Chapter 17- No Good Deed
The last bars of music faded, and Ginny hugged the little boy briefly, kissing the top of his tow-colored head. Feeling strongly that she was going to cry, Ginny walked off the stage to stunned silence. As her heels hit the floor, a stilted whispering began among the people nearest her, spreading quickly to the farthest corners of the room. She reached the group of teenagers she’d been standing with before the song and was greeted with stony faces. After a moment, Blaise broke through the crowd and jumped her.
“You were great up there, Ginny,” he said, ignoring the others staring daggers at him. “Way to be!”
Ginny gave him a slightly sick smile and opened her mouth to reply. Whatever she was about to say was lost in the sudden commotion.
“Silencio! Crucio!”
Draco and Blaise took off across the room toward the sound, Ginny hot on their heels. As they both screeched to a halt, she ran into them and caught sight of what was happening.
The little boy who had come to sing with her was cringing on the floor, mouth open in a silent scream. A man, his father, stood over him, wand held aloft. A terrible expression adorned his face as he tortured his son. As Ginny’s horror grew by the moment, the mass of Slytherins standing around them looked on in approval, and Draco’s only reaction was being a good deal paler than usual. Blaise looked as though he was about to be sick, and Natasha had tears rolling silently down her cheeks, but neither moved beyond an involuntary twitching.
“Stop it,” Ginny screamed, throwing herself at the agonized boy. Draco caught her across the chest with both arms to hold her back, and she willed all her limbs to attack any available part of him. “No, let me go! Stop! Stop it!”
“Ginny.” Draco’s breath came out in a gasp, and he grunted as one of her flailing arms caught him in the jaw. “Ginny, stop! You can’t do anything!”
“Let me go!” Ginny’s throat grew raw as the words tore from her mouth. “You bastard, let me go!”
Draco grabbed her mouth with one large hand, forcing her jaws closed with great difficulty. When he, with Blaise’s help, had her reasonably under control, Draco turned to his father.
“Father, please. This is hardly appropriate for a Christmas party.”
Lucius looked down on the pair of young men and the struggling Ginny for a long moment. “Xavier.”
The torturous father looked up, still holding his son under the curse. “Yes?”
“How you punish your children in the privacy of your own home is one thing; I won’t have my gathering ruined by one misbehaving child. Stop.”
The man looked for a moment as though he was going to refuse, but nodded at length and lifted his wand. The boy sagged to the floor, sobbing.
“As you wish it, Lucius. I can see where that would be considered bad taste.”
Ginny tried to push Draco’s arms away from her chest and start for the child, but he held her tightly.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his lips less than an inch from her ear. “It’ll be worse for him later if you do.”
Ginny lay on Draco’s bed, shoes kicked off, dress rumpled.
“I don’t get it,” she sniffed, wiping at the already dry tear trails on her cheeks. She shifted red, swollen eyes to Blaise, sitting on the far corner of the queen-size bed. “What did he do that was so wrong?”
“He supported you when you were going against every Slytherin policy in the book. That’s a pretty serious offense.”
“But he’s so young, barely past a baby. Surely toddlers are allowed a little more license than that.”
“Purebloods are expected to act as such at all times,” Draco said as he entered the room, pulling the door shut behind him. “Youth is no excuse.”
“Damn, I’m in trouble.” Ginny pushed herself into a sitting position, crossing her legs Indian-style. “Still, that’s so cruel.”
Blaise snorted, rising from the bed and straightening his tie. “Welcome to the world of the ‘true purebloods’.”
Draco gave a quiet chuckle and reached out his hand to help Ginny up. “Come on, we’re wanted downstairs.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Look at the state of me.”
Blaise pulled out his wand and pointed it at her hair.
“Reparo.”
The curls flew back into their elegant fountain, perfect once more. Blaise looked stunned.
“Wow, it actually worked,” he said, quickly doing the same thing with her makeup. “I was just messing around.”
Ginny was absentmindedly staring into space during breakfast when she heard Lupin’s voice as he read the Daily Prophet.
