into their beds. He continues to stare at the ceiling long after their breathing even out as they fall asleep.

Chapter 19: Memories of the Dead

Chapter Text

The next morning, Deidara is quickly caught up in the conversation between Hagrid and Umbridge. Not a lot of it surprised the blonde, but it is not pleasant regardless.

“That woman,” Mutters Hermione, “She’s going to use every excuse she can to get rid of Hagrid. Well, I’m not going to let her.” The bushy-haired girl stabs viciously into her piece of toast, “I’ll plan Hagrid’s lessons for him if I have to.”

A few days pass, and Deidara observes that the return of Hagrid is greeted with a much less enthusiastic response from the general student population. According to the three kids, the giant man means well, he just doesn’t always understand the concept of danger for a normal human.

“During our first year,” Harry recounts to him, “Hagrid had a three-headed dog and a dragon. When he was attending Hogwarts, he had a giant spider named Aragog.”

“It’s still in the forest, somewhere,” Ron adds, looking vaguely ill at the thought.

It really doesn’t sound like something someone like Umbridge would appreciate, but the idea of seeing something more dangerous sounds like fun to him. He is very interested in the tale of Harry riding Buckbeak across the sky of Hogwarts. Maybe Deidara might be able to persuade Hagrid to bring hippogriffs back and let him ride on one. The thought of being able to fly freely in the blue sky again is very enticing.

So, despite all the worries of Umbridge breathing down their necks, Deidara finds himself filled with anticipation as he walks with the kids to the first lesson with Hagrid. His mood is further lifted when they reach the giant man without any pink cardigans in sight.

Hagrid waves happily to all of them. The image is somewhat ruined by his still very visible injuries and the fact that he has a cow carcass slung over his shoulder.

“We’re workin’ in here today!” Hagrid calls out cheerfully, jerking his head back at the dark trees marking the entrance of the Dark Forest behind him. “Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark…”

Deidara snorts at Malfoy’s poorly masked panicked voice. “What? What prefers the dark?”

The Slytherin is not the only one slightly put off, of course. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione are exchanging worried looks. However, before they can think too much about it, Hagrid turns and walks into the dark trees. Deidara promptly follows him and listens as the rest of the class scrambles to keep up.

As he walks, Hagrid speaks jovially, “I’ve bin savin’ the trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we’d go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we’re studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ’em —”

Malfoy’s annoying voice pipes up again, “And you’re sure they’re trained, are you? Only it wouldn’t be the first time you’d brought wild stuff to class, would it?” Deidara can barely contain his laughter at how panicked the kid sounds now.

“ ’Course they’re trained,” says Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

“So what happened to your face, then?” demands Malfoy.

“Mind yer own business!” says Hagrid rather angrily. “Now if yeh’ve finished askin’ stupid questions, follow me!”

They walk through the forest for ten minutes. Deidara, who has of course taken time off to explore a bit of the forest before, thinks that it somewhat resembles the rumors he heard about Konoha’s Forest Of Death: very dark, quite cold, and potentially filled to the brim with things that crave the taste of human flesh.

They finally stop at a small clearing, and Hagrid unceremoniously drops the dead cow on the ground. “Gather roun’, gather roun’,” The giant man says encouragingly. “Now, they’ll be attracted by the smell o’ the meat but I’m goin’ ter give ’em a call anyway, ’cause they’ll like ter know it’s me.”

He turns and lets out an odd, shrieking cry that echoes through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. No one else dare to make a sound. The tension is so thick Deidara can cut it with a kunai. Hagrid lets out another bellowing call, and Deidara spots something moving in the darkness. It’s the strange horse he had seen at the very beginning of the school year.

The blonde quickly nudges Harry and points at the trees. The kid squints into the darkness for a moment before his green eyes go round, finally seeing the dark horse moving into the clearing.

Deidara looks around. It seems there are only a couple of other people who can see it: a Slytherin boy and Neville. Both are watching the animal ripping flesh off of the cow with varying expressions of shock and fear.

“Oh, here comes another one.” Says Hagrid as another dark shape emerges from the thick tree line and joins the first one at the cow carcass. “Now, put yer hands up if yer can see ’em.”

Harry’s hand shoots up so fast it nearly hits Deidara in the face, and the blonde follows him at a much more reasonable pace. Behind them, Neville and the Slytherin boy have their hands up a lot more hesitantly.

“Yeah… yeah, I knew you’d be able ter, Harry,” Hagrid remarks seriously. “An’ you too, Deidara and Neville, eh? An’ —”

“Excuse me,” Sneers Malfoy loudly, “But what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?”

Hagrid wordlessly points at the cow carcass, and someone lets out a horrified gasp.

“What’s doing it?” Parvati demands in a terrified voice, backing up with Lavender. “What’s eating it?”

