Chapter 4: A New Perspective 1/3

Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter (rightfully owned by J.K Rowling) or Naruto (rightfully owned by Masashi Kishimoto) nor do I make any money out of this fiction.

A/N: I was looking at the older chapters the other day, and I realised that they didn't contain page-breakers. I've since rectified the problem but it's irritating that they were absent. It kinda messed up the flow of the story as I'd written it.

More importantly, I would like to thank all of the wonderful reviewers, as they are the driving force that spurs me on to write this fiction. That was why my last update was on Christmas Eve, so that I could enjoy some nice new reviews on Christmas Day; so, for all of those reviewers, thanks for the Christmas present.

One reviewer I want to thank specially, is the reviewer 'Awesome', for his sand clone idea which I did end up using in this chapter.

Finally, I want to apologize for the never-ending cliff-hangers. I just like to leave off with some suspense. Oh, and one more thing, only one person guessed the Boggart correctly. So, well done you.. I hope you enjoy and so forth.

Updated 15 February 2014: My Beta, RisingNight is steaming through these old chapters ever so diligently. Hopefully I will have finished a new by the time we're all caught up.

(Last Time)

The Boggart shivered before jumping into the air and starting to spasm and shift before him. The shape that was left behind after the change landed back on the floor surprisingly softly, making black rimmed eyes widen. Gaara's mouth opened and the slightest whisper met the ears of others around the room, indiscriminate to merely a whimper at the sight of…

Sabaku no Gaara stood stock-still as he stared into the eyes of the newly formed Boggart that was slowly stepping towards him in the leisurely manner that one might expect from a carefree visitor on a light afternoon stroll, except the Boggart had a much more sinister purpose in its stride as it approached Gaara; walking directly towards the trembling shinobi who hadn't moved an inch since the monster's terrible formation.

To the many fascinated observers of the event, they mightn't have understood Gaara's deep rooted despair at the sight of the approaching figure, having not heard of the boy's sordid past, but even they, as fickle as the student body could be, were aware of the terror within the Gaara's usually opaque eyes. The approaching human shape was certainly not what they had expected from the previously fantastical exchange student's Boggart but nonetheless they watched it raptly.

The human shape, apparently a woman, had reached her destination with a gentle smile upon her face. Gaara's wide eyes couldn't even blink at the face of Karura, whom he had only seen in photographs and yet she had been the cause of some of the most profound of consequences on his life.

Karura, Gaara's mother.

Of all of the figures and scenarios within the demon host's memory, he had never imagined that she would be the fear he was shown. It wasn't that he didn't understand the horror he was feeling; he had just been so terrified of the mere thought that he just couldn't comprehend it.

The Boggart with the delicate woman's face bent down and hugged the rigid shinobi, hands weaving around his petite form with seemingly practiced ease. Gaara wasn't in the state of mind one might expect from a child being reunited with their dead mother, and for good reason soon revealed. The Boggart was, in fact, a manifestation of one's fears based upon that person's ideas and perceptions. In essence, Gaara's mother was there because he was afraid of the idea of her being there because he had always known exactly what she would say to him, deep down in his heart.

"Professor, who is that?" Hermione whispered, concerned that the dangerous creature that she had watched transform into the various grotesqueries of the human mind was now hugging the clearly uncomfortable, if not afraid, red-headed boy.

"I don't know… I've never seen her before." Lupin was truthfully bewildered by the unusual behaviour of the Boggart that was leaning in to Gaara's ear and whispering something to him. At the first sign of trouble or danger he would intervene and stop the creature, even if he had to reveal his own fear in doing so, but until then he would wait and see what happened. It wasn't like Lupin to endanger a friend for the sake of his curiosity; however, he was ashamed to admit that even he was wary of the student whom had appeared in a flurry of sand and intrigue.

Gaara wasn't nearly as aware as his classmates, his eyes only registering almost grey hair covering his vision like a veil of misty uncertainty, bad memories and despicable motives. The hug, that had started so lovingly had turned into a desperate clutching as the fake started to whisper into his ear disturbing things that he knew to be true and yet had still shied away from.

