Chapter 6: A New Conflict 1/8

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 really tried to get this up quicker than the last one but... well... you know... kinda makes me wish this was a better fic than it is; make it a bit more of an auspicious occasion when I do get around to updating.

If anyone didn't see the last update, I explain where the fic cover came from in the author's note in the last chapter. The incredible and generous Darkling221 drew it.

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(Last Time)

This, the coming last week of what had been a remarkably peaceful month of October, in which he'd transformed into a tanuki-human hybrid, befriended a giant three-headed dog, taken up magic lessons with a man calling him 'Lily' and wronged his friend and was now awaiting what was sure to be a terrible retribution, was sure to cause him all sorts of trouble, even by his warped standards. He just knew it. And then there was the waxing of the moon that was leading to his next transformation in about a week's time. Even the pessimist in Gaara couldn't envision the full moon's effects getting any worse.

But still, what did he ever do to deserve... oh, right, the indiscriminate murders...

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A sense of looming dread hung over Gaara all that Friday morning, since the sun had presumably risen behind the thick cloud layer. He was sat eating his breakfast sedately, watching disinterestedly as the inhabitants of Hogwarts who actually slept at night roused and stumbled into the Great Hall, for almost two hours before he was actually acknowledged and approached. Thankfully, this time it wasn't a first-year on a dare to walk up to him; a game that had become increasingly popular over the last few days, and a game which he couldn't decide whether he should ignore or discourage, seeing as it probably wouldn't do any harm to let some of the residents of the castle see that he didn't actually eat 'firsties' for breakfast.

No, the man who approached Gaara was certainly older than, and definitely not as spry as, a first-year. Lupin wasn't an early bird, despite his studious nature, which was probably one of the reasons he was able to bond so well with the otherwise drastically different and less academically enthused Sirius and James; but nonetheless he had gotten up earlier than he usually would have liked in order to catch Gaara at breakfast, as the red-headed insomniac was always the first person there in the mornings.

"Good morning... Gaara," By this point, Gaara was already suspicious. The prideful Jinchūriki had been prepared to launch a jet of sand at the sickly professor the moment he was called by that dreadful, humiliating name again, so when he was actually called by his real name, he tried to work out if he could escape through the Great Hall's see-through roof. He stood, wanting to try it, to escape whatever the man had planned for him. He may have been taking lessons off of Lupin, and shared several (though, by no means all) highly incriminating secrets with the man, considered him to be somewhere between a respected teacher and a friend, but when Remus Lupin called him 'Gaara' right off the bat without any glaring dissuasion, he knew the adult wanted something. However, before the red-head could leap away, Lupin's hand gripped Gaara's shoulder in what should have been a warm gesture, and would have appeared to have been just that from afar, but was in fact a precaution by the experienced man to stop Gaara from dashing, teleporting or floating away.

"How are you this morning? Did you... sleep... at all? If you have trouble falling asleep, Madame Pomfrey would only be too glad to help..." Gaara, like many other Slytherins, hated inane small talk, however Gaara lacked the requisite tact and patience to conceal it as well as seasoned veterans of mindless chattering like Draco, who one could talk to for an hour without realising he was completely disengaged. Due to the scornful looks and frown, Lupin decided to cut to the chase.

"The Headmaster knows about our extra-curricular lessons and he's asked me to spend the day with you, revising all of the material we've covered so far in the tutorials; the theory, anyway. We'll be moving around the castle a little bit as I'm having to work without a classroom for the day. I also have to drop in on a few of the other professors, as well, so it's the perfect opportunity to get some fresh air in our lungs. Try to think of it as a unique chance to really get to grips with some of this magical theory you've had to catch up on, with your very own devoted, one-on-one tutor."

Remus didn't expect Gaara to believe that spiel, which was fortunate as Gaara's curiously-invisible eyebrow was already inching upwards in question. This was the story concocted by Dumbledore that was to be their cover and alibi. He was declaring it here, in front of all of the psychopathic transfer student's (unnecessarily far away) Slytherin peers, so that they could then pass on the word that Gaara had been spirited away by the DADA teacher for extra tuition.

