Miss Patil Takes a Holiday Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Raison d'Etre

Lucius had spent his entire parole, the full six months, adjusting to the changes in his life and the wizarding world in general. His first day of true freedom after that parole was spent in contemplation of the ruin of Malfoy Manor. Once the Ministry had disassembled the generations of wards, local Muggle cretins had moved in and made a hash of every surface in the building. Lucius leaned heavily on his cane as he entered the library. He contained his fury, just barely, as he moved through the room that had once housed priceless volumes on Dark as well as Light Arts. The room had been left a shambles. Books and scrolls not confiscated by the Ministry had been left to moulder in the most damaging of conditions. The aforementioned Muggles had further desecrated many. Burnt leavings crumbled underneath his booted feet. Lucius swore roundly and at great length, impugning the lineage and intelligence of both Muggles and Ministry officials.

Lucius sank to the couch on which he had proposed to Narcissa, once immaculate Italian silk, but now a house for vermin, if he could tell by the sharp squeaks coming from the cotton batting. He looked at the fireplace, where Severus had announced his desire to join the Brotherhood of the Damned. From his seat, he could see the space that Voldemort had claimed as his throne room. Lucius could imagine the shades of the souls that had passed through the room -- both living and dead -- gibbering accusingly at him. Malfoy shivered, whether from the chill of the room or mausoleum quality of the manor was a question he would ponder later. He would finish his tour and return to his bed at the rectory of St. Catherine's Halfway House in London.

Malfoy Manor was no longer his home.

He moved slowly up the once pristine Egyptian marble staircase, now littered with Muggle paint and crushed ale bottles. The west wing, which had housed his family for generations, had not escaped the depredations of time or vandals. The gallery, which housed the family portraits, was destroyed. A window had been broken and years of the elements had leeched the life from the paintings and the Georgian splendour from the room. The canvases had been ripped to ensure no magic remained. The material flapped desultorily in the anaemic wind of late summer.

He paused outside Draco's old nursery, remembering each time his toddler son had come running toward him after Lucius had spent a long day at the Ministry scheming over one thing or another. He cracked open the door only to shut it again. He could not face the destruction that spoke accusatorily of his son's life.

Lucius moved on to his room, shared with Narcissa through an adjoining panel. Silk panels hung in shreds where overzealous Aurors had searched for Dark materials and incriminating data. As if a Malfoy had need of hiding things in walls, he thought to himself. Lucius strode to the fireplace that dominated the room. He tapped once on the brick with his newly acquired wand, and muttered the incantation that Snape had developed for Lucius after he had defected to the Order.

It always boggled Lucius' mind that Snape thought himself poor at Charms. The man was nothing short of brilliant; that he was slightly more brilliant in Potions did not matter. Lucius suspected his old friend's claim of inability had more to do with the ginger-haired Mudblood than actual truth. He wondered idly if Draco had found Snape yet. He had gone to the States with Potter to find him. If his son did, Lucius had a few choice words to say to the man. It still stung Malfoy that Severus had not thought to contact him once during the past twelve years.

A tiny panel opened, revealing the contents: a small cameo of a woman in profile, a bag of gobstones that were a scant forty-years-old, a letter, and a soft braid of hair, silver and gold twined together. The sum total of Lucius' life in four articles. The cameo was his mother's, carved in a sitting with an Italian master before her marriage to Abraxas. The gobstones were what was left of Lucius' childhood after Abraxas purged Lucius' presence from the nursery the year his mother died. Lucius had been playing with them and had sneaked them into his pocket. It had been his only act of defiance to that despot. The letter was from Hogwarts and served to remind Lucius never to place trust where it was not warranted. The last, the twined hair, he rubbed against his cheek, feeling the way the braid caught in his late afternoon stubble. Narcissa had braided her hair and Draco's together, in one of her rare moments of sentimentality, and had presented it to Lucius on their son's third birthday.

Lucius pocketed the articles, all but the hair. That, he twined between his fingers, absently contemplating the ruin of his life. Narcissa had divorced him; Draco was married with two half-blood children and another on the way... Abraxas and the Dark Lord were both probably spinning in their graves with the turns Lucius' life had taken.

He turned to leave all the ghosts of his past behind when he spied his writing desk. Amongst the wreck and ruin that was the Manor, his desk, at which he had spent long hours and late nights, was in perfect order. It was as if he had just stepped out for a moment. An eerie, unsettled feeling rippled down his spine and he readied his wand.

“Who is there?” he asked, his voice dry and shaking. It sounded nothing like the Lucius of old, and he was startled by the frail, unthreatening tone of his voice. Where was the dark authority with which he had previously commanded?.

There was a small ‘pop!’, and Lucius was greeted by a wizened house elf, that had prostrated himself in front of the wizard, sobbing loudly. “Master, has returned! Dibby told the others he would. The others would not listen, but Dibby stayed loyal to his Master.”