"My little Gaara, my beautiful little Gaara. You've been such a naughty child, not killing anyone... You know that's your purpose; you are a tool for genocide. That's why I gave you your name." The Boggart Karura sung caringly into Gaara's ear, describing all of his worst insecurities and destabilizing his only recently formed sanity at its very core.

'No, no, no!' Gaara howled inside of his head, furiously wishing he could scream the denial at the top of his lungs.

"It's okay now, my Gaara. Your mother will take care of you now; we'll kill them all together. We'll keep on killing until you and I are the only two left." The Boggart, whom Gaara had forgotten was merely an echo of truth, was now in front of his face, staring into his eyes with all of the love he had been denied throughout his childhood. The worst part was that during the disturbing speech, in which he could hear Shukaku literally shrieking in agreement, he truly wanted to please her.

He felt so very happy in the warm embrace of his mother. It wasn't like Gaara to lose track of himself so easily, especially since he had separated his mind from the Ichibi's, but the emotional blowback of the encounter was draining all of his self control until he was nothing more than the weapon he had strived so hard to distance himself from.

"I love you so much Gaara, I always have despite what your father did to us. I always loved you." Karura, although fake, pulled Gaara to her chest and finally he succumbed and encircled his smaller arms around her, clinging to his mother's breast and wishing it never had to end, wishing that he didn't have to kill again but knowing he had no choice. Gaara closed his eyes, preparing for the attack that he was about to make, knowing how much it was going to hurt him later, he steeled himself for the kill.

"You know what you have to do, Gaara. Do it for your mother," She whispered as the cork on the gourd popped off and dispersed into more sand, joined by the large amounts now flowing freely out of the container.

'Yes, mother.' Gaara could only whisper in his own head as he flexed his control of the tendril, which had hardened enough to pierce even the strongest defence, not that it would have to.

The witches and wizards present couldn't help but tense as the tentacle waved around the embracing pair, all still perplexed by the entire situation. A sense of danger radiated from the scene, enough so that even the most dim-witted teenager could feel the impending violence on an instinctual level.

'Yes, mother.' Gaara repeated, Shukaku's screams becoming almost deafening as he struck.

Hermione gasped, as the sand spear pierced the female chest, one that belonged to a woman who looked both unsurprised and thankful for the aggression. The young witch thought she saw a resemblance to Gaara in the pale woman's face but was in no state of mind to dwell on such details when he had attacked said woman seemingly unprovoked. She had to remind herself, as did all of the students, that it wasn't really a person they were seeing impaled, no matter how real the blood appeared, but a Boggart.

Everyone watched as the now limp form fell gently onto Gaara, who was holding her against him, the roles reversed as she leaned her head from his shoulder slightly to whisper one last thing.

All present saw the Boggart speak a dying message to Gaara, and yet no one could make out a single word. All anyone could discern was that whatever she had told him, it brought a smile to Gaara's face, as he silently thought in reply, 'I know.'

No one moved, no one spoke; the entire class was frozen as Gaara moved the body of the, now dead, Boggart to the floor, still maintaining the sad and yet so very sincere smile that didn't hold the same apathy or loathing that his previous facial expressions had held; no, this was a transcendental smile that had never been seen before and was seldom seen again by the residents of Hogwarts.

The sand was recalled into its resting place as the owner turned away from his peers and walked out of the classroom. The body of the Boggart started to spasm before exploding in a cloud of smoke, leaving nothing behind but bad memories and startled third years.

Not a soul saw Gaara for several hours after the incident, and, by no coincidence, not one person saw him shed a single tear that night.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Like all good rumours, the story of Gaara's encounter with the Boggart had spread within the first ten minutes to all four corners and houses of Hogwarts; not even the teachers were spared from the gossiping as they too chattered amongst themselves about the strange and disconcerting student who had become even more interesting than their resident miracle maker, Harry Potter, who'd had a fairly mundane start to the school year by comparison despite the dementor attack.

