Definitely not a wallflower

Summary: One responsible adult finds his sister's possession of a diary that writes back, to be odd. With the help of his mentor (an elderly American wizard called Henry Walton, who was only 17 years younger than Dumbledore), he unravels enough of the mystery to get his employers interested.

Ginny-note: Ginny's is depicted as shy, quiet, and insecure, at least in her first year. Speaking as someone married to a woman who has four older brothers and no other siblings, I can tell you such girls are NOT any of those things!

(And yes, me writing positively about Ginny is really odd, but the plot moves on from Ginny pretty quickly anyway. Plus I've always thought there was a bit of a WTF in how Ginny was portrayed in her first year! I mean, a girl who secretly taught herself flying at the age of six, being insecure? Get outta here...!)

Fanfic-illiteracy note: I was tempted to use "defiantly" instead of "definitely" in the title, in 'honor' of one of the most common spelling errors on FFN. Curiously, that might have fit, too.

Thank you: to all who reviewed my previous works. In response to some very valid points brought up in reviews, I have updated my profile to describe some limitations in my writing, which are likely to continue for some time.

Legal Disclaimer: anything you recognise in this story belongs to someone else, most likely to JK Rowling and/or her business partners. Any characters you don't recognise are mine. The specific plot in this fic may be mine; I say "may be" because fanfiction is vast, and one can never be sure there isn't a very similar one elsewhere. I'm not getting anything out of writing this except the pleasure of seeing how many ways JKR's Rube Goldberg machine could have been jammed in a sensible world.

Summer, 1987

Ginny Weasley, youngest and only girl among seven children, was annoyed as hell. Her brothers were all playing Quidditch. The youngest of them was only a year older than her, yet they deemed her too young to play. Or even fly.

She ranted and raved and shouted at them, but they did not budge. Her oldest, and favourite, brother, Bill Weasley, looked at her with understanding, then came down to the ground.

She didn't wait for him to say anything, laying into him full bore instead. "Why is it that Fred, George, and Ron can pillow fight with me, can arm-wrestle with me for chores, though I always lose, they can tease me, and I can tease them back, they prank me, and I prank them back if I can, I never run crying to mum or dad... but when it comes to flying, they never let me join them? It's not fair!"

"Ginny, sweetie, all those other things - what is the worst that can happen? But with flying, well we're just afraid you may fall off or something, and mum would have our hides. You're only six, Ginny-"

"But Ron is only a year older than me, and he's been flying for a few months", the little girl screamed at him.

"Well, for one thing, my little sister, you are far more precious than Ron", grinned Bill. "Think about it - mum and dad have six sons, but they have only one daughter".

Ginny giggled. Clearly he was joking - mum and dad did not think of Ron as a "spare" did they? Although, she thought wickedly, it would not be a great loss...

Then she grew serious again, and Bill changed tack quickly.

"Plus you're so small besides, and I am not sure any of our brooms are really your size, you know we can't afford to buy any new ones. I'll tell you what, you grow up real fast - say at least a foot taller than you are now, and I'll teach you how to fly."

"That could take years", whined Ginny.

"No it won't; it'll only be a few months I'm sure", said Bill. Patting her gently, he took off on his broom to resume their three-a-side game.

That night, Ginny decided she had had enough of over-protective brothers. She debated with herself if late in the night, or very early in the morning, was better. Eventually she decided on getting up at five o'clock in the morning. No one in her family - even her mother - woke up before seven, so that would give her a solid two hours.

Christmas, 1989

"What exactly do you do, Bill? What does 'curse breaking' mean?"

"Well sweetie, I'm still learning - I'm barely six months out of Hogwarts, you know! But it's fun, and it's really what the name says - we break curses that bad wizards place on things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Could be anything. You can curse pretty much anything except a wand."

"Why not a wand?"

"Wands have their own internal magic. A very powerful wizard can curse a wand, but by then the wand is not a wand anymore; it's just a piece of wood. It's hard to explain."

"Can you curse a quill?"

"Of course."

"A piece of parchment?"

"Sure!"

"What kinds of bad things can curses do?"

"Well, most of them do something immediate and obvious - but I don't want to tell you all that now. You're still too young!"

"Do they kill people?"

"They can."

"Do they make people go mad?"