Already whispers were beginning to spread as he gently guided the obstinate Gaara away from his cold, played-with breakfast and towards the exit. Remus had no intention of telling Gaara what was really happening that day until it was all over and maybe, if he could help it, not even then. The mysterious mute boy, who had fallen out of the sky only a few months ago, may have appeared and tried to act like an adult, and in many respects he probably was beyond his years, but Lupin couldn't bring himself to add to his young friend's already heavy burdens with these new problems. Worrying about the future was the adults' responsibility; children should only worry about the present, especially when they've already suffered through such obviously difficult times.

Gaara seemed to have taken his near-death experience in the summer in his stride, but the state Sirius had apparently found him in, and the scars that still remained, still left Remus with more than one sleepless night in recent memory and he knew Sirius had been the same.

"We're going to be stopping off at Professor Hagrid's home first, for a cup of tea and to pick up a letter he said he needed delivering to Professor Flitwick. I'm sure Hagrid will have some freshly baked cakes he'd be willing to share as well." Trying to instil enthusiasm about Hagrid's infamous cakes to the already unimpressed and sour teenager next to him was difficult, but he tried with renewed vigour as he began to quiz Gaara on Redcaps and the spells to vanquish them.

It was testament to Gaara's diligence that, despite his lack in casting ability (or restraint), his test scores and theoretical proficiency was almost at the average level, which, considering he'd never even heard of wizardry as Lupin's culture knew it until August, was prodigious. Remus, McGonagall and Flitwick estimated that Gaara could well be near the intellectual level of Hermione Granger and the Ravenclaws, he just didn't have the experience or the two previous years of knowledge to work from.

Gaara just enjoyed reading, a sad rarity outside of Ravenclaw, it seemed.

Gaara had his sand form the answers to the easy questions absentmindedly as he walked out into the cold winter wind (he didn't believe that England had such a thing as summer or fall). He trusted Lupin enormously, even if he did want to escape any troublesome tasks or conversations that might be required by their interactions. He trusted the man enough to follow him around for the rest of the day when he wasn't even being told the real reason beyond the cover story that had been announced to the listeners around him in the Great Hall. It was a smart move and Lupin would have made a good shinobi. Kami knew they'd made sicklier men into warriors in his world, even if his own sensei had killed the best example of such men that came to mind, in Konoha.

Gaara had never been to Hagrid's 'house' before, he'd never had any reason to, and now he was there he had to question their use of the word 'house.' He looked at the shed at the bottom of the hill with the big, old black dog laid out, chained by the door to the hut, looking to the world no different than a dead hound Hagrid had collected to feed to one of his more intimidating pets.

The oversized boarhound's head shot up, the flappy skin following swiftly after, as Lupin and Gaara came within smelling distance. Immediately, it barked loudly and achingly rose to its feet before falling back down into sitting position, watching as the two visitors came within petting distance. Remus, of course, heartily ruffled the dog's head and had his hand covered in saliva for his troubles. When Gaara was to pass by to get to the big wooden door, he saw the dog move its head towards his hand. He really didn't want to touch the smelly dog, not least because he'd been covered in more than a lifetime's worth of dog saliva only a few weeks before. His sand armour just wasn't thick enough to suffer that disgusting feeling again. The dog's head-butting became more insistent but before he was forced to play with another annoying dog, the door to the hut slammed open and the entire archway was filled side-to-side with Rubeus Hagrid's smiling form as he beckoned both teacher and pupil inside, out of the cold.

"Morning! It's nice to be seeing you again, Gaara, and you too Remus. Don't mind old Fang there, he's as harmless as they come. Right old bag of mush, he is. Not like my Fluffy. He makes Fang look like a puppy, though poor-old Fluffy really is only a puppy."

"I didn't know you had another dog," Lupin asked, intrigued, as he sat down at the table next to Gaara who seemed to be trying his hardest to touch as little of the 'natural' smelling abode as he could.

"Yeah, I got Fluffy a couple of years ago off a nice Greek bloke at the pub." He reminisced happily, putting a pot over the fire to boil, "Professor Dumbledore had him working up in the castle couple of years ago, he did. Perfect little guard dog, Fluffy was. But then they didn't need him no more so they sent him outside again. He's such a cute puppy, domesticated and as harmless as Fang if he knows you, and loves his music." Gaara was trying to remember where he had heard the name Fluffy before. It wasn't exactly a regular name, but then none of the names in this world seemed to be normal to him and since he'd lost the ability and requirement to say names at all, he'd become a little relaxed with remembering people's appellations. Still, he could have sworn he'd seen the name somewhere, and he didn't exactly hang around a lot of animals, just Hagrid's menagerie and... the gigantic three-headed hellhound that wagged its tail as soon as it smelled him coming from a mile. He'd seen Fluffy's name on its food bowl.

"Of course, I understand it would have been a bit difficult to keep him in the castle, with him being as big as he is, but he really wasn't as bad as all that. I told him to keep everyone away from the hatch in his room and he did, just like he was told, like a good boy, you know, until Quirrel and Harry and his friends snuck past. He wouldn't hurt no one, normally. I get so worried with him out there, all on his own. I visit him as often as I can, bring him his dinner and everything, but recently he's not been listening to me and he's not been eating his supper." Ah, so Gaara had been retraining and spoiling the meals of the groundskeeper's beloved three-headed dog. Somehow the beast's ownership didn't make it seem any more surreal to him than it already was.

"Well, I'm sure... Fluffy is enjoying the freedom. He's not had any trouble from that nest of acromantulas, has he?" Lupin asked, sipping on his tea, well used to discussing Hagrid's unique brand of animal-care.

"No, I tell Aragog to keep his kids away from Fluffy and any of my animals. He knows better than to cause trouble. Besides, with Fluffy being that big, even Aragog or Mosag would probably have trouble taking him down."

"Mosag?"

"Oh, yeah, that's Aragog's wife. Lovely spider, she is. Even-tempered. Never once tried to eat me." Gaara supposed that was one of the highest compliments that Hagrid could bestow upon any of his animals.

"I heard about the original acromantula male in the Dark Forest, before I came here, one of the biggest in the world according to the Monster Book of Monsters. But I didn't know about the female. Where did she come from?"

Hagrid began to look distinctly nervous, suspiciously so, "Well, Aragog was beginning to get real restless and lonely out there on his own, going through his teenage years, I suppose, so I, well, I did something I'm not strictly supposed to. Don't go telling Professor Dumbledore. I don't reckon he'd be too pleased, but I had her sent over from Argentina, just to keep Aragog company, but then came the kids. They're not badly behaved, ask anyone, except Ron Weasley and Harry, but they do get up to a little mischief every now and then."

"Your secret's safe with me."

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Albus Dumbledore, aged somewhere in the triple digits, had seen all sorts of people over the years and had become a particularly good judge of character, after a fair few mistakes in his earlier life; but never before had he seen a man that could be summed up with a single characteristic in all of his life: gaunt.

Henrick Morbidus was an unforgiving individual, taller than Albus by a head, if not more, and was as insubstantial as a broom. His thin glasses sat on his bony nose as he looked directly down it at one of the greatest wizards of the century. Albus couldn't remember ever having met Mr. Morbidus before, certainly not from Morbidus' school days, presumably having been schooled sometime during Albus' first years as Headmaster, when he was still trying to work through the paperwork Headmaster Dippet had left him. But Dumbeldore, as he looked up at the impeccably dressed government official, had known as soon as the Inspector had flooed into his office just how little the wan bureaucrat thought of 'civilians.'

"Good morning, Mister Morbidus. Please have a seat. You're a little earlier than expected, I'm afraid I haven't made any tea yet." Of course, Albus had known the man would come earlier than scheduled, he'd been sat in his office since five that morning, waiting. It was the oldest trick in the politicians handbook.

"Not to worry, headmaster, this shan't be a social visit. I'm only here to look around and see if things are running smoothly." The tension in the man's low, gravelly voice made the measured pace in his well-mannered speech sound so calculating that it left Albus a little envious. "You needn't worry about my presence here today, I simply need to ascertain that the welfare of the students hasn't been adversely affected by the dementors stationed at Hogwarts and that everything elsewhere is operating as it should, under the circumstances."

"I'm always glad to hear that our Ministry has the children's best interests at heart." Dumbldore's smile was his shield against the obvious yet still veiled reference to Gaara. So, they didn't want to admit to their veritable witch-hunt just yet. Two could play at this game, and he had the greatest school of wizardry in the world on his side. "I'm afraid, with my day-to-day duties in running the school, I won't have time to show you around." He knew he was being quite rude in dismissing the powerful Henrick Morbidus, but he really did have a lot of work to do and he knew that any direct involvement he had in that day's plan would lead the increasingly paranoid Minister for Magic to suspect some sort of Hogwarts-based conspiracy or plot.

"That's quite alright, Headmaster, I still remember my way around from my school days, I should be able to escort myself where I need to go." It was painfully obvious to Albus that this was a trap, and that if he gave Henrick free reign then not only would the existing plan regarding Gaara fail but so would any chance of keeping the Ministry out of Hogwarts. A lot more went on in this school than the Ministry of Magic needed to know; mysterious transfers, possessed teachers, werewolves and Hagrid's pets, to name but a few.

"Worry not, I've asked our deputy headmistress to show you around. Professor McGonagall knows perhaps as much about this castle's running as I do, she should be able to answer all of your questions. Hmm, she should be here any minute; we weren't expecting you until later so she'll just be finishing her breakfast." In fact, Minerva had been stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, waiting for his signal, for the last half hour. Upon the signal, the staircase ascending up to the headmaster's office, Minerva walked up the stairs and wished she had had a chance to actually get some breakfast, if only to settle her stomach, but she couldn't be seen in the same room as Gaara at all today, and Albus' thrice-damned theatrics might suffer if she hadn't been waiting for the inspector's arrival to make her own timely and dramatic entrance.

"Ah, here she is now."

"This really isn't necessary, headmaster. I would hate to trouble such a key member of your staff." The cadaverous official was watching the door, listening to the grinding of the staircase that he remembered from when he was a boy, while peering out of the side of his glasses at the suspicious old man the Minister no longer trusted.

"That's quite alright. As you said, it's not a social visit so we will do whatever we can to accommodate the Ministry's requests. Besides, Minerva is perfectly capable of managing all of her duties, isn't that right, Professor McGonagall?"

"Quite, Albus. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Morbidus." She lightly shook the man's bony hand as his dark eyes gazed directly at her. "Now, as you are a somewhat early, we'll make a start with the inspection. I imagine you'll be wanting to inspect the grounds around the outside of the castle, as well?"

"Among other areas. The Minister for Magic wanted a very thorough inspection due to the serious matters surrounding the school as of late."

"I hope you'll give Cornelius my best wishes upon your return, and I ask only that you not disrupt the students' learning during the course of your inspection." Blue eyes over half-moon spectacles perched on the end of a crooked nose stared directly into the dark, fastidious holes scrutinising everyone around them.

"But of course, headmaster. After you, Professor McGonagall." The owner of those dark eyes swiftly turned to the door and waved the unnerved Transfiguration Mistress through first.

Albus was having serious doubts, now that he'd met the inspector. The resemblance to Morbidus' cousin, Pius Thicknesse, was uncanny and unsettling. What was worse was that the Headmaster knew that Morbidus was aware that they were scheming and would do everything within his considerable capabilities to uncover it. But Albus' role in this game was finished for the moment; he had to leave it up to Minerva and Remus now.

If someone had mentioned, twenty years ago, that he would be entrusting such an important task to one of James Potter's insidious Marauders, he would have laughed, and believed it wholeheartedly. His faith in the insurmountable Gryffindor spirit aside, Remus had always been such a reliable boy, twenty nine days out of the month.

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Meanwhile, Gaara and Remus had just delivered the letter - which Gaara suspected to be empty - to Professor Flitwick, who had taken the opportunity to praise the irked demon-host on his success lately, again. Once more, the wandering teacher and pupil had been invited in for refreshments and conversation by their appointment. The shinobi was further put-out when he was handed a fresh glass of milk while Lupin was given tea. It seemed that precious few in this world understood that a younger person was capable of maturity. Gaara wasn't exactly consoled that the miniature Charms professor had also opted to partake of cold milk. Gaara wasn't even that short! Still, outrage aside, he didn't turn the drink down. Cold milk on a hot day was a delicacy in Sunagakure, and even if it was freezing cold outside, he didn't want to be rude.

After finishing their conversation, Flitwick taking one last chance to praise Gaara's hard work and improvement, Lupin and the completely un-bashful transfer student left. As the pair were walking, seemingly aimlessly, through the school, every once in a while Lupin would look at his strange new silver watch and then take them off in another direction, more often than not back the way they had just come. All the while, the devoted teacher continued to talk about material old and new, including some minor wizarding cultural trivia. None of which particularly interested Gaara, but he tried to remember the useless knowledge, sure in the belief that if he failed to learn it, he would eventually be asked about it all.

Truth be told, Gaara had never been to a school of any kind before Hogwarts, his monstrousness, attemped assassinations and Suna's hands-on approach to training meant that he'd never been inside of a classroom. Tests had been given by Yashamaru, but were usually to do with how he'd liked a book or how he felt. Baki had once tried a test, more physical than mental, when they'd first been put onto his team. It hadn't ended well. Now that his life, or at least a large part of it for the time being, was devoted to academia, he became aware of just how hard the civilian students had it, learning so much nonsense.

Several students stopped to stare as Gaara walked by, the 'transfer student's' legend having spread before most even saw him and his strangeness. So, now, when he walked the halls being tutored by the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and wandlessly controlling sand to form answers he couldn't speak, he gained attention.

At that point, Gaara thought that he'd more-or-less figured out what this secret plan was. Well, he knew that he had been taken out of his regular classes, and then spirited around the school in the full gaze of the student body and teachers, and was being kept in the dark. It was most likely that someone was looking for him, someone that meant to do him harm and not anyone else, and that they had to pretend to be doing nothing out of the ordinary whilst hiding. Even his father could have come up with a better, or at least more secretive, plan than this one. Though that plan most likely would have led to another war, but, then, Gaara was a war machine. These wizards and their underestimating him tested his patience more than people in spandex using their holiday time to run to his village and challenge him to fights.

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After a fake prophecy that assured him that everything would definitely be 'fine' for the foreseeable future from the ill-reputed Divinations Professor, Sybill Trelawney, Morbidus was about ready to give up on his mission to locate and investigate the mystery that had been admitted to the greatest wizarding school in Europe. He was a professional, but the frustration of dealing with children who all pointed him in different directions when directly asked about this Gaara child, and the teachers who outright lied to him when he asked if anything strange had happened or appeared in the school recently, was trying his patience. The students would tell fanciful tales of a red-headed boy who could make objects move with his mind and killed first years at night. The only 'facts,' or definitive consensus, that he could discern were that the boy was mute, had a distinctive physical appearance, carried a large bag of some kind on his back, and had 'scary eyes.' It was a start but it wasn't the most promising one. Apparently the boy had become a pariah since arriving in the school so most of the tales he heard he chalked up to being nothing more than hearsay.

"Excuse me," the imposing man cornered a short blond-haired boy who had been leaving his class with a group of friends before McGonagall could stop him. "Would you happen to know the third-year Slytherin Gaara, by any chance?" The boy's strong resemblance to Lucius Malfoy was a dead-giveaway, so Morbidus believed himself to have gotten lucky when he saw the young Malfoy heir that would be the same age and House as his target. Surely this would lead to some promising information.

"Yes, he's my roommate. My name is Draco Malfoy, and who might you be?" Proper decorum and hostility befitting a Malfoy; the man could see the boy one day becoming a formidable political figure like his father, and that could only aid him here and now, seeing as the boy had such unrestricted access to his target and was at least loyal to his father, who was playing the part of allegiance to the Ministry, at the moment.

"Good morning, my name is Henrick Morbidus, Head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Administrative Inspectors. Would you mind terribly if I asked you a few questions about your current schooling experience during these... troubled times, and about your roommate, as we don't seem to have his records and such a gap in the Ministry's files is a troubling lapse, I'm sure you agree." While he knew it was rude to play games with Lucius Malfoy's son, he couldn't afford to be as open as he'd like in front of Dumbledore's right-hand witch.

Draco looked up at the man his father had once complained about as being 'a man with more dirty secrets than the Dark Lord' and felt a cold quiver drip down his spine. This man worked alongside his father, a temporary loyalty he had understood for a couple of years now, and he knew he was expected to be up front about all of the peculiarities surrounding Gaara, as if his father himself had asked.

Instead, Draco answered: "I'm afraid there isn't much I can tell you, he's very closed-off and, you understand, he can't speak at all. Though, he doesn't sleep much, sir." He hoped this would appear to be just ignorant and not quite as treasonous as it felt. From the look in the inspector's eyes and tight jaw, apparently his ruse hadn't gone unnoticed.

Actually, it had. The head of the Ministry's secret little division was angry because of the combined ignorance of all of these school children, even the son of such a well-bred wizarding family, and the conspiring teachers. Despite the probability that the mystery was just that, a mystery to everyone including the students, even the one he was rooming with, he couldn't risk leaving a well of information untapped so he tried to increase the pressure. After all, throughout this conversation, unlike before, McGonagall hadn't busily asked him to leave the student alone but had instead stood back, tense and wary. "It pains me to hear that a promising new student hasn't opened up to anyone here. As his roommate I would have expected someone with such an astute father as your own to have at least made a measure of someone so close to them." Attack his pride and mention his father in the same sentence, cruel but if the file on the Malfoy family was as accurate as it should be, the son should be afraid of his father and very proud.

"As I'm sure you're learning, Mr. Morbidus, sir, Gaara is a bit of an enigma, but you probably haven't been looking very deeply into something like a new student, after all. A man of your position wouldn't have trouble finding information like that, now, would he?" Draco could have kicked himself for falling for the jibe and succumbing to his pride again. He'd just pissed off a man his father was wary of. There was a reason he wasn't in Ravenclaw, and several for why he wasn't in Hufflepuff, but it was times like these that he wondered why the Sorting Hat hadn't at least paused to consider putting him in with the easily-roused Gryffindors.

"Merely running through the appropriate investigative channels. Proper conduct needs to be followed. Now, run along." The cold, quiet, shivering rage in the gaunt man's voice told Draco not to hang around to celebrate his small victory on the terrible man. He quickly scarpered, catching the mix of pride and worry he thought he'd never catch on McGonagall's face pointed in his direction.

"I think it's about time for the students to go to lunch, we should make our way to the Great Hall, perhaps Gaara will already be there and you can finish your clarification there." He doubted it, but he followed his guide nonetheless, on the off chance that they were as foolishly confident as the Malfoy child and had decided to parade this 'Gaara' in front of him.

This was turning out to be a laborious assignment and he wanted something concrete to take back to the Minister, along with his report on the dementors. He still had to follow that up, and would do so soon. He needed to check in the Dark Forest and that forest had been infamously dangerous when he was a child, but now with the dementors it would be perilous even to an adult wizard of his calibre.

"Lead the way."

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