The centre of attention had become even more reserved than before, after his last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, if that were even possible. Lupin was just thankful for two things: no students had been hurt, and he hadn't had his classroom destroyed like the teacher's poll would have suggested. There had been five-to-one odds that he would be teaching outside for the rest of the week. Fortunately, Lupin had had enough faith in Gaara to bet on his classroom's survival, and had made a killing as a result.

The only teacher exempt from such rumour milling and gossip mongering was the ever-stoic and hate filled Severus Snape, whom had, at first, listened to the various accounts of the story before distancing himself from the matter entirely after the truth had turned to exaggeration and lies from the Chinese-whispers that were being relayed to him.

Dumbledore had tried in earnest to resolve the issue by confronting it again, to little effect. It seemed that the matter was of a sensitive and personal nature to Gaara as all questions either met a glare or feigned preoccupation. Albus had decided, before his questioning, that he wouldn't suggest any of his theories to Gaara, as, if he was wrong, or if he was right, it might end dangerously. He knew he had an upset teenager on his hands and the last thing he needed was an angry student who scared him more than he would ever like to admit. The only solace that the aged and wised man could take was that Gaara had been grounded to some level social norms by his apparent friendship with Draco Malfoy, though the term 'friend' wasn't really all that suitable considering the red-head's continuing distance and overall antisocial nature. The professor wasn't all too sure whether he should be concerned over the two teens bonding or not. He would have to wait and see, after all, he still had his contacts at the ministry to fall back on if matters grew out of his control, no matter how much he wished to avoid that instance.

The platinum-blonde nobility of the Slytherin house had managed, with some considerable effort, to keep regular contact with his roommate after the fiasco of a few days prior that had threatened to sever what little connection he had to the boy he now considered to be his, for lack of a better term, friend. To that end he had practically dragged the silent and sombre boy to the first-year flying lessons that Gaara had not had the benefit of attending two years previously; he had been elsewhere at the time, apparently.

When Gaara had first learnt of the wizarding hobby of riding broomsticks, he had decided that witches and wizards were crazy. It wasn't that Gaara doubted Sirius when he had mentioned flying cleaning equipment, after all, the young shinobi had heard of much stranger methods of travel in his own world, but the concept of actually using the method of transport on a regular basis, and for fun no less, seemed ludicrous.

It hadn't been a fortnight since his fall from the much sturdier magical flying creature, and it had had a profound effect on Gaara's trust in the wizarding community's sense of self preservation when it came to their flying implements. Suffice to say, Gaara was not going to be getting on one of those waiting concussions.

So, when the red-haired teenager found himself straddling the wooden broom, he questioned just how persuasive his roommate really was. He looked to his left and saw Draco had a thin smile set upon his lips, though it was much happier than his previously malicious ones that had been a regular sight for the new student. To his right Gaara saw the thirty-or-so first years all holding their brooms as tightly and fearfully as the seasoned killing-machine. It would have been a lie to say that said killing-machine wasn't embarrassed about his skittishness, but after the time he'd been having recently, he wasn't in any mood to let pride take charge in place of safety.

However, despite his housemate's heavy protests against the decision, Gaara had adamantly refused to leave his sand-filled gourd on the ground. It wasn't that he was afraid it would be broken again, after all he could fix it almost instantaneously, but he definitely wasn't going to fall from such a height again any time soon without the protection of his trusted lifeline.

The entire subject of Gaara's inability to ride a broom had been raised when the related subject of Quidditch had been brought up with as much enthusiasm as Gaara had ever seen someone so stoic as Draco use. The pureblood had been absolutely engrossed by the topic, wherein he had gone into great detail on the wonders of not only amateur playing but also the professional sport. Gaara really did regret shaking his head when asked if he had played the game before, leading to Draco, incredulous at the admittance, asking if Gaara even knew how to ride a broom.