"Some of them can. And sometimes there are cursed objects that look very friendly, and behave very nicely. My supervisor tells us of a wizard who once found a cursed mirror that would chat with you while you did your hair or whatever, listening to you and responding just like a friend would, but while it was doing that, it was stealing away your magic and your life. You wouldn't notice until it was too late."

Ginny shuddered. "And that's why dad always says 'never trust anything that can think for itself if you cannot see where it keeps its brain'?"

Bill paused to gather his thoughts. "Well... that's a somewhat simplified explanation, but yes, it's a good way of thinking about things."

"Where do you find all these cursed items?"

"Mostly in Egyptian tombs. But you'd be surprised how many old families have such items in their vaults, even in their houses and manors. The number of people who land up in St Mungos because they were caught by some such item they did not realise was cursed..."

"Have you ever found any cursed items in Hogwarts?"

"Well I wasn't looking for them, was I? But I'm willing to bet there are. Not to mention Diagon Alley. And of course Knockturn Alley is probably seething with cursed items."

Ginny nodded. She would never go to Knockturn of course; her mum would kill her if she survived the trip.

July 1, 1992

"Why don't you reply to my letters, you jerk", said Ginny, hitting Ron upside the head hard enough to make him almost fall into his breakfast.

"Ouch", grumbled the gangling pre-teen. "You harpy, keep your hands to yourself - I can tell you I did not miss this the last nine months."

"Oooh fancy, Ron can count from September 1st to June 30th and get nine. And it's ten months, dummy. And you didn't answer my question. Why didn't you reply to my owls?"

"I had better things to do than answer your stupid questions."

"OK now you don't have anything, so you'll answer me now. What is Harry Potter like? Has he done all those things the books that mum used to read to me said he did?"

"He's nothing like that. He grew up with muggles, he didn't even know he was a wizard till his eleventh birthday."

"Oh! I guess all the books were wrong then..."

A few days later

"Hi, you must be Harry Potter. Nice to meet you, I'm Ginny, the only non-git among the children in this house", grinned Ginny, holding her hand out for Harry to shake.

"Oy!", shouted Fred and George simultaneously.

Harry grinned. This kid looked like she could handle six brothers all on her own. "Hi Ginny, nice to meet you too! You're starting this year right?"

Some more days later

"Ginny, did you really have to deck him by swinging your cauldron? And even if you did, did you have to swing it so hard?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know; I think I was confused - so much was happening, and it was all so sudden, and I didn't want that Malfoy person to win that fight with dad."

Arthur knew he was as much to blame. And of course, behind every man there is a woman who tells him where he went wrong. "And really Arthur", said Molly in a deeply disappointed tone, "you and Malfoy started it. Ginny only ended it."

After the sudden fight between the two rivals, and its equally sudden ending with the elder Malfoy having been knocked flat, things had quieted down. Malfoy blustered about pressing charges, but Ginny pointed out to him - with a haughty look that his wife would have been jealous of - that he currently had four of her books in his hand, and was he so poor he needed to steal from her? Without waiting for a reply, she followed it up with "And do you realise I'm a first year, and your son is in second year, so it wouldn't have done you any good anyway?"

Malfoy had gone purple with rage and embarrassment. He then slammed all four books into her cauldron and walked off in a huff.

The next afternoon

Ginny had spent the following morning looking over her books, excited to be finally going to Hogwarts. She was skimming the contents and the first chapter of each book, to get a flavour of what the year held for her.

By the time she got to her transfiguration text book, her excitement had brought Ron, Harry, Hermione, and the twins to her corner of the dining table, where all her books were laid out. Ginny casually remarked that the transfiguration text appeared thicker than it should be, and opened it. Out popped a small, black, diary. It appeared muggle in origin, and had "T. M. Riddle" embossed on the cover, in fading yellow/gold paint.

"That's odd", said Hermione. "I'm pretty sure that book wasn't there when you picked up the book from the rack. Actually, come to think of it, I was the one who picked it out and handed it to you, and I am absolutely positive the book did not have another book inside."

"Well, it's just an empty diary. Why don't you use it?" asked Harry.

"I would, except it clearly belongs to someone else. Why would I use something that belongs to someone else as my diary? But if you want it...?"

"No thanks", grinned Harry. "Us men don't keep diaries", he smirked.