“Thestrals,” declares Hagrid proudly, and Hermione gives a soft “oh!” of comprehension at Harry’s shoulder. “Hogwarts has got a whole herd of ’em in here. Now, who knows –”

“Thestral?” Parvati, who seems no less unsettled, “But they’re a sign of death and bad luck! Professor Trelawney says that –”

Deidara ignores the rest of what the girl says to quietly step a bit closer. There’s something beautifully haunted about these animals, and the artist itches to get a closer look. Already, he has pulled out a lump of clay from his bag for his hand-mouths to chew on.

“Why can only some of us see them, yeah?” Deidara asks.

“Ah, excellent question!” Hagrid grins, “Who ‘ere knows the answer to that? Yeah, Hermione.”

Hermione, who has shot her hand up very fast, now suddenly looks a little unsure. Her eyes are on both Harry and Deidara as she answers, “The only people who can see thestrals,” She says steadily, “are people who have seen death.”

“That’s exactly right,” said Hagrid solemnly, “Ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals —”

“Hem, hem.”

Deidara jumps violently. He has been so enthralled by the creatures he failed to sense Umbridge approaching. Feeling very mad and very embarrassed, he smooths down his robe irritatedly and stuffs the half-finished horse into his bag.

The rest of the class goes on with the most agonizing inspection he has ever witnessed. Not for the first time, Deidara feels his murderous urge surfacing, and the teeth on his mouths are gritted together so hard he fears the enamel might be permanently damaged. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are not faring much better, the three of them taking turns throwing poisonous glances at Umbridge.

I’m not gonna blow her up, Deidara thinks as the woman talks to Hagrid in that horribly condescending way, No, that bitch does not deserve to be turned into art. Poison would be more fitting. Something slow and painful, yeah.

Class ends and they trek angrily back to the castle. Hermione is so mad she’s trembling, “That vile, disgusting, troll of a woman. She knew exactly what she was doing! It’s this whole thing against half-breeds. She’s just trying to make him out to be some kind of – of… stupid bumbling idiot! It’s not even about the lesson at all! For Hagrid, thestrals were really good!”

“The Ministry thinks they’re dangerous.” Says Ron heavily.

“The Ministry couldn’t see an inch past their own bullsh*t, un.” Deidara grumbles, aggressively chewing on his clay. By God does he wish he had let a clone take this class for him instead so he could blow things up in the Room of Requirement. He hasn’t done that in a while now.

Hermione hardly bats an eye at his language anymore. She snorts, “That’s true. And thestrals are interesting, aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t! I wish I could.”

“Do you?” Harry speaks up quietly.

The girl looks horrified. “Oh Harry — I’m sorry — no, of course I don’t — that was a really stupid thing to say —”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, “Don’t worry about it.”

Eager to move on, Ron pipes up, “I’m surprised so many people could see them. Four in a class…” He trails off, eyes darting not-so-subtly over to Deidara, but the blonde is not paying attention. Earlier that day, thanks to Umbridge’s interruption, he had not had the time to process what being able to see the thestrals had meant. Now that Hermione brought it up…

He knows Harry saw Cedric die, and Neville told Umbridge it was his grandfather. The Slytherin boy most likely witnessed the death of a family member as well… All of them had only seen death once. Deidara had given up keeping count entirely. He can’t even recall who was the first death he saw. It could have been the starving man lying in the alley behind his childhood home, or the shinobi squadron being poisoned to death by a failed experimental jutsu, or the numbers of civilians caught in the crossfire of a chase between a spy and a group of ANBU.

However, there is one death he still remembers very clearly, and, as far as he’s concerned, the true ‘first’ death he witnessed. Deidara’s hands inch.

“Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering,” says a very unwelcome voice right behind them. “D’you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you’d be able to see the Quaffle better?”

“Ignore them, just ignore them,” mutters Hermione, but Deidara has stopped dead in his tracks, right in front of Malfoy and his two goons.

“What?” Malfoy sneers, “Do you have something to say, Akatsuki?”

Deidara snarls right back at the kid, “I can still hear the tremors in your voice, un. You’re f*cking pathetic, you know that? How’s life at home, un? Your Master can’t be too pleased with your Daddy right now, letting such a valuable prisoner slip away like that, yeah.”

The brat’s pale face turns an angry shade of red as he hisses, “How dare you!” He reaches for his wand, but Deidara does not give him a chance. Fast as a snake, he snatches Malfoy’s wrist and holds it in place. The two other lumbering brats take a step forward, but a glare from Deidara stops them in their tracks.

“Go on, give me a reason, un,” Deidara says in a low voice, “There are no professors around here to scrape you off of the snow, yeah.”

Malfoy’s face turns almost as white as the scenery around them. Deidara holds him there for a couple more seconds before violently shoving the brat onto the ground. He watches as the Slytherin scrambles onto his feet and bolts away without looking back, his two goons following him.

Silence falls.

Deidara is very aware of three pairs of eyes staring at his back, but he is still too angry to care.

“Why did you do that?” exclaims Hermione.

Ron frowns at her, “Cuz the little twat deserved it, obviously. And don't be all ‘violence is gonna get you in trouble,’ you’re the one who punched him in the face once, remember?”