“Arthur, did you read this? A two year-old named Teddy Stafford was admitted to St. Mungo’s last night, delirious from a serious head injury sustained during a treacherous fall down the stairs. The doctor who examined him, however, says that he has cranial injuries that are much too severe for that, and thinks he’ll probably have the mind of a two year-old for the rest of his life. He’s the son of Xavier Stafford, a Slytherin long suspected of being a Death Eater and now suspected of performing the Cruciatus Curse on his son.”
Ginny felt her head drop, eyes slipping closed as it fell. The voices around her jumbled together and the faces hazed. Suddenly she was the only one in the room who understood the meaning of true pain. Tears blurred her vision, and she felt them dripping from behind her closed lids.
Hermione, who had been listening to Lupin talk and had heard the whole story about last night from Ginny, was the only one who noticed her friend’s sudden upset. Wordlessly, and somehow without attracting attention, she helped Ginny up and guided her from the room. They went up the stone stairs of the Headquarters and into the bedroom they shared. The moment they were inside, Ginny collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
“It’s all my fault, Hermione. Oh God, it’s all my fault!”
As Ginny berated herself, Hermione raised her friend’s left hand and peered keenly at the ring on the middle finger. The emerald was glowing faintly, and quickly getting brighter. The girls watched in amazement as the radiance grew, until the entire room was filled with white light. All at once, sapphire blue sparks began shooting from the stone, and Ginny yelled out in pain.
“Ow! It’s. . .burning,” She gasped in disbelief, staring at the simmering metal. Hermione, however, was more concerned with something else.
“Blaise is signaling you, Ginny. Go, go.”
The red head leapt to her feet and stumbled into the fireplace. Before she could even turn around to look at Hermione, Ginny was swept away up the chimney. She caught flashes of other rooms as she went, wizarding homes. After what felt like an eternity- but had really only been a few minutes- she fell out of the grate of Blaise’s guest room at Malfoy Manor.
“Ginny!” Blaise jumped from where he was squatting by the fireplace and caught her as she fell. “I signaled as soon as I read the paper.” He pulled her across the room and sat them both down on his bed. “Listen, this isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Ginny replied, her voice muffled by his shoulder.
Blaise firmly grasped both her shoulders and gave her a shake. “No, it’s not. The person at fault for this is Xavier Stafford, one of the most contemptible men alive.”
“No!” Ginny snapped at Blaise, and his eyes widened in surprise. “This is my fault, Blaise. Don't try to deny it! I made a mistake and a two year-old will never get the chance to experience life because of it. Stop trying to soften the blow, it’s not going to work!”
“Ginny, you can’t control that man’s obsession with perfection! Teddy’s mind is obliterated because Xavier Stafford can’t keep a lid on his temper!”
“But don’t you see it, Blaise? His temper wouldn’t have been ignited in the first place if I hadn’t been so set on making Lucius Malfoy mad! God, why couldn’t I have controlled my temper just that once?”
A knock sounded at the door, and Draco walked in.
“Somehow I figured you’d be here after the Daily Prophet came out this morning. Come with me.”
“What are we doing here,” Ginny asked, looking around at the room in surprise.
“I know you well enough by this point to know that music calms you down better than anything else,” Draco answered, shuffling through the music on the piano stand. After a moment, he took out his wand, waved it, and the piano began playing the sheet music. A loud, hard rock beat came in, and Ginny joined it without thinking, knowing the song well.
“Fiyero!
Eleka Nahmen Nahmen
At Tum Ah Tum Eleka Nahmen
Eleka Nahmen Nahmen
At Tum Ah Tum Eleka Nahmen
Let his flesh not be torn
Let his blood leave no stain
Though they beat him let him feel no pain
Let his bones never break
And however they try
To destroy him
Let him never die
Let him never die”
Ginny choked, the lump of tears in her throat making her gasp for air. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and more than half the song passed before she was able to sing again.
“One question haunts and hurts
Too much, too much to mention:
Was I really seeking good
Or just seeking attention?
Is that all good deeds are
When looked at with an ice-cold eye?
If that’s all good deeds are
Maybe that’s the reason why. . .
No good deed goes unpunished
All helpful urges should be circumvented
No good deed goes unpunished
Sure, I meant well
Well, look at what well-meant did. . ."
She half-sang, half-yelled those lines at Blaise, throwing the defense he’d offered her back in his face. The agony and hurt in his eyes caught her, and Ginny’s knees just gave out; she hit the floor sobbing.
