No Good Deed
A Harry Potter thing
By
EvilFuzzy9
Rating: K+
Genre: Friendship
Characters/Pairings: Ron W., Harry P., Hermione G.; [canon ships where applicable]
Summary: Actions have consequences. Between provocation and punishment lies an impulse decision and a stroke of luck, whether good or bad, that will lead to results which few would have dreamed of and fewer still would have hoped for. Whether it is fair and whether it is right is entirely subjective.
Minerva McGonagall was in a sour mood as she sat herself down in the teachers' lounge, holding a steaming cup of tea and scowling at nothing in particular. Her lips were pursed, and her nostrils were flaring as though she was about to snort fire.
"One should think that wretched woman would have better things to write about," she sniffed, giving her friend and colleague Pomona Sprout a significant look. "Investigation, indeed."
Pomona nodded commiseratingly, dipping a biscuit in her tea.
"If she shows up anywhere on grounds again, I'll throw her in with the devil's snare," she said. "You know, I've never been prouder to have Diggory in my house. The telling off he gave that horrid sow!"
"Yes. Let's just hope he doesn't find himself the topic of any future articles," said Minerva darkly. "His father works for the ministry, doesn't he? I remember back when he was a student. Amos had a good enough head on his shoulders, but he was always a bit too loose with his tongue."
"He hasn't changed much, from what I hear," said Pomona. "Talks his coworkers ears off bragging about his son. Not that he doesn't have cause to brag!" she added, looking a touch smug. "He's a sure candidate for prefect, that Cedric. Might even make head boy at this rate!"
"He won't have much competition from the Gryffindors," Minerva concurred, seeming a touch rueful. "He is in the same year as Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins, unless I am quite mistaken."
"So he is," said Pomona, looking somewhat amused at her friend's dismay. "Bad luck for Gryffindor, that. Still, why do you suppose that woman was sneaking around here in the first place? Not for any good reasons, obviously, but I can't imagine the school would have the sort of news she writes about."
"Rita Skeeter delights in sowing controversy and attacking famous personages, you know," said Minerva. "Perhaps she was simply looking for a go at Lockhart."
"Oh, how I wish!" Pomona seethed. "If anyone deserves her treatment, it's that blustering buffoon! Wouldn't know the difference between a mandrake root and a sweet potato, yet he has the gall to correct me on the proper handling of bubotuber pus!"
"Alas, that we could only be so fortunate," came the familiar smooth drawl of Severus Snape, the sallow-faced potions master making his entrance into the teacher lounge. "But I just saw Skeeter talking with Percy Weasley, and I do not believe that idiot boy would ever say a single thing against a Hogwarts teacher... not even our esteemed colleague."
His voice dripped with sarcasm on these last two words. McGonagall nearly shot up from her seat in response, stopping only when she remembered her tea.
"You threw her out, I assume?" she said tensely.
"Of course I did," Severus said, clearly resisting the urge to sneer. "And I told Weasley in no uncertain terms that if I heard of him speaking to Skeeter again, it would be fifty points from Gryffindor. This is a place of learning, not some celebrity rumor mill."
Pomona frowned.
"Hm, still... Percy Weasley, though?" she said in a tone of quiet disbelief, slowly shaking her head. "I always thought he would have had more sense than that. Are you completely sure it was him?"
"I could not have mistaken him for anyone else," Severus replied acidly. "Weasley might be clever when it comes to the memorization and recitation of names, dates, and miscellaneous trivia, but he is woefully lacking in regards to common sense."
McGonagall and Sprout gave Snape matching dirty looks.
"Someone really should speak with Professor Dumbledore about this," Minerva said after a tense silence, her lips drawing themselves into a thin line. "We cannot have people coming here as they please, disrupting lessons and getting the students all in a tizzy, no matter how famous they might be. This is a school, for heaven's sake."
"Indeed!" Pomona said with a vigorous nod, nearly spilling her own cup of tea. "Perhaps I should talk to Filius about taking a look at updating the anti-intrusion charms around the grounds? These next few years will be a nightmare if the press think they can just come waltzing in here whenever they like."
"Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Maybe I ought to set up some perimeter jinxes, as well?" offered Severus in an oily tone. There was a glint of malice in his beetle black eyes, and his coworkers shared a nervous look.
Not to say that they mistrusted Professor Snape, but he could be... well, a tad overzealous in upholding school rules, particularly when it came to students not belonging to his own house. At the very least, they strongly suspected that he intented these suggested jinxes as much for truants and curfew-breakers as actual intruders.
They never contradicted him in front of the school if they could help it, of course. Best to present a united front, if only so the students didn't start to think they could get out of trouble by playing the teachers against each other. Nonetheless, there was no denying that they were more polite than cordial with Severus Snape.