The two girls nodded to each other, then turned a wicked smile to him, together. "Just for that, Potter, you are going to write in this diary. Now write, 'I will not be a chest-beating Tarzan'", said Hermione. Ginny looked puzzled, to which Hermione said "later".

With both witches standing over him with menacing (but Hermione was definitely cute, thought Harry) looks, he had no choice. He flipped to the first page and began writing.

I am not a chest-beating Tarzan.

He looked up at Hermione with a grin, and found that both the girls were staring in shock at the diary.

Looking down at the diary again, he found that the words he had written had disappeared, and new words had appeared.

So what is your name?

A few days later, in Egypt

"Hey Henry, can you take a look at this? It looks like a horcrux", yelled Bill Weasley.

His mentor, Henry Walton, had been working on stuff like this for more than 50 years. In fact, he had been forced to disappear from the muggle world, where he was a professor of archaeology, because - as a wizard - he looked far younger than a muggle his age would look, and people were starting to wonder.

The tall, lanky, American sat himself down on a chair near Bill and took the diary from him. "Where did you get this?"

"My sister sent it."

"The one who is just starting Hogwarts now? How does an eleven year old get a horcrux?"

Bill explained what Ginny had said in her letter, that a dark wizard had slipped it in among her books. He also explained that his youngest brother's friend, Harry Potter, was given some sort of warning by a house-elf, and that they thought this was somehow connected.

"Do you know who that wizard was?"

"Yes. And I will deal with him when I go back", said Bill darkly.

"Hmm", muttered Henry, turning to the book again. "Clearly a horcrux, as you said" - he waved his wand about a bit - "made approximately fifty years ago. Say, what was the name of your last dark lord?"

"Lord Voldemort."

Henry was a great fan of puzzles, word games, and trivia, often solving the most fiendishly complicated puzzles in his mind.

"Yeah. This was too easy. Ask me another", said Henry.

"Not until you tell me what this is!"

"Hah! Bloody childish anagram of the name on the inside cover", he said.

Bill had noticed that the inside cover had "property of Tom Marvolo Riddle", in a small, yet elegant, script.

"Hmm? A, I, and M left over. I suppose that would be 'I am'?"

A few days later, in Gringotts London

Armed with the horcrux, Bill had contacted his employers and informed them of what his sister had found. Of course, he was still quite a junior employee - barely a few years on the job - but Henry was decades older, and had taken a shine to his young protégé, and his word carried a lot of weight. There weren't many wizards who could claim the kinds of earth-saving feats as he had gotten up to when in his prime. (Plus, he was single-handedly responsible for the upsurge in the success percentage of tomb-raiding missions in the early 20th century!)

So they got an audience with Ragnok himself. One look at the diary and he bellowed out an order in Ghukliak.

That put the cat among the pigeons, as it were. Bill and Henry were reassigned - their job now was finding all the other horcruxes and destroying them, and Gringotts would put all their resources at the disposal of these two.

Of course, it started with a full sweep of Gringotts itself. Just in case.

Naturally, they found the cup.

At the bottom of their hearts, they were hoping Voldemort had only made one - the diary. Finding the cup shattered those optimistic hopes; having confirmed he made more than one, they now needed to figure out exactly how many he had made.

The goblins did have a scanner, of sorts, for finding dark artefacts. You don't get to be the premier tomb-raiders of the wizarding world without being able to do that.

The problem was there was no "England wide scanner"; you had to start somewhere, and could scan a few miles or so in any direction. That was it.

Of course, putting the scanner on the knight bus and traversing every magical street in every town and city, was always available as a last resort, but they wanted to try more intelligent searches first.

A meeting with the director

While this was going on, Bill requested, and obtained, an audience with Ragnok. Henry accompanied him, if only because he had some free time, and because Ragnok had immediately liked the old American and had - most unusually - given him an open invitation to come visit him when he had the time.

"What do you wish, Curse-breaker Weasley?"

"Director, the youngest in my family, and only girl-child, would have died a horrible death from continued contact with this tainted artefact. My family honor cries out for revenge, even if the evil act was prevented."

"You do not, then, subscribe to the human weakness called 'fair play'?"

Bill smiled grimly. "Only when the other party also subscribes to the same idea, Director."

Ragnok smiled. "I ask again, what do you wish?"