“It’s not about that!” The bushy-haired girl runs up to the blonde. She looks very distressed, “Why did you tell him about – about your partner?” The last word is hissed out with a worried glance around them, “Now he’s gonna know you know something about it, and he’s definitely going to tell his father, who will tell Volde –Voldemort–”

“f*cking let him, un.” Deidara grunts harshly and begins stomping toward the castle, “See if I care.”

“It’s too dangerous!” Hermione cries out after him. “Don’t you understand? You’ll have a target on your back! You’ll be–”

“Yes, I understand perfectly, Hermione!” Deidara whirls around to face her and the two boys, “I’m just so sick playing nice, un. I am SICK of pretending like I’m some helpless civilian while scumbags like him strut around the place like they can do whatever and get away with it just because their bloodline is ancient and special or whatever, yeah! I just wanna, I just – f*ckING sh*t!”

He throws his half-finished clay horse into the distance where it explodes into a blinding light, leaving only the faint smell of smoke in the air. His chest is heaving, and his eye feels dry and uncomfortable. The three kids are staring at him with their mouths slightly open.

Without another word, Deidara shunshins away.

The Room of Requirement is covered in scorch marks, debris, and the smell of smoke. Multiple large dummies have been set up and demolished thoroughly. In the middle of the carnage stands Deidara, chest heaving from exhaustion and rage. He’s been in the room for over an hour now, mindlessly setting his clay off, but not even the glorious display of true art can seem to soothe his anger today.

For the first time in a while, he is forced to confront the reality of his full situation. He’s stuck in another world with a war on the horizon against a dark wizard who started the last war and reigned so much terror that no one can even utter his name out of fear. His idiot of a partner is also here and in a coma, being useless as always. Yet, here Deidara is, in a f*cking school masquerading as a civilian fifteen-year-old. What the f*ck is he doing?

He’s meant to be out there, showing his art to the world, not tucked away in a secret room seething away in restlessness. He feels like he’s back in Iwa again, forced to conform and fit in. There was no place for his art in his old village, much like how there is no place for his art here at Hogwarts for a completely different reason.

Back in Iwa, he was seen as childish for pursuing his concept of art. His bastard of a sperm donor has especially always viewed Deidara’s attitude as superfluous and had rather had him concentrate his energy on ‘seriously honing his crafts and upholding the value of his Kekkei Genkai.’ Well, look where the f*cker’s now.

His time as a mercenary and then as an Akatsuki member has been freeing. No one tried to tell him he wasn’t an artist, no one tried to force him into doing anything at all. He was free to show his art to the world and to make them see the values in his beliefs. He was free.

And now, here he is, hidden away in a room deep within the heart of an ancient castle, his fleeting flashes of true art going off for the stone walls to see.

For the first time, a deep sense of resentment rises up in his chest. Deidara hates how confined he is, and how dependent he is on Dumbledore and the Order, especially now that Tobi is in their care. He hates how he has formed bonds with civilian children who will be appalled at his bloodlust.

His mind wanders back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s expressions, and he feels his stomach sink unpleasantly. How the hell is he going to explain that away now? He kicks a charred piece of rock away sullenly and sits down.

The truth is that he was so angry he picked a fight at the first opportunity. Malfoy was just unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity. It felt good when Deidara saw the blood drain from the brat’s weaselly face. At that time, he does not care at all about the consequences of his anger. So what if the little sh*t tattle to his father? Deidara has slipped into the man’s house, blown a hole clean into its side, and made away with their prisoner right under his nose. Deidara does not fear whatever Lucious Malfoy and his fellow Death Eaters can do.

Voldemort, on the other hand, is still a big unknown. In a world where a wizard’s or a witch’s capability is only limited by their creativity, what can a man do to make an entire race of people fearful enough not to even dare to speak his name? He needs to know more.

Deidara frowns. It looks like he’d need to make a visit to Dumbledore’s office again.

He had barely made it halfway there when he came across his second least favorite member of staff, Professor Snape. Despite Deidara’s annoyance at the man’s attitude towards Harry, the two of them have a mutual understanding of sorts, and both do their best to pretend the other doesn’t exist outside of the classroom. This time, however, instead of walking on without acknowledging Deidara, Snape comes to a stop right in front of the blonde and looks down his nose at the blonde.

“Mr. Akatsuki.” He drawls.

Deidara narrows his eye, “Snape.”

“That’s Professor Snape to you, Mr. Akat–”

“Oh, f*ck that.” Deidara sneers, “You’re not my professor, I’m not in a classroom, and there’s no one around. Do me a favor and drop the stupid charade, yeah. Now tell me what you want, un.”

The man glares at him like he’s a particularly disgusting sewer rat that has somehow found its way into the castle walls. Eventually, he replies, “Very well, Mr. Akatsuki. The Headmaster wants to see you.”

“What a coincidence!” Deidara bares his teeth at the dark-haired man, “I’m just on my way to see him, yeah.”