The last bars of music faded, and Ginny hugged the little boy briefly, kissing the top of his tow-colored head. Feeling strongly that she was going to cry, Ginny walked off the stage to stunned silence. As her heels hit the floor, a stilted whispering began among the people nearest her, spreading quickly to the farthest corners of the room. She reached the group of teenagers she’d been standing with before the song and was greeted with stony faces. After a moment, Blaise broke through the crowd and jumped her.
“You were great up there, Ginny,” he said, ignoring the others staring daggers at him. “Way to be!”
Ginny gave him a slightly sick smile and opened her mouth to reply. Whatever she was about to say was lost in the sudden commotion.
“Silencio! Crucio!”
Draco and Blaise took off across the room toward the sound, Ginny hot on their heels. As they both screeched to a halt, she ran into them and caught sight of what was happening.
The little boy who had come to sing with her was cringing on the floor, mouth open in a silent scream. A man, his father, stood over him, wand held aloft. A terrible expression adorned his face as he tortured his son. As Ginny’s horror grew by the moment, the mass of Slytherins standing around them looked on in approval, and Draco’s only reaction was being a good deal paler than usual. Blaise looked as though he was about to be sick, and Natasha had tears rolling silently down her cheeks, but neither moved beyond an involuntary twitching.
“Stop it,” Ginny screamed, throwing herself at the agonized boy. Draco caught her across the chest with both arms to hold her back, and she willed all her limbs to attack any available part of him. “No, let me go! Stop! Stop it!”
“Ginny.” Draco’s breath came out in a gasp, and he grunted as one of her flailing arms caught him in the jaw. “Ginny, stop! You can’t do anything!”
“Let me go!” Ginny’s throat grew raw as the words tore from her mouth. “You bastard, let me go!”
Draco grabbed her mouth with one large hand, forcing her jaws closed with great difficulty. When he, with Blaise’s help, had her reasonably under control, Draco turned to his father.
“Father, please. This is hardly appropriate for a Christmas party.”
Lucius looked down on the pair of young men and the struggling Ginny for a long moment. “Xavier.”
The torturous father looked up, still holding his son under the curse. “Yes?”
“How you punish your children in the privacy of your own home is one thing; I won’t have my gathering ruined by one misbehaving child. Stop.”
The man looked for a moment as though he was going to refuse, but nodded at length and lifted his wand. The boy sagged to the floor, sobbing.
“As you wish it, Lucius. I can see where that would be considered bad taste.”
Ginny tried to push Draco’s arms away from her chest and start for the child, but he held her tightly.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his lips less than an inch from her ear. “It’ll be worse for him later if you do.”
Ginny lay on Draco’s bed, shoes kicked off, dress rumpled.
“I don’t get it,” she sniffed, wiping at the already dry tear trails on her cheeks. She shifted red, swollen eyes to Blaise, sitting on the far corner of the queen-size bed. “What did he do that was so wrong?”
“He supported you when you were going against every Slytherin policy in the book. That’s a pretty serious offense.”
“But he’s so young, barely past a baby. Surely toddlers are allowed a little more license than that.”
“Purebloods are expected to act as such at all times,” Draco said as he entered the room, pulling the door shut behind him. “Youth is no excuse.”
“Damn, I’m in trouble.” Ginny pushed herself into a sitting position, crossing her legs Indian-style. “Still, that’s so cruel.”
Blaise snorted, rising from the bed and straightening his tie. “Welcome to the world of the ‘true purebloods’.”
Draco gave a quiet chuckle and reached out his hand to help Ginny up. “Come on, we’re wanted downstairs.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Look at the state of me.”
Blaise pulled out his wand and pointed it at her hair.
“Reparo.”
The curls flew back into their elegant fountain, perfect once more. Blaise looked stunned.
“Wow, it actually worked,” he said, quickly doing the same thing with her makeup. “I was just messing around.”
Ginny was absentmindedly staring into space during breakfast when she heard Lupin’s voice as he read the Daily Prophet.
“Arthur, did you read this? A two year-old named Teddy Stafford was admitted to St. Mungo’s last night, delirious from a serious head injury sustained during a treacherous fall down the stairs. The doctor who examined him, however, says that he has cranial injuries that are much too severe for that, and thinks he’ll probably have the mind of a two year-old for the rest of his life. He’s the son of Xavier Stafford, a Slytherin long suspected of being a Death Eater and now suspected of performing the Cruciatus Curse on his son.”
