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.
