This story was written for the Sixth Round of the Fourth Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Beater 1 for The Wimbourne Wasps.
Name of round: Deadly Sins & Heavenly Virtues
Your prompts for this round are all inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins. This was a topic that featured in a couple of entries for last year's 'Create A Round' competition, so we've made it a part of season 4… only, we're including the Seven Heavenly Virtues as well.
Each position has been given a sin and its countering virtue as a prompt. You are to write about only one for your story, pertaining to the following rules:
SIN prompts must be committed or portrayed by a canonically light character.
VIRTUE prompts must be demonstrated or portrayed by a canonically dark* character.
*I use this term loosely. Not expecting Death Eaters for this, just characters who aren't portrayed as being particularly nice people in canon. (But you could write about Death Eaters if you want :P)
BEATER 1: Write about a light character committing the sin of ENVY or a dark character demonstrating the virtue of KINDNESS.
I picked: Kindness demonstrated by a dark character
And these are the prompts I'm using to block our opponents, the Kenmare Kestrels:
2(dialogue) "I only came because I was told there was going to be cake."
3(word) favour
6(dialogue) "Have I told you that I hate you recently?"
I've also used a prompt from a different forum; Hogwarts Houses Challenges. Spell: Avada Kedavra (pitch) and Sentence: Torture, murder, they called it; he called it art. (drabble).
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created; it's all hers, from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts to all the people living there.
Warnings: Twisted morality, what the characters view as kindness might not be what you view as kindness. Character death. Torture. Murder.
Casting Director: Xanda. She provided me with the perfect set of characters for this story.
Chief Editors: Xanda and agentmoppet
PS. Word-count provided by MS Word
The Art of Death and Kindness
Words: 1 727
Even though it was early afternoon and people should be out and about, shopping, looking at the newest broom model, and enjoying the day, the main street of Diagon Alley was deserted. No one was around. Everyone was too scared of being found in the wrong place at the wrong time, which was anywhere, anytime.
Thorfinn Rowle, however, was not afraid. He liked the new world the Dark Lord was creating. It was providing him with ultimate freedom. He was free to do what he did best. Torture, murder, they called it; he called it art. Not many, not even among his peers understood that. They thought that he was dangerous, too brash and reckless. He could not completely deny their accusations as he had been responsible for Gibbon's death. Not that it bothered him. He did not regret how Gibbon had appeared in front of the killing curse that had been meant for Lupin. A death was a death, and Thorfinn was convinced that Gibbon's sprawled out, limp body was more appealing than Lupin's would have been. The memory of it was as pleasing as any other memory he had of dead bodies. Sometimes he liked it if the canvas he created on was sprayed with blood, and sometimes he liked for the art to be alive, changing, morphing as he cut and kneaded his clay into the desired form; mostly he preferred the serene stillness that was left after someone had died of the Killing Curse. Somehow there was more life to be found in the victims' scared expressions that were imprinted in death, than there had been while they still drew breath.
During the new regime he'd had a lot of opportunities to see what method gave the best result. Everyone celebrated when he transformed filthy Muggle-borns or Muggles into lifeless, yet breathtakingly beautiful art installations. It pleased his Lord when he did that, but the Dark Lord did not want any more mistakes. Thorfinn was not allowed to be alone. Someone always babysat him so that further thinning of their ranks could be avoided. Today the undesirable job of keeping an eye on him had fallen to Philip Selwyn, which was often the case.
Thorfinn and Selwyn passed another boarded up storefront on their way to Gringotts. The closed and dark stores that lined the Alley were almost like dead people, the scorch marks, paint and crooked boards telling a story.
The street in front of them was empty until a man, holding the hand of a young girl, suddenly appeared from a side alley. They were hurrying towards Gringotts Wizard Bank, the only place in the Alley that was worth visiting anymore.
"Perfect," Selwyn said.
The rough rumble of his voice made it take a moment for Thorfinn to register that he'd spoken."What?" Thorfinn asked a bit belatedly.
"That's Stamford Jorkins, the Merlin-damned bastard. He used to be the spokesperson at the Ministry. Time to get even for the times he's said bad things about me to the Prophet. Look at him now; clearly he doesn't understand that it's a changed world if he thinks he can take a leisurely stroll down Diagon Alley. Let's show him just how wrong he is."
Thorfinn didn't think that Jorkins and his daughter were strolling leisurely at all, but he was certainly up for showing them the bright, new, free world. Jorkins and the little girl were walking fast. Jorkins was hunched over, and the hand that was not holding the girl's hand was gripping a wand.
"Expelliarmus," said Selwyn. Jorkins lost the grip on both his wand and the girl's hand. He tensed and looked about ready to bolt. Thorfinn stopped Jorkins, sending a barrage of spells in his direction. The colourful lights of the hexes worked like the bars in a cage to trap the wizard and the girl.
Jorkins shielded the girl with his own body. "What do you want?" he yelled. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you! Please, Selwyn! Just don't hurt my daughter!"
"Ah, there's an idea. You hurt my pride, now I'll hurt yours, returning the favour so to speak. You're proud of your daughter, aren't you, Jorkins?" Selwyn had walked all the way to the covering wizard, and he pulled the girl away from him roughly.
"No, no," Stamford moaned.