Lucius suppressed a grimace as he regarded the creature. He did not recognise it. It was one of a legion of house elves that had served his family. The thing's snivelling servility reminded him of his own state of mind in the last days of the war. Lucius snapped. “Oh, do get up.”

“Yes, Master. Dibby will do anything for Master Lucius. Do you wish to eat? Dibby will prepare him tea. Yes.” The house elf popped out of sight. Lucius heaved a sigh. Of all the things he desired right now, a cringing, fawning house elf was low on the list. There was nothing for it. He would take the creature with him to London, and give it to someone. Perhaps the Muggleborn that the Weasley brat had married would appreciate it since she would not accept payment for her legal services.

&*&*&

Padma had completed her rounds that day more dissatisfied with her lot than ever before. It had been three months since Lucius Malfoy had left her purview, cleared medically by her, and legally by the Wizengamot. She had been his follow-up caregiver as he served his short, six-month probation at the Muggle soup kitchen after twelve years in Azkaban. While she saw to his body's healing, he had seemed to see her as more than a caretaker automaton. She had kissed him, for heaven's sake, and he had remained stonily silent. After that fateful fuck up, she had turned his care over to a colleague. A girl could only stand so much rejection before she threw up her hands. She had heard he was off probation and living above The Leaky Cauldron. Not that she was monitoring the arrogant prat.

Therefore, Padma was once again left frustrated by romance, the last in a very short line of frustrations. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been her first, as both a lover and a betrayer. Her sister had been his partner in the latter. Parvati and Justin had married four months ago and expected their firstborn in eight months. Padma would never forgive her sister that betrayal, just as she would never forgive Lucius Malfoy for his empty flirtation.

The next face to come to the doctor's mind was her latest dubious conquest, Healer Panjit Pradesh, who was nothing more than an Indian version of Gilderoy Lockhart. His winning smile and waving hair were just as fake, and his personality just as smarmy. Her mother had introduced them at Parvati's wedding, hoping for a match with a wealthy, semi-royal, Indian family. Padma had taken one look at the poncey Healer and dismissed him entirely. He had cornered her in the powder room of the hotel and attempted to kiss her. Padma had left him gasping for breath after she put into use the skills learned in Ian's self-defence class at the shelter, hoping at the very least that her message had been clear. He, however, had one more thing in common with her former Defence Professor: he was dense as well. Pradesh sent weekly bouquets -which Padma immediately donated to Ian's church for the Sunday service - and the git constantly dropped by her office to ask her to lunch or to go out after work. Padma's consistent answer had been no, but she was wearing down. Who was she, after all, to turn down an interested man? It wasn't as if she had any others - in particular, a more mature man, with cool grey eyes and an air of danger about him - beating down her door.

Padma was thankful she had not seen Pradesh today. She definitely was not in the mood for his overly solicitous attentions, or his semi-leering suggestions.

The physician retreated to her office after the end of her rounds, suddenly exhausted by the whole process of caring for people who did not care back. She felt the familiar headache forming behind her eyes and at her temples. Tonight she would do the yoga that had sustained her weakened spirits in the last months. The exercise was helping less as she sank further into depression, but Padma lived by the maxim that activity was better than passivity. She rubbed her temples and sank into a more comfortable pose, half sprawled in her seat. It was in this position that her Chief of Staff found her.

“Dr. Patil,” he began with sour distaste for the title she bore. Most of the Healers in the facility found the handful of physicians odd and distasteful. After four years, Padma was inured to the attitude.

“Yes, Healer McMurtry?” Padma struggled to a more acceptable position in her chair, one less likely to put her at a disadvantage.

The older Healer looked around at the disorder of her office as if he could not believe a proper Healer could function in anything less than sterile order as he shut the door behind him. “It has come to my attention that you have not taken any holidays since you began employment some six years ago.”

Padma knew where the conversation was heading and did not like the direction, not one bit. Her work had become her raison d'etre. If it were not for her patients and the endless rotations, she would have no purpose. She stated as calmly as her pounding heart would allow, “I haven't needed time off, sir.”

“Well, the Board sees things differently.” The little dictator curved his hands over his ample belly. “Your holiday will begin on the first of August. A full month off, Dr. Patil. You will not be granted any hospital privileges during that time, nor will you be seeing any patients. Is that clear?”

“I don't understand. My review was full of Exemplaries and Outstandings...” Padma began, the headache becoming an angry buzz behind her eyes, blurring her vision.

“Doctor, your dedication has never been a problem, and your patient care has been... more than adequate.” McMurtry ran a hand under his quivering wattle and then back to his belly. “Neither of which qualities are at issue at the moment.”

“I will appeal this decision,” Patil challenged. She uttered her response with the expected heat outwardly, but a little delinquent part of her was screaming 'Yes!' She squelched the impulsive mite back into her subconscious. It was, no doubt, the part of her that almost had her sorted in Gryffindor with her sister. Padma gave herself a little mental shake. She needed to work, didn't she?