The young wizard didn't know what was true anymore, having been informed that the supposed pureblood didn't know the most basic of skills that he himself had been taught at age seven. What perplexed the haughty noble the most was that even though he had doubts about Gaara's birth status, that didn't dissuade him from pursuing a friendship with the boy. It just didn't make sense to Draco, who had been raised with only the concept of social climbing as a reason to bond with peers.

It was a strange coincidence that not only Draco but Gaara also was feeling the odd sensation of an impending companionship. It was the real reason he had agreed to risking his life on the insanity that passed for wizarding pastimes. If it had been any other person he would have flat-out refused, but with Draco he felt a tinge of guilt. As an unexpected side-effect of Gaara's proximity to Draco, more than just Crabbe & Goyle had deserted him as the entire school had begun to give the platinum-blonde the same wide-birth as himself. He knew it would be beneficial in the long run, to remove the multitude prejudiced and discriminatory purebloods who would spit on you as soon as look at you; however it did not escape the shinobi's notice that since he had been shunned from all of his social circles and left alone Draco had begun to hang around him a lot more. It pained Gaara to know that he was the cause of someone else's pain and loneliness, especially someone like Draco who, despite his dark upbringing, was a genuinely good person, if a little abrasive and misled at times.

Brought back to his current predicament by a tap on the shoulder, Gaara turned to see Draco looking predictably peeved at being ignored for the last few minutes. The pale boy had been asking about Gaara's past again, only for the sake of learning more of his acquaintance, rather than for any more sinister reasons. Still, when he had been completely blanked by the mute mystery, he had become quite perturbed.

This had been yet another proof of Draco's inner goodness. That he was actually able to approach and touch Gaara on the shoulder showed that he had no evil intentions, or at least he had no killing intent towards Gaara. That had been why Yashamaru had never been able to get close enough to kill Gaara when he was a child, having to resort to more forceful methods in place of subterfuge. Shaking off morbid thoughts of the past, Gaara paid attention to Madam Hooch, who had begun her beginner's guide to flying. She hadn't really acknowledged the third years' presences in her class as she knew how much of a hassle a Malfoy could be when angered, and that would only spell annoyance for her later on; besides, she had also succumbed to the puzzle of the transfer student and was genuinely curious as to whether he would be able to fly after the stories of his magical ineptitude had circulated the staff table during dinnertime.

Following the provided instructions, both teens kicked off of the ground, one of them half-expecting to fall straight back down onto his knees, only to be surprised to find he was floating a foot or two over the grass on the wooden shaft of the broom.

Draco then leaned over and said, "Come on, let's leave these kiddies and go do some real flying." The pure mirth in the boy's voice was enough to convince the unsteady ninja to follow slowly on his broom, away from the group of bewildered first years who had been expecting them to stay for more than the first five minutes. Truthfully, Draco had only encouraged Gaara to come to the first years' lesson because he thought it was the only way he could make the terrified Jinchuriki think it would be safe to leave terra firma.

They hovered around to the back of the school, Gaara having little to no clue where he was being led, save for the inkling that the destination was going to require a life threatening lesson. The tanuki-boy's expectations were proven true when he laid his large eyes on the gigantic stadium before him. It was close to the size of the Chunin-exam stadium, but it was far larger in terms of airspace. The grass pitch at the bottom looked like it had seldom been stood on before, which could very well have been true considering that the majority of time spent in Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch was spent on a broom in the sky. The towering wooden structures, ready to house the teaching staff and guests of the school, were still bare and without covering as the year had only just begun and the first match of the season was still more than a month away.

They each floated into the middle of the expansive area before Draco began to fly around a little more energetically, losing the patience that was so desperately needed to get Gaara to go higher than a few feet.

Calming slightly when he acknowledged his own immature behaviour, Draco dropped back down to eye level and started to goad the off-worlder into going higher, continuing his immaturity, though now acknowledged and accepted, to which, at first, Gaara merely refused, having no intention of killing himself. It wasn't that he was afraid of heights, it was just the methods in which he reached them that set him on edge.