"No, that shouldn't be necessary," they told him.
He looked only a little put out by this.
"Very well, then," Severus said curtly. "If you'll excuse me. I have papers to grade."
Turning, he walked out of the lounge.
Minerva and Pomona shared matching looks. When he was gone, Pomona whispered.
"You know what? If Skeeter shows up again, I think I really might just leave her to Snape."
"I was just thinking the same thing," said Minerva wryly.
Detention with Lockhart was, Harry decided, significantly worse than any of the alternatives. Scrubbing cauldrons, polishing trophies, or copying lines would have been infinitely preferable. He would would even take being hung from the ceiling in the dungeons, as Filch had nastily suggested so many times before, over having to endure more than an hour at a time of their narcissistic defense professor's company.
That events on the day of Ron's expulsion had caused this detention to be postponed in the confusion was little comfort to Harry, particularly when Lockhart gave him the advice to distance himself from association with the youngest of the Weasley boys.
"People might like a good rebel every now and then," he had said in what he probably considered to be a shrewd and knowledgeable manner. "But at your age it's important to keep a clean record. Make too much trouble or hang out with the wrong crowd, and it will come back to haunt you at the worst possible time, the press will make sure of that. This Ron is a bad seed. I knew it from the moment I first laid eyes on him. You wouldn't want to be dragged down by someone like that, believe you me!"
Harry had needed to exert a good deal of self control in order to keep himself from dumping his ink bottle all over the man's obnoxiously bright and colorful robes. How Hermione could, after a single lesson with this idiot, believe the smarmy git to be even half the wizard his books made him out to be ... Harry felt embarrassed on her behalf.
But mastering himself in spite of both boredom and irritation, he continued to work through the pile of fan letters. A few were snatched away by Lockhart before he could read them—one including a picture of a witch in knickers that might have been considered racy back in the Victorian era (and looking old enough to have lived through that period firsthand, to Harry's dismay) as well as a few with language at which Ron would have sniggered and Hermione blushed or nervously giggled.
Every letter Harry didn't have to answer was a relief, as this was all very tedious work, so he could at least be grateful for the slight reprieves granted by Lockhart sheepishly pocketing these letters and telling him to forget he had ever seen them. Time went by slowly enough to make these short moments seem very precious, dragging as it always did when one simply wanted to hurry and get an unpleasant experience over with.
Eventually, however, his detention came to an end. It was ultimately uneventful, and very boring. There were no voices to be heard in the walls that night.
Tired, surly, and feeling completely sick of Professor Lockhart, Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. Aside from ducking into an adjacent corridor to avoid a run-in with Peeves (who was cackling to himself and swinging around a soggy bundle of uncertain origins), Harry made good time. He was getting better at navigating the school's labyrinthine halls.
Giving the Fat Lady the password once he reached her painting on the seventh floor, Harry climbed in through the portrait hole and surveyed the common room. Hermione was there, perhaps waiting for him to get back from detention, staring distractedly out a nearby window while sitting in one of the chairs furthest from the fire. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay on her lap, bent and crinkled as if from repeated perusal.
"Evening, Hermione," said Harry in a quiet voice. There weren't many other students in the common room, but a nauseous-looking seventh year was working intently on a pile of homework that made Lockhart's stack of fanmail look modest by comparison, shooting nasty looks at anyone who made too much noise, so he chose to keep his voice down.
Hermione gave a start all the same, looking around wildly as though she had not heard him approach.
"Oh, Harry! When did you get back? Hello," she said, sounding faintly out of sorts. "Did your detention go alright?"
"It was a nightmare," Harry answered, pulling a face. "Or Lockhart was, at least. I was this close to jabbing my quill in his eye by the end of it."
Hermione pursed her lips but made no comment. She simply nodded vaguely and looked back down at the newspaper.
Harry saw that it was the evening edition of the Daily Prophet.
"Good reading?" he asked conversationally.
"Dreadful," said Hermione in a near squeak, furiously shaking her head. "People spouting rubbish against that Muggle Protection Act, mostly. Honestly, it's disgusting the way some wizards treat nonmagical people. 'Not worth the parchment it's printed on. Why should we pay taxes to protect muggles just because they don't have the magic to protect themselves from so much as a knockback jinx?'" she quoted in an unflattering voice that made her sound rather like a female version of Goyle. "Unbelievable."
"The Muggle Protection Act?" Harry said thoughtfully, his memory jogged by these words. "Isn't that the law Mr. Weasley's been trying to get passed?"