They walk together in stoney silence all the way up to Dumbledore’s office where Deidara shoves the door open without even bothering to knock. Inside, the Old Man looks up from his desk calmly while Professor McGonagall looks very affronted.

“What do you want with me, un?” Asks Deidara unceremoniously.

“Mr. Akatsuki!” McGonagall exclaims, aghast, but Dumbledore only raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I was going to offer you tea and some lemon drops, but I see you prefer to get straight to the point.” The man waves his wand and a chair floats gently into existence, “Very well then, Mr. Deidara, have a seat.”

The blonde throws himself carelessly on the offered seat and looks at the Old Man expectantly. He’s already had a fairly good idea of what this is about. Professor McGonagall is staring at him with very thin lips, and he can feel Professor Snape’s glare boring holes into the back of his skull. He ignores them both.

The Headmaster speaks again after a beat of silence, “It had come to my attention,” He glances at Snape, “that you told Mr. Malfoy about what transpired in the Manor.”

He more or less let the information slip out, but he sees no point in correcting it, “Yeah, I did.”

This time, it is Snape who speaks up in a low, angry drawl, “And you did not think for a second how foolish of an idea it was? By this time tomorrow, the Dark Lord would have –”

Completely ignoring Snape, Deidara cuts in, looking at Dumbledore, “Actually, Voldemort is what I want to talk about with you, un.”

The Headmaster spares the slightest glance at Snape, who is making a strange choking sound behind the blonde, before focusing back on Deidara. “Is it now? Does this sudden interest have anything to do with what happened between you and Mr. Malfoy?”

“Partly, yeah.” Deidara leans forward, returning Dumbledore’s searching blue gaze with his own angry one, “I’ve tried to look into it on my own, but couldn’t find much… he is very good at keeping himself a mystery, un.”

“He is, indeed.” Dumbledore agrees gravely, “Voldemort has always been good at separating himself from people. I suspect not even his most loyal followers know him as well as they’d like to think.”

“What about you, yeah?” Asks Deidara impatiently, “Surely you must know something. What is he capable of, un?”

“I don’t think this is an appropriate topic of discussion, Mr. Akatsuki.” Professor McGonagall cuts in, looking quite disturbed.

“I agree,” Professor Snape chimes in, looking quite disgruntled. Although Deidara has an inkling it’s because he had to agree with his colleague. “We are here to discuss your reckless actions, not the Dark Lord.”

“What is there to discuss?” Deidara snaps back, turning in his chair to glare at the dark-haired man, “I know I f*cked up, yeah. That’s why I’m here right now, asking about Voldemort and the Dark Arts so I can prepare myself for whatever they can throw at me, un.”

All three adults are staring at the blonde now. He gazes back unflinchingly.

“The sheer arrogance…” Sneers Snape. McGonagall throws him a disapproving look, but she, too, seems very bothered by Deidara’s statement.

The shinobi feels quite insulted at the insinuation at his lack of skills but stamps down his impulse to act on his rising temper. Blowing up will do him no good here. Instead, he strains to keep his voice even when he speaks, “When I broke into Malfoy Manor, I was able to see some of the Wards and spells used by the Death Eaters, yeah. Most of them are just jets of light, pretty easy to dodge and evade, un. But there has to be more, right? Something more dangerous and hard to detect, yeah?”

A beat of silence, before Dumbledore finally speaks up, “Unfortunately, Mr. Deidara, I do not know as much about Voldemort as I’d like to, so I cannot tell you much about what sort of spells he knows. However, as for the latter request, I believe I can procure you some reading material regarding the more insidious side of magic.”

It’s not at all what Deidara had hoped for, but he has a feeling pushing will do him no good here. Still feeling very unhappy, he huffs, “Fine. Thanks, un. Now, if there’s nothing else…”

“One last thing, Mr. Deidara,” Dumbledore speaks up as the blonde leaves his seat. Deidara stops and looks at the Headmaster, who suddenly has a very severe look on his face, “I give you this information with the hope of once again impressing upon you to understand that Voldemort and his followers are not to be underestimated, however talented you may be. And I hope that in the future, you will refrain from any action that threatens the secrecy of the Order. Do you understand?”

Suddenly reminded uncomfortably of being lectured by Pain, the blonde scowls harshly, “Yeah, I understand, un.”

“Very good. I will have these books sent to you in your dorm. Have a good evening, Mr. Deidara.”

Feeling like he is going to do something very regrettable if he lingers any longer, the artist marches out of the room without looking back. He still feels inexplicably angry and itching for a fight. He had thought talking to Dumbledore might help distract him from the feeling of being trapped, but all it did was make it worse. In that room, surrounded by three Professors, he felt like a genin awaiting the judgment of his elders again. His skin crawls. He didn’t even get any useful information out of them.

He spends the rest of the day in the Room of Requirement, trying and failing to release some of his frustration until night falls and he has to go back lest someone takes notice of his absence again.

Snape watches the door to the office close with a look of contempt. From somewhere above him, one of the many portraits speaks up, “What an impertinent boy.”