“No, doctor, you will not.” McMurtry's voice cracked like a whip over her mental dialogue. “The decision has been made. You have until the end of the month to arrange for care of your long-term patients.”

Padma's head throbbed as she stood, anger warring with sudden... relief? A month away from patients, and staff meetings and romantic disappointments might be just what she needed. Not that she would admit that to the officious little prick standing before her. She scowled for effect. “I suppose I shall bow to your authority, sir.”

The Healer smirked at her as if to say, 'As well you should.' He would never voice the sentiment. He had not become Chief of Staff by being impolitic. McMurtry placed his hand on the doorknob as if to leave, then paused. “I know, Dr. Patil, that we've had our differences, but this decision really was made in your best interests. I am sorry to lose your skill, even for such a short time.”

A month off and recognition from McMurtry... If Padma didn't have a headache she might have danced after he closed the door to her office.

&*&*&

Padma returned to her flat well past the end of her shift, wrung out by the latest crisis to hit the MICU. A toddler girl had been found comatose and bleeding internally after she had used her mother's wand. Normally, the more traditional Healers would have speedily dealt with the injuries, but the girl had somehow Vanished half her spleen with the magic she had worked. Surgery had been the only option by the time she had reached St. Mungo's. Padma had spent an additional four hours assisting the only surgeon on staff.

She threw her lab coat on the kitchen table and prepared a cup of chai. Chai was not the weak tea of the English. Padma could barely stand that brew. No, it was a rich mixture of teas shipped directly from India and paid for by the kilo in the hundreds of Galleons. Her father gave her the family's special blend each year on her birthday, and she portioned it out throughout the year. She added milk to the mixture, letting it foam as it boiled. As she turned off the hob, she leaned over the pot, allowing the rich odours of her parents' homeland to soak into her skin. She loved chai, and since she was celebrating, this morning was a good reason to make it.

Once the heavy glass she drank the brew from was in her hand, she settled onto the divan in the small parlour. Her flatmate, Tomas Silva, a Goan Healer who worked at a private clinic, would be home soon. Padma hoped he would not be bringing home his latest conquest. He was a boy-slut who would sleep with anyone he fancied for more than five minutes. The only reason Padma felt safe in his presence was that he was one-hundred-percent pouf, which also meant there was a limited scope of eligible males in her vicinity from that quarter.

She finished her chai, feeling only a little better about the gruelling surgery. She reclined on the soft surface of the divan, glad that her flatmate had talked her into buying such a luxurious item. Her eyes drifted closed and she slept.

Padma woke hours later to squeaking bedsprings and passionate vocalisations coming from the vicinity of her flatmate's room. She lurched off the couch groggily and made her way past his door. She slammed her fist against the wood. The squeaking and squawking came to an abrupt halt as Tomas' laughing voice cried out, “Bugger off, Patil!”

“I'll leave that job to you, Silva.” Padma shouted in return as she wended her way to bed, too worn out to even change her clothes.

&*&*&

Lucius and Narcissa met to finalise his settlement to her. She had to come to England as he was in the midst of repairing his finances. Lucius had deemed his newly renovated offices on Mardgin Alley, the business district of wizarding London, an appropriate meeting place, as he did not want her to see the shambles of the Manor or the shabby suite he was renting currently. She brought a little toy of a boy who pouted his way through the initial meeting. Narcissa finally became annoyed and turned him loose on Madam Malkin’s with a wave of her languid hand.

Lucius smirked, "I see you're doing well, Cissy."

His ex-wife stood slowly, letting her loosely clasped cloak fall to the seat. She wore what might have been called wizarding robes had the wizard been a naturist. The sheer, pale blue silk clung seductively to her body, which was still slender as a reed. If Lucius looked at her in the right light, he was sure he would be able to see the colour and cut of her silly French knickers. She ran her taloned finger over the desk and then across his shoulders as she passed, in a move calculated to arouse. Lucius watched the pale digit with some amusement. "Cissy, I believe you are here to sign the papers?"

She pouted prettily, letting her head fall into a saucy tilt. "I believe I am, but you know I always enjoyed mixing business with pleasure."

"I remember everything quite well." He passed the papers over to her. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Lucius, can't we just be friendly...?" Narcissa began but halted her obviously prepared speech as Malfoy quirked an eyebrow in irritation. "Oh, very well."

She signed with a flourish.

"You missed the wedding,” Lucius stated, a bald statement of fact rather than an accusation.

"Yes," Narcissa countered. "I had obligations. You know the social scene in New York at that time of year."

"Yes, I'm surprised you could tear yourself away for this." Lucius folded the documents into a pouch and summoned Dibby. "Please relay these to my solicitor."

The elf bowed and simpered before Disapparating. Narcissa sniggered. "Please, Lucius? To a house elf? Don't tell me that dreary Muggle Blood-Priest has converted you, too? A world