"Daddy!" the girl cried. "Help!"
"Don't hurt her! Please, don't hurt her! I'll do anything."
"Shut up!" Selwyn set a couple of curses at Jorkins, putting him down on the ground and silencing him.
"Daddy!" the girl cried again, her voice breaking.
"And now it's your turn, sweetheart."
Thorfinn would normally have called what followed art. The screaming, the twitching limbs, the tears, and the blood, all of it was part of his artistic material, and he could appreciate seeing another master at work. This time felt different. He didn't care if Jorkins and the girl were Muggle-borns, half-bloods, half-breeds or pure-blood, it was all the same to him, but the girl looked so much like his younger sister, Eivor, that it felt wrong for her to be in pain.
He listened to her cries, her hiccups, her small sobs, and tried to get into his usual mindset. Somehow, he couldn't. In the girl he didn't see paint blossoming or hear music crescendoing; he saw Eivor's blue eyes, Eivor's blond hair, Eivor's freckles. He saw his little sister hurting, and it wasn't art.
The struggle went on. Thorfinn tried to snap himself out of it. When he'd come to a decision, Selwyn was already done.
"Now we'll be even," Selwyn said to Jorkins, who didn't listen. He was holding his daughter, sobbing over her, stroking her hair and telling her that it would all be alright. It wouldn't. The last curse Selwyn had cast was fatal with no known cure. The girl's ending would be painful and drawn out.
"Come on, Rowle, let's get going."
Thorfinn didn't move. He stood rooted to the spot, looking at the sobbing wizard and the suffering girl.
"Rowle!"
Thorfinn moved, but not to follow Selwyn. He approached Jorkins and his daughter, slightly surprised when this garnered no reaction. He knelt down next to them and spoke. "Do you want to end her suffering?" he asked.
"Leave us alone," said Jorkins. "Haven't you done enough? Can't you at least let her die in peace? Can't you at least show that much kindness? Or is kindness something you have no understanding of?"
"Kindness," Thorfinn tasted the word. "There isn't any kindness to be found in this world, at least not what you think of as kindness. Mercy is something we do know. Our Lord can be Merciful. We can be merciful. She need not suffer. Say the word and she'll be free." That was what it was all about. Freedom. Freedom to live and freedom to die.
Thorfinn looked at the girl again. He didn't see his sister anymore. Eivor had never looked so pained or so week; he'd not allowed it. He hadn't expected to still want to help now that his temporary confusion was gone, but he did.
"Dad-" the girl spoke softly.
"I'm here, honey. Daddy's here."
"It hurts."
"I know. I know." Jorkins looked at Thorfinn, searching his eyes. "This man will make it all go away. You'll be alright in a moment. Close your eyes now. You'll be just fine."
"Rowle, what do you think you're doing?" Selwyn spoke.
Thorfinn reflected that Selwyn's voice really was suited for making threats, but it didn't bother him. It was just a casual observation by an artist who worked in all mediums.
The light hit Rowle and took him out, and Thorfinn lowered his wand again. Now there would be no interruptions. "Say goodbye," he told Jorkins, who only shook his head.
"There's nothing left to say."
"Wrong. There's one more thing to say." Thorfinn filled himself with the desire for the girl to be free of her suffering, to go peacefully and quietly; then he spoke. "Avada Kedavra." The usual rushing noise seemed to be absent; the sound was that of a wave gently rolling onto the beach. The light of the curse seemed softer too, a warmer green, like light filtered through fresh leaves instead of the harsh green light reflected of precious stones.
In its wake, the curse left a girl who looked as if she could be sleeping. She was more beautiful than any other person he had killed before. No fear and no pain marred her expression. The same could not be said about Jorkins.
Thorfinn didn't want to think about it anymore. "Leave," he said. "Bury your daughter. Stay away from public places. Selwyn won't forget this."
"I'm not saying thank you," said Jorkins.
"I don't want your thanks. I didn't do it for you."
No more words were exchanged. Jorkins left. Stumbling as he was weighted down by the body of his daughter. Once he was gone, Thorfinn reversed the stunner he'd cast on Selwyn.
"Have I told you that I hate you recently?"
"No."
"I do. Damn you, Rowle. Damn you. I know I should have stayed away today. It's just my bloody luck to get saddled with you again. Even when I think something good can come out of it, you muck it up. I wanted Jorkins to suffer! I never should have listened to Lestrange. I only came because I was told there was going to be cake. I'll never listen to him again. And you! Damn you. Shit. What did you even do?"
"I killed the girl. I sent Jorkins to bury her."
Selwyn stilled in his agitation and suddenly he was laughing. "Should have known it. You wanted to use your favourite curse, of course. You thought I'd be mad? I am, but, fine! Let's forget about it. All this shit. Let's just be done with what we came here for and I'll go home and get me some cake and call it a day. I'll even let you have some."
Thorfinn grunted something and started walking. He felt strange. Light almost. Perhaps what he had done was kindness after all. He'd been told kindness felt like that, received and given. He would have to try it again. He had the freedom for trial and error. In the end he would perfect this new art.
The End
A/N 26thJune 2016
This story did not want to be written. Nope. Not at all. Still, I hope there was something in here you could enjoy. Please let me know. I always appreciate getting to know what you think of my stories.