The potion master scoffs, very much agreeing with Phineas Nigellus Black, the portrait that has spoken. “Very arrogant, too. Even more so than Potter, and that is a feat of its own.”

“Severus, that is enough out of you.” McGonagall cuts in, “I will not have you insult Potter in front of me. Honestly, I know you are not fond of the boy, but this is just childish.”

He scowls at her, “Even you must admit Mr. Akatsuki’s attitude is concerning, yes?”

McGonagall’s lips thin considerably, but before she can answer, Dumbledore speaks up, “Arrogant as he may be, you cannot deny it is not completely unfounded. We must not forget that the boy infiltrated the Death Eater’s stronghold and made away with a prisoner without sustaining any injury. Lucky or not, it is a very impressive feat.”

Unfortunately, Snape has no retort for this. He had thought the Headmaster mad when he informed him and Mcgonagall he had let Akatsuki go on his own into the Malfoy Manor for a rescue mission. However, hours later, the boy showed up at Grimmauld Place with a comatose man and not a single scratch. The day after that, he had been summoned to the Dark Lord's side to witness the aftermath of that. Not only had the blonde brat managed to make away with a guarded prisoner, but he had done so in such a way no one can explain using some form of strange magic, and in a way that everyone is under the impression a tall brunette had done it. The Dark Lord’s rage that day has been spine-chilling.

“He is dangerous then.” Snape narrows his eyes, “Did you ever find out the full extent of what he can do?”

“No, I have not, Severus. The boy demonstrates an aptitude for explosives and several other tricks, but I have a feeling he’s not telling me everything.”

“Is it necessarily a bad thing?” McGonagall asks, and Snape wants to laugh. As practical and severe as she is, the woman still has a soft spot for children and trouble-makers in her house, and she can be an optimist at times, “Everybody has secrets, and it is hardly realistic to expect Mr. Akatsuki to be completely transparent to us.”

“You are right of course, Minerva,” The Headmaster smiles a little, “I do not believe Mr. Deidara means us any harm. That being said, he is still somewhat a wild card, and I’d much rather have him close.”

Snape understands what he means. It’s better to have someone with such unorthodox talents on their side rather than the enemy’s. Still, as he recalls the mutilated and burned corpses left in the aftermath of the break-in, he can’t help but feel like they are playing with fire.

Chapter 20: The Snake

Chapter Text

“What, the, bloody hell,” Ron mutters a moment later. The air still smells of smoke and something that vaguely resembles ozone.

Harry agrees. He had no idea what had happened either. He saw Deidara’s mood get worse and worse as the lesson with Hagrid and Umbridge proceeded. His face darkened further when they discussed thestrals, and when Malfoy came along…

Harry himself has snapped at the Slytherin plenty of times. He understands perfectly well the red, boiling feeling anger gives a person, but that was… something else. The look in the blonde’s eye when he graphically threatened the pale boy. For a second, Harry actually thought the older boy was actually going to kill Malfoy.

Hermione whispers, “I mean, Malfoy is a right git, but…” Her eyes linger on the spot where the explosion occurred.

Harry frowns heavily, “... C’mon, let’s get out of here before any teacher comes to see what happened.”

For the rest of the day, Harry does not see Deidara again anywhere. The older boy does not show up at dinner nor does he come to Astrology that night, and when Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to the Common Room, the blonde isn’t there either. Harry… does not know how to feel about this. On one side, he wants to demand answers from Deidara, but, on the other hand, parts of him feel… relieved not to see the blonde again so soon after… that.

The look in Deidara’s blue eye as he screamed at the sky was… chilling. Harry thinks back to the summer two years ago when he first saw Sirius’s wanted poster and the madness in those dark eyes. He has seen it in Deidara’s eye, too. For the first time in a while, Harry is forcefully reminded of the fact that he does not know anything at all about Deidara. He doesn’t know where the blonde’s from, what he did, what kind of people he rubs elbows with.

Harry remembers the dinner incident when the blonde first lost his temper. It’s honestly not that long ago, but that angry version of the older boy feels like an insignificant spot in the face of all he had done for Harry and his friends. He looks down at his hand. The scar is almost gone now, it is only visible when the light hits it a certain way. Harry thinks back to Deidara’s face when he sees Harry coming back with a bloodied hand once again.

'I’m going to kill her.' The blonde had said. Back then, Harry did not spend any time at all on that statement. Thinking about it now sends chills down his back. His mind drifts back to the Boggart, to the horrific scenes of dead people. For a split second, Harry imagines how young Deidara was when he saw all of that, and how that can mess a person up.

Come off it, he thinks, you’ve seen some sh*t, too. Cedric’s unmoving face flashes before his mind. You didn’t turn into some unstable maniac the Daily Prophet’s telling people about.

Deidara isn’t an unstable maniac, either… The blonde’s crazed blue eye surfaces to the forefront of his mind, and Harry immediately feels horrible. So what if he’s not the most… normal? None of the people Harry knew could be considered normal either. He grimaces as he thinks about his aunt and uncle and their hatred for anything unusual. Deidara evidently has a rough life, and he is allowed some quirks, isn’t he?