"I would like to invite Mr Malfoy to a meeting with a Gringotts representative, and interrogate him about this to find out what he knows and what he intended."

"You know, the standard Gringotts contract specifies huge penalties for wizards attempting harm to Gringotts goblins' and their families. Perhaps we should add a rider to the contract that replaces the word 'goblins' with 'employees'?"

Bill was thoroughly impressed. Gringotts frequently updated their contract terms, and presented them to customers for signing even more frequently. To the point that most wizards no longer bothered to read them, and just signed off on them. (Your historian is compelled to explicitly state that rumours that this practice was the inspiration behind the EULAs displayed to users by various software and social media companies in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, while no doubt very interesting, have actually no basis in fact.)

He bowed. "Thank you, Director!"

"Have him summoned on some routine matter, present the new contract, wait two days, and then summon him for your 'meeting'".

One week later, in Gringotts

"Mr Malfoy, you have been summoned here to investigate an attempt to murder a family member of a Gringotts' employee. You are now under Goblin law until you leave this building. This room will detect false-hoods. A warning sound will occur the first time you say something that you know to be untrue. If you attempt to assert a falsehood again, you will be remanded into goblin custody pending a full trial."

Malfoy appeared really rattled. "May I know whose family I am supposed to have attempted to harm?"

Bill Weasley stepped into the dark wizard's field of view. "Mine", he said.

Malfoy stood up in indignation. "You? You are not a goblin?"

Griphook smirked. "You did not read the revised contract which you signed three days ago?"

"You present a revised contract every other visit. Do you really expect us to read it every time? Do you expect my lawyer to accompany me when I come to simply withdraw some funds?"

Griphook shrugged. "That is your choice; we cannot force you to read it. Mr Weasley, please begin the interrogation."

"Mr Malfoy, we have only two questions for you. First, did you, knowing that this was a dark artefact given to you by the so-called Lord Voldemort, pass this diary" - here he held up the object - "surreptitiously to an eleven year old girl who was just starting Hogwarts? Now remember, you cannot lie in this room."

"Yes."

"Second, did you know what this artefact would do to the girl?"

"Yes."

"What would it do?"

"You said you had only two questions."

"Don't get smart with me Malfoy, you just admitted to plotting to murder my sister. What would the diary do?"

"It would let the dark lord possess her, then take her life and form a body for himself to come back to life."

"Did your dark lord tell you that?"

"Not in so many words, but it wasn't hard to work out."

Bill turned to Griphook, the only other occupant of the room.

"Griphook, what would a goblin do to someone who plotted the murder of a member of his family, that too a child?"

"A goblin would do whatever he pleases, Mr Weasley. Whatever he pleases!"

Saying which, Griphook left the room.

Bill turned to Malfoy again. "You heard that?"

"You're a light side wizard; you don't dare do anything to me. The minister is my friend, and he will have you and your entire litter arrested and thrown in Azkaban."

"If that's what you'd like to think. Anyway, I believe you have a house-elf called Dobby. Call him. I will give him some instructions, and you will do nothing but nod agreement."

He conjured a couple of needles, fixed to the uprights of the chair, curving in so that they ended just next to his temples. The sharp points were just far enough that he could nod, but if he shook his head, they would pierce his skin, and possibly more - depending on how strong the whole contraption was.

"Oh you might be thinking it will only cause a slight cut. You're right of course, but the tips are poisoned. And I have now disillusioned the needles. Call your elf."

"Dobby", called out a shaky voiced Malfoy. He was starting to realise this was a lot more serious than he had ever imagined. Sadly, it never occurred to him to think of the countless numbers of people whom he had put in a much worse position.

The elf appeared, looking confused at the room and the fact that his master was tied up.

"Dobby," said the tall, red-haired wizard who was standing next to his master. "Your master wishes you to bring your mistress and your little master here immediately. Do not dally."

Dobby looked at his master. His master looked as if he wanted to shake his head, but changed his mind and nodded.

When the two were brought in, Bill immediately petrified Narcissa. Then he turned to Draco, and said, "do you have a handkerchief, little boy?"

Draco nodded. His bluster and bravado were on vacation, seeing both his parents unable to help him even by word.

"Give it to the elf, and free him."

Draco found some courage. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh this, nothing really, but I don't like elves being mistreated. Now do it, or your father dies."