"Is it? Well that's very good of him, if it is," said Hermione in a slightly pleased tone. "It's nice to remember that there are at least SOME decent purebloods out there. I just hope it doesn't affect the law, what Mrs. Weasley said about him getting into trouble at work. There was going to be an inquiry, wasn't there?"
Harry's gut wrenched at these words, remembering the howler Molly had sent Ron. Feeling a pang of guilt, he stared out through the window and over the grounds, spying the Whomping Willow. It swayed forlornly as if in a breeze, but the stillness of the trees in the Forbidden Forest further off suggested that the night was actually quite windless.
"I hope not," he muttered. "But with people like Malfoy's dad out there..."
Hermione's face darkened at the thought of Lucius Malfoy.
"Oh, that man is just horrible!" she hissed. "I heard some of the upper years saying he tried to have Malfoy's detentions overturned. Professor Snape got a letter from him about it during the last sixth year potions class, or so I heard, and it put him in a right horrible mood. He even took points from his own house when some of the Slytherins asked what it was about."
Harry marveled at the thought, and a part of him wished almost that this had happened during their own double potions with Slytherin. He would have given almost anything to see this. Imagine, Severus Snape taking points from his own house! What was next? Handing out sweets during class?
"Just our luck we weren't there to see it," he said, sighing almost wistfully. Then he shook his head. "Do you know? I heard the Malfoys used to be big supporters of Voldemort—" Hermione flinched. "—back during the war. Right in his inner circle, supposedly. They came back to our side at the end of course, saying they'd been bewitched... but Ron told me once that his dad reckons they never really stopped following Voldemort."
Again, Hermione winced, somehow managing to look both skeptical and disconcerted at the same time.
"I'm sure he didn't say that exactly," she said a touch weakly.
"What?" Harry muttered. "Do you think the Malfoys are too decent for that?"
"Heavens, no!" Hermione said quickly. "I can certainly believe it. I just don't think..."
She trailed off, looking unsure as to what exactly she wanted to say. Her expression wavered for a moment.
Finally Hermione nodded, conceding the point to Harry.
"...well, yes, Lucius Malfoy certainly was nasty enough at Flourish and Blotts to make me think he could have been a follower of You-Know-Who. As bad as Draco ever was, saying all those things about Mr. Weasley, and looking at my parents like that..." She glowered, and her face reddened. "As if them being muggles makes them any less as people! Honestly! They're dentists, you know. They didn't go to medical school just to be looked down on by some ignorant, classist—"
She snarled something incomprehensible, before she waving a hand and gesturing furiously. The studying seventh year shot them a dirty look, while a couple first years stared in fearful awe at the thunderous expression on her face.
"—just for not having any magic themselves," she lowly continued, her eyes flashing. "I mean, it's not like it's their fault, is it? And they're probably two of the smartest people I know, besides. Lucius Malfoy is just some... some... some stupid, entitled, inbred bigot with a bit of old money to his name!"
Harry goggled at her for a moment.
He did not think he had ever heard Hermione go on such a vehement tirade, and it was a little frightening to see her looking so livid. But he also felt a vicious sort of satisfaction, and feeling very eager to contribute he chimed in with some muttered insults, imprecations, and scandalous allegations against Draco, Lucius, and the rest of their family.
Hermione smiled savagely and responded in kind.
Thus, taking turns to vent the many frustrations that had been building up inside them, Harry and Hermione carried on roundly abusing the Malfoys long after the common room had emptied. Neither of them noticed the presence of a small, glossy beetle perched on the window sill as they spoke. Even if they had, they would have thought it insignificant.
But Rita Skeeter paid careful attention to everything they said.
A/N: Just finished playing Mother 3 for the first time yesterday. It was certainly an experience. I also expect to be getting a new laptop by Thursday (for playing games, mainly, as half the games I have on steam won't even run on this old thing) and I should also be getting both versions of Fire Emblem Fates on Friday, because I am a slave to the corporate machine. It's a shame the Pokemon Mew giveaway requires going to a GameStop, as I have neither a car nor a license.
And maybe it's just 'cause I've actually been looking around for once, but these next few months seem like they'll be seeing the release of a lot of games I'm interested in, especially on the 3DS. Hyrule Warriors, Project X-Zone 2, and the OG Pokemon games, to name a few. Yet I'll probably want to stagger my purchases, as much to give myself time to actually finish the games as to not put too big of a hole in my wallet.
By comparison, I don't have much to say about this chapter. It doesn't feel like my strongest work in terms of flow, though it's one of the longest so far in this fic, but it does set up some things I'd been hoping to do since I first conceived of this plot.
Updated: 2-16-16
TTFN and R&R!
– — ❤