He is recalled to himself when Hermione speaks up, “What do you reckon he meant when he said that?”

“When who said what?” Asks Ron.

“Deidara.” Hermione says impatiently, “He said he was sick of ‘playing nice,’ and ‘pretending to be helpless.’ What do you think he meant by that?”

Harry shrugs, “I dunno, I just thought he meant he’s tired of playing nice with Umbridge.”

Ron nods, “Or maybe he’s sick of being in school here. I mean, the bloke’s 19, isn’t he? Technically an adult already.” He grimaces, “Can you imagine having to go back to school when you’re already 19?”

Hermione makes a face at the redhead, but Harry quickly intervenes before the two can start again, “It makes sense, I guess, but he used the word ‘civilian.’ That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

The bushy-haired girl just shrugs, “It could just be because he doesn’t know a better word. English’s not his mother tongue, remember?”

“I guess…” They lapse into silence again.

“Look, we agree it was strange, right?” Harry speaks up a bit hesitantly, “The way he just snapped and told Malfoy about his partner?”

“Yeah,” Hermione agrees, “I was thinking about it, too.”

“I dunno,” Ron chimes in, “The way I see it, the bloke just sorta let it slip.”

“Maybe,” Hermione frowns, “But it was so dangerous, wasn’t it? And he just… brushed it off like it was nothing. Do you think he understands, I mean, really understands the consequence of this?”

Ron scoffs, “Of course he does, he’s not stupid.”

“I’m not saying that he is. I’m just – Well, he is very impulsive, isn’t he?”

This time, even Harry has to agree. Deidara might even be more impulsive than he is, and that is saying something.

“Sometimes,” Hermione continues in a low voice, “I get the feeling he thinks he’s above all of this, you know, that he’s somehow invincible.”

Harry supposes Deidara has always had an air of confidence around him, “I guess so.”

“We have to talk to him about it. It has gone too far.” Whispers Hermione furiously.

Both Harry and Ron look at her in alarm.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” The girl mutters, “We have to get him to realize how much risk he has put himself in, and to keep his temper in check!”

While Harry agrees with his friend, the idea of telling Deidara anything of the sort does not sound the least bit appealing. It must have shown on his and Ron’s face as Hermione scowls at them both.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him… honestly...”

They had to wait for a long time until the subject of their discussion turned up. When Deidara walks through the portrait door, the Common Room is almost completely empty save for a couple of seventh-years huddled together at the far end of the room. The blonde’s blue eye lands on them, and before anyone can say anything, he walks right past them and heads towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Ron demands, taken aback by his attitude. Deidara stops. He seems to take a second to consider if he should ignore Ron, but ultimately deflates and turns around.

“Get on with it, un. Ask.”

Hermione presses her lips into a thin line, “I just want to make sure you understand exactly what you did by telling Malfoy about your partner.”

“I do understand that the brat’s gonna tattle to his daddy, who will tell Voldemort, yeah, yeah.” Deidara waves his hand, still standing where he is “I know I f*cked up, you don’t have to keep nagging me, un.”

“Nag you? I’m not nagging you!” Hermione mutters frustratedly, “Don’t you get it? This is Voldemort we’re talking about. Not someone you can push around like Malfoy.”

The blonde scrunches his face up in annoyance, “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” Hermione says determinedly, “I’ll bring this up to Dumbledore if I have to.”

“He’s already known, yeah.”

“... What?”

Deidara lets out a dry huff of laughter, “Malfoy went to Snape about it, who immediately reported to the Old Man. I was summoned up to his office shortly after I left, un.”

“And?” Harry, finding any topics related to Dumbledore immensely interesting, jumps in, “What did he say?”

Deidara shoots Hermione a light glare, “Pretty much the same thing you’re saying, yeah.”

“See!” The girl exclaims, then quickly lowering her voice again, “Dumbledore agrees with me. You have to at least consider what we’re saying, don’t you?”

The blonde looks like someone biting into a lemon and stubbornly says nothing.

Hermione presses on, “Look, we’re just…” Both Harry and Ron shoot her a look, “...fine, I’m worried about you, alright. What are you going to do now?”

Deidara shrugs tensely, “I’m not going to do anything, un. If trouble comes, I’ll deal with it.”

“Deal with it? How?” Demands Hermione, “You can’t solve every problem by blowing things up!”

“Watch me, yeah.”

“This is serious!” Hermione, now looking very bothered by Deidara’s blase attitude, turns her eyes over to Harry and Ron, looking for support.

Reluctantly, Harry has to agree, “She’s right, mate. This isn’t just Malfoy anymore, this is Voldemort we’re talking about. Take it from me, he can get to you even here. I told you about Quirrell, right? And what happened during my second year?”

“Yeah,” Ron chimes in, “And last year a Death Eater disguised as our DADA teacher got in, too.”