Dobby seemed to have some misgivings about the manner in which he was freed, but evidently decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and disappeared.

(Several years later, Harry and Hermione, on a honeymoon vacation to the major magical spots in England, found him disillusioned and acting as a muggle tour guide at Stonehenge. It appeared that the ambient magic of the place was quite enough, and Dobby was a happy elf to the end of his rather long life.)

"Now, Mrs Malfoy, do you know what your husband was planning to do with this diary? Remember you cannot lie in this room."

"Yes."

"Do you know the full effects it would have had on the little girl he had given this diary to?"

"Yes."

"Aah, so sad. I was rather hoping you would say 'no' to that question at least. Well, there is no help for it I guess."

Bill partitioned off a corner of the room, setting up a shimmering ward in a quarter circle, centered on that corner, with a side of about six feet. He conjured a table and chair, and inkpot and a quill inside the warded area, and told the boy to go in.

"Do you have a wand on you, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco nodded.

"Do you know any spells?"

Draco nodded again.

"Well, fire one at me. Don't worry, I won't punish you for that, since I am asking you to do so."

Draco sent a leg locker at Bill. The spell met the ward boundary and fizzled out.

Bill turned to the parents. "Now watch this", and sent a tickling charm at Draco.

"As you can see, this is a one-way ward. It is a Gringotts proprietary ward, and was invented by my friend and mentor Henry Walton early in the century. It has been immensely useful in getting into tombs - we can safely test the defenses without being affected by the offensive parts of the tombs we try to enter. In fact, this ward is responsible for the huge upsurge in successful expeditions that began in 1925 or so."

"Now, here is what I want you to do. You will leave this building, and go home. You will then spend a few hours preparing all the evidence you can find against yourself and every single one of your death-eater friends. Every. Single. One. After that you will turn yourself into the ministry and hand all this evidence to Madam Amelia Bones. You will willingly submit to veritaserum questioning when asked - in fact you will insist upon it."

Lucius Malfoy laughed. "Once I get out, I will bring the force of the ministry down on you, you bastard."

"Not even for you will your precious Fudge risk attacking Gringotts, I think, so go ahead, do your worst. The goblins will deny all involvement; it will be your word against my father's. Since my father does not know what I am doing, and both he and Madam Bones have been waiting for a chance to get you under veritaserum, you can guess what will happen."

Malfoy looked defeated. Then he took on a fierce, desperate, look. "I don't care, kill the boy if you must. I will not betray my friends and I will definitely not betray the dark lord."

Narcissa, still in the body bind, was struggling mightily, if her eyes were anything to go by. Bill, realising he might have an unwilling ally, freed her.

The next minute Lucius Malfoy's groin was a shapeless mass of blood, bone, and bits of other stuff. Narcissa had pulled her wand - which had never been taken from her - and fired an over-powered reducto at her husband.

"Aah, a mother's instincts. So beautiful to watch", said Bill, clapping slowly. "Madam Malfoy, I trust you will do what your husband appeared unwilling to do?"

"I would like to, but I do not have all the details. He keeps everything secret."

Bill was not sure whether this was a ploy to get off the task, or was truly the case. So he offered her an out.

"This room is mine for the next fourteen days. You have that much time to do the job. Feel free to use the imperius on your husband to extract information from him. Only you will be allowed to leave."

Offering her a portkey, he continued, "and only you will be allowed to enter - if you try to bring someone else with you, you will lose an arm. Clearly you will not attempt it again if that happens once."

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

"I want every single death eater who escaped Azkaban to be on trial, under veritaserum. You will, in fact, start with Fudge and the bribes your husband paid him - of course we in Gringotts know all about this, but we cannot bring it to the Wizengamot."

"Can I take my son with me?"

"Oh no, Madam Malfoy! Your son will be writing in the diary, under a compulsion charm I will place on him. I will let him go once you have completed your tasks. But remember, I have no idea how fast this diary will possess him. If he ends up possessed before you complete your task, and loses his life to allow the dark lord to be reborn, well then that is your bad luck. And don't worry; I will kill the dark lord - remember this is a one-way ward."

Narcissa looked stricken. She started weeping, and she looked pitiable. "Mr Weasley, I am a mother, please have mercy. He is just a child, who does not even know why this is happening; he does not deserve to be punished for his father's wrongs", she begged.