Eventually, Gaara caved into the incessant whining that had turned from gentle persuasion to childish teasing. Ashamedly, Gaara succumbed to the childish form of coercion as he pulled upwards on the end of the wooden pole. Unfortunately, there had been an oversight on Gaara's part that Draco had also failed to notice; that being the large gourd, equal in size to Gaara himself, and filled to the brim with ground up rocks, was far too heavy for any broom to lift, magical or no. Gaara had tried to fly straight upwards upon his roommate's example but had only reached the staggering altitude of five feet before beginning to tip backwards and fall.

The object that had single-handedly doomed the ascension was also the object that saved the participant from doing a number on his recently healed tail bone. The sand burst from the container with lightning speed to cushion the, albeit minor yet still unpleasantly nostalgic, descent. Thanks to the blanket of golden granules under his back, Gaara had barely even felt the impact and was moving back to his feet again momentarily.

"Take that… thing off, and try again," Draco said; coming back down like the proverbial yoyo he seemed to be imitating as of the past few minutes. The Slytherin seeker had stumbled on his description of the gourd which, to his dismay, remained an ongoing enigma to him. He had tried on several occasions, even more so after the Boggart-incident, to discover something, anything about Gaara but the only thing he had managed to rip from the clutches of Gaara's paranoia was that the boy had been a 'shinobi' where he came from and that they excelled in wandless magic. What a shinobi was, as well as an infinite number of other unanswered questions still plagued the forefront of Malfoy's mind.

Gaara shook his head, not willing to entertain the thought of riding the broom, which had already proven itself to be unsafe in his mind, without his protection. Gaara looked down at the borrowed broom in his hand, a far cry from Draco's Nimbus 2001, the end fraying and the length looking ready to buckle under a normal student's weight, much less his considerable bulk when including the mass of the sand on his back. The boy himself, being of a rather diminutive stature, weighed very little, not that he would ever admit any such weaknesses. The tiny Jinchuriki threw the broom off to the side petulantly when his patience ran thin, though he was careful not to put too much force behind his throw as to break the tool, seeing as it was not his safety-hazard to break.

Before he could leave Draco to calm down over the next few hours, said flying teen made his last effort to persuade his associate to stay, "Come on, don't be such a coward."

Refusing to rise again to such an obvious jibe at his otherwise proud demeanour, Gaara started to walk away, having no further reason to stay. He was sure he would reconcile with his bed-neighbour at some point, but for the moment he was a little too… mad? Embarrassed? He wasn't sure what he was feeling at being called out, regarding his apparent fear of flying by wizarding means. Still, it was understandable that after the weeks he'd had, including no less than three falls, he developed a fear of a reoccurrence. Admittedly, the first had been due to an unknown kinjutsu and he'd been close to unconscious at the time and the third had been a few feet into soft sand, but the fact remained that his phobia seemed to have ingrained itself.

As Gaara was exiting through one of the various holes in the border of the stadium's perimeter, he heard the rushing of wind behind him. Not an unfamiliar sound, almost reminiscent of his home; the tanuki-host turned to see Draco whizzing around through the air at break-neck speeds. What really caught his attention was the look on his face. Unlike most, who would have just seen a blur in place of the flying-nobility, Gaara's trained eyes caught sight of the unbridled joy on Malfoy's face, Gaara's earlier rebuffing of him notwithstanding. Draco seemed to have overcome his crippling loneliness as he soared freely, seemingly finding some measure of contentment that Gaara himself was relatively unfamiliar with and yet could still empathise fully with the sentiment.

Gaara was well aware of the mask that Draco had been forced to wear for many years and as such, any emotion or action was fiercely guarded. So, for Draco to smile and reveal such happiness whilst unaware of being observed meant that it was at least genuine. Most of the time, when Draco didn't know he was being watched, he would usually just scowl and work, but this was a sure sign that the potentially evil child had at least an escape from his villainy.