The three of them look at Deidara expectantly, but the blonde does not seem to grasp the severity of this at all. If anything, he looks increasingly annoyed at them for even talking about it. Harry feels frustration bubbles up inside. He typically finds the older boy’s cavalier attitude fun and refreshing, but now, it feels like the blonde simply isn’t respecting the situation at all. This is Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake. The man whose very name is enough to strike fear into most wizards and witches. The man killed his parents and is now actively trying to kill him and start a war.

“How are you so unbothered?” Harry demands, “Do you understand who would be after you? Voldemort. He killed my parents and tried to kill me, multiple times. He killed Cedric just last year, and Merlin knows what he’d done in the last few months. How can you just sit there and act like - like this is nothing?”

“Because this is nothing, un!” Deidara snaps back, and Harry sees red.

“HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?” He glowers, standing up and towering over the blonde. Both Hermione and Ron flinch away from him, but Deidara meets his angry stare with his own pissed-off one. For a split second, Harry wants to take hold of the older boy and shake him. “You’re not actually enough of an arrogant git to really think the threat of Voldemort coming after you is nothing, are you?”

“Guys! Stop it!” Hermione calls out, but neither Harry nor Deidara pays her any attention.

“So what if I was, yeah?” The blonde says venomously, and an ugly sneer stretches across his face, “It’s f*cking torture being kept in here with a bunch of snot-nose brats who can barely even throw a punch right, un. If Voldemort went after me, I’d welcome it, yeah. It’d be more exciting than all of this!” He makes a sweeping gesture around the empty Common Room.

A deafening silence descends upon them. Harry can hardly believe his ears. It’s like Deidara has transformed into a completely different person right before his eyes. The blonde is still glaring fiercely at him, red face and feverish.

“It’s been a long and horrible day. I’m going to bed, un.” The older boy declares with an air of finality and disappears up the stairs. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watch him go mutely, still stunned by his outburst.

The next few weeks pass with stony silence between Harry and Deidara. Ron is steadfast at his side in the belief that the blonde has been a complete asshole and is definitely in the wrong. Hermione, on the other hand, seems conflicted. She agrees that the older boy has been very much out of line, but she doesn’t seem very keen on this anger between them.

“It’s just like when you and Ron argued.” She sighs hopelessly, “Honestly, if you just talk to him…”

“Oi!” Ron exclaims angrily, “Don’t compare me to that prick. At least I’ve never said I’d. what was it, oh yeah, ‘welcome Who-Know-Who coming after me.’”

“That’s right.” Harry agrees viciously, shooting the short blonde sitting at the far end of Gryffindor Table a dirty look, “Ron’s not an arrogant git who thinks that having the most feared dark wizard in the last century targeting him is a good thing.”

Deidara, who has somehow heard him, looks up and glares at him. Harry glares stubbornly back. The blonde flares his nostril before resolutely turning back to his breakfast.

Harry turns back to Hermione, “If you want to talk to him so much, be my guest. But unless he pulls his head out of his arse and apologizes, I’m not talking to him.”

Hermione, for all her talk about getting Deidara’s side of the story, does not seem too enthusiastic about approaching the blonde either. Indeed, the older boy has done a remarkable job of evading the three of them like the plague. He still attends classes and shows up to meals, but other than that, Deidara is nowhere to be found. He has even stopped showing up to DA meetings, a fact that went unnoticed by no one.

“So, is he just not a part of the DA anymore?” Asks Ginny.

“That’s a shame.” Neville says quietly, “I finally grasped the last move… What happened?” He glances furtively from Harry, to Ron, and to Hermione. It’s no secret that the three of them had a fallout with Deidara, but no one else knows exactly what happened. Harry, not having any intention of making the fight public, avoids the question entirely by starting the meeting.

December comes, and Hogwarts is covered in a sparkling layer of pure white snow. As Christmas approaches, Harry finds himself not looking forward to spending the holiday at the castle at all for the first time. Between Umbridge, his Quidditch ban, worrying over Hagrid, and being angry at Deidara, Harry does not feel particularly fond of the school at the moment. The DA meetings are pretty much the only thing he is looking forward to nowadays, and that will have to be put on hold once the holiday starts as its members return home. Hermione is going skiing with her family, and Ron is returning to the Burrow, which would leave Harry alone here with Deidara. The prospect does not sound appealing to him at all.

This lasts until Ron tells him, when he asks how the redhead is going to return home, “You’re coming, too! Didn’t I tell you? Mum told me to invite you ages ago!”

“No, you didn't tell me!” Harry says, his heart lifting. He laughs, “I thought I was stuck here with him.”

Ron doesn’t ask who ‘him’ is, but his face falls a little, “He’s coming, too. Since the official story is that Mum and Dad are fostering him, he can’t exactly stay here while the rest of us go home.”

This isn't enough to dampen Harry’s spirit, however. Even if Deidara comes with them to the Burrow, the house should be crowded enough to distract Harry from the blonde’s presence. Although, he is slightly guilty that he cannot spend Christmas with Sirius. He thinks about convincing Mrs. Weasley to invite his Godfather also, but he isn’t sure if it’s safe for Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place even if only for a little bit.