"My sister is just a child too, Madam Malfoy, even younger than your son here. She, too, has a mother who would have wept just as copiously as you are weeping now if she had known of the fate that was in store for her. You said you knew what your husband was planning, and the full effects of this diary. Where, Madam Malfoy, was your motherly instinct then? Is that the privilege only of the dark lord's followers? Are we light wizards not expected to have such instincts and feelings?"

Giving her an implacable look, he continued, "now go, go, my dear lady. You don't want your son to be consumed by the dark lord. Do not come back until you have completed your tasks."

"Oh and by the way, your second victim must be Snape, after you have dealt with Fudge", he added as an afterthought.

The goblins, using the cup in Bellatrix's vault as a diviner, found a horcrux in curse-breaker Weasley's own house - in the forehead of Harry Potter. (As a side effect, the goblin team also found an illegal animagus hiding in said Weasley house, leading to a very happy reunion between a young boy and his godfather, but that is neither here nor there!)

Ragnok then summoned Dumbledore to his office, and asked him to explain why, when he must have clearly known Harry had a horcrux in his head, did he not report it to anyone. He hemmed and hawed, as was his wont, but eventually they wore him down, forcing him to reveal all his factual knowledge and half-formed theories.

The goblins eventually added to those facts and fleshed out those theories to complete the country-wide scan for Voldemort's horcruxes, finding all of them and eliminating them.

They were unable to do anything about Harry's scar, though. They decided to adopt a wait-and-watch attitude toward that.

(In the end, nothing happened. Harry had the scar, with no change, until he died decades later. The dark lord was never brought to life by anyone so Harry never experienced any pain there. And since he was the last horcrux, when he eventually died, so did the self-styled Lord Voldemort.)

Narcissa Malfoy's sudden change of heart was the stuff of legends. In precisely six days, she turned the wizarding world upside down, bringing down the minister, her own husband (who appeared to be absconding), her son's godfather, her husband's cronies, and many more besides.

On the seventh day, she went to Gringotts, to find that her son had already been consumed by the dark lord. Bill Weasley greeted her with two dead bodies - one her child, and one a handsome, dark-haired, sixteen year old. The former was pale, almost bloodless, and had clearly died a silent, probably painless, death. The latter had had his torso nearly bisected by what could only have been a goblin spell. Even in death, though, he retained a sneer on his handsome face.

"Of course, your husband bled out long ago - I commend you on the power of your curse - and I had to vanish the body due to the stench. These two died only a couple of days ago."

"That is impossible; this artifact would not have worked so fast!"

"I thought so too. So I asked the shade of Voldemort. You know what he told me? He said it would have taken almost a year if the host was unwilling, but your son appeared to be positively thrilled to welcome him, so it only took a few days instead of months! I'll bet you're regretting teaching your son whatever it is you evidently taught him, aren't you?"

The curse-breaker's eyes showed no remorse at the death of a child, or pity, either for the boy or for his mother.

Narcissa broke down. She sat down and wept for a good ten minutes.

Then her innate arrogance slowly re-asserted itself. "I will-".

"You will do no such thing, Madam Malfoy. This room is actually in a long-abandoned part of the goblin mines. No one comes here anymore, and once I leave, no one ever will. It will be considered that, shamed by your husband's criminal behaviour and disappearance, you took your son with you and disappeared, perhaps somewhere on the continent. The goblins will not give out any information, so no one will know when you die."

Narcissa screamed at Bill, and tried to rush him in a fit of uncontrollable anger. "You bastard, you killed my son, and now you're going to kill me! How can you live with yourself?"

"Well, Madam Malfoy, it won't be easy. But I will console myself with the fact that it is not my sister that is lying dead."

"Speaking of that," he continued, "would you like me to confund you into thinking that is my sister's dead body there, Madam Malfoy? Perhaps that will make your last few days of life go by easier?" he offered.

She did not reply.

He left the room, locking it behind him.

The End

AN: this particularly dark fic (for the bad guys anyway) was a result of several badly chosen fics in my reading, in each of which the bad guys win heavily, and the good guys lose heavily, before the end. In almost all of them, the concept of fair play - whether stated or not - plays a heavy role in the failure of the good guys. I wanted to explore what would happen if at least one of the good guys were just as unfair, just for once.