Ginny felt her head drop, eyes slipping closed as it fell. The voices around her jumbled together and the faces hazed. Suddenly she was the only one in the room who understood the meaning of true pain. Tears blurred her vision, and she felt them dripping from behind her closed lids.
Hermione, who had been listening to Lupin talk and had heard the whole story about last night from Ginny, was the only one who noticed her friend’s sudden upset. Wordlessly, and somehow without attracting attention, she helped Ginny up and guided her from the room. They went up the stone stairs of the Headquarters and into the bedroom they shared. The moment they were inside, Ginny collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
“It’s all my fault, Hermione. Oh God, it’s all my fault!”
As Ginny berated herself, Hermione raised her friend’s left hand and peered keenly at the ring on the middle finger. The emerald was glowing faintly, and quickly getting brighter. The girls watched in amazement as the radiance grew, until the entire room was filled with white light. All at once, sapphire blue sparks began shooting from the stone, and Ginny yelled out in pain.
“Ow! It’s. . .burning,” She gasped in disbelief, staring at the simmering metal. Hermione, however, was more concerned with something else.
“Blaise is signaling you, Ginny. Go, go.”
The red head leapt to her feet and stumbled into the fireplace. Before she could even turn around to look at Hermione, Ginny was swept away up the chimney. She caught flashes of other rooms as she went, wizarding homes. After what felt like an eternity- but had really only been a few minutes- she fell out of the grate of Blaise’s guest room at Malfoy Manor.
“Ginny!” Blaise jumped from where he was squatting by the fireplace and caught her as she fell. “I signaled as soon as I read the paper.” He pulled her across the room and sat them both down on his bed. “Listen, this isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Ginny replied, her voice muffled by his shoulder.
Blaise firmly grasped both her shoulders and gave her a shake. “No, it’s not. The person at fault for this is Xavier Stafford, one of the most contemptible men alive.”
“No!” Ginny snapped at Blaise, and his eyes widened in surprise. “This is my fault, Blaise. Don't try to deny it! I made a mistake and a two year-old will never get the chance to experience life because of it. Stop trying to soften the blow, it’s not going to work!”
“Ginny, you can’t control that man’s obsession with perfection! Teddy’s mind is obliterated because Xavier Stafford can’t keep a lid on his temper!”
“But don’t you see it, Blaise? His temper wouldn’t have been ignited in the first place if I hadn’t been so set on making Lucius Malfoy mad! God, why couldn’t I have controlled my temper just that once?”
A knock sounded at the door, and Draco walked in.
“Somehow I figured you’d be here after the Daily Prophet came out this morning. Come with me.”
“What are we doing here,” Ginny asked, looking around at the room in surprise.
“I know you well enough by this point to know that music calms you down better than anything else,” Draco answered, shuffling through the music on the piano stand. After a moment, he took out his wand, waved it, and the piano began playing the sheet music. A loud, hard rock beat came in, and Ginny joined it without thinking, knowing the song well.
“Fiyero!
Eleka Nahmen Nahmen
At Tum Ah Tum Eleka Nahmen
Eleka Nahmen Nahmen
At Tum Ah Tum Eleka Nahmen
Let his flesh not be torn
Let his blood leave no stain
Though they beat him let him feel no pain
Let his bones never break
And however they try
To destroy him
Let him never die
Let him never die”
Ginny choked, the lump of tears in her throat making her gasp for air. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and more than half the song passed before she was able to sing again.
“One question haunts and hurts
Too much, too much to mention:
Was I really seeking good
Or just seeking attention?
Is that all good deeds are
When looked at with an ice-cold eye?
If that’s all good deeds are
Maybe that’s the reason why. . .
No good deed goes unpunished
All helpful urges should be circumvented
No good deed goes unpunished
Sure, I meant well
Well, look at what well-meant did. . ."
She half-sang, half-yelled those lines at Blaise, throwing the defense he’d offered her back in his face. The agony and hurt in his eyes caught her, and Ginny’s knees just gave out; she hit the floor sobbing.
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