Any and all thoughts about Sirius, Deidara, or Christmas leave him as he returns to the Common Room that night, still dazed from the kiss with Cho. Harry crawls into his bed, feeling terribly conflicted as he recalls her crying on his shoulder. He throws a glance to the bed on his left. It’s still empty, which is predictable. Deidara has been coming in late when everyone has already fallen asleep and leaves early in the morning before Harry or Ron wakes up.

No one’s making him sleep-depriving himself, Harry thinks bitterly as he closes his eyes. Not my problem at all.

He dreams he is with Cho again in the Room of Requirement, she is crying and saying something about Cedric and chocolate frogs. She changes into Deidara, who throws exploding Christmas decorations at him, shouting at him to work on his reflexes. Harry dodges but trips. Then, he falls through the floor…

He lands in a familiar dark windowless corridor. He feels strange. He is too low to the floor, and his body is distinctly smooth, powerful, and flexible. He slides flat on his belly across the cold floor, looking around. At first glance, the corridor seems empty, but far ahead, there’s a weak flickering light. He moves closer. A figure of a tall man comes into view. He needs to move now. It’s too late, he has been discovered. Not giving the man time to react, Harry rears up and strikes. Once, twice, three times. Blood pours around them, as red as the man’s hair.

His forehead burns in pain. It hurts so bad, but he must continue.

“Harry! HARRY!”

He must keep moving…

Something strikes him across the face, hard. Harry’s eyes snap open. He is covered in cold sweat and tangled up in his bedsheet, but all he can focus on is the shearing pain on his forehead.

“Harry, focus, yeah!” Someone waves a hand in front of him, which grins toothily at him, “Can you hear me?”

“Yea –” He gasps, “Yes.” Someone shoves his glasses into his hand, and as he puts them on, Deidara’s face swims into focus with Ron right behind him, looking extremely frightened.

“Focus on me, un.” The blonde demands. Dazely, he looks at his single blue eye, “Can you tell me where you are, yeah?”

“Wh – Why?”

“Just answer me!”

“I’m – I’m in my bed, in Gryffindor Tower.” He replies shakily, and then he rolls right over the bed and empties the content of his stomach.

Someone swears, and another voice pipes up, trembling, “He’s really ill. Should we call someone?”

Harry ignores them and locks eyes with Ron. He has to tell him. There’s something important he has to tell him.

“Ron!” He gasps. His scar is still pounding so bad it’s making him dizzy, “Your Dad! Your Dad… He’s been attacked!”

“What?” Gapes the redhead uncomprehendingly.

“Your Dad! He’s been bitten. It’s serious, there was blood everywhere –”

“Harry, mate,” says Ron uncertainly, “You – you were just dreaming…”

“No!” says Harry furiously. It is crucial that Ron understand. “It wasn’t a dream… not a normal dream. I was there, I saw it… I did it…”

Silence descends on them. Finally, Deidara, who has been staring critically at Harry, speaks up, “Neville, go get McGonagall. Now.” His voice leaves no room for argument, and Harry hears footsteps leaving the room. The blonde turns back to Harry, “C’mon. Let’s go to the Common Room, yeah.”

He wants to protest. What they need to do is to get to that corridor, where Arthur Weasley lays badly injured, but Deidara has taken a hold of his arm and determinedly drags him out of the room. Ron worriedly follows behind.

“Harry, you’re not well.” Says the red-haired boy shakily, “Maybe you should come to the hospital wing–”

“I’m not sick!” Harry protests, trying to break free from Deidara’s grip, but the blonde merely pushes him down onto the couch in front of the fire. “There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s your dad you’ve got to worry about — we need to find out where he is — he’s bleeding like mad — I was — it was a huge snake…”

The portrait door swings open, and he can hear Neville’s voice, “There he is, Professor…”

Professor McGonagall comes into view, looking very strange in her dressing gown and hair in a very messy bun.

“What’s wrong, Potter? What happened?” She asks urgently.

He jumps up to his feet. She’s a member of the Order. Surely, she would understand, “It’s Ron’s dad! He’s been bitten by a giant snake. I saw it happen!”

McGonagall stares at him, “What do you mean, you saw it happen?”

“I don’t know, I fell asleep and I–”

“You mean you dreamt it?”

“No!” He shouts, frustrated. He has to make her understand. “I mean, yes, but it’s not a normal dream! I was dreaming normally before about something completely different, then I was suddenly in the body of this giant snake. I saw Mr. Weasley in the middle of this long hallway, and he was attacked. It’s very serious, Professor. We’ve got to find out where he is…” He lapses off. Professor McGonagall is staring at him through her glasses like she is horrified at what she is seeing. “I’m NOT mad!” He shouts, “I swear I saw it happen–”

“– I believe you, Potter,” McGonagall says grimly. “Come, I’ll take you to the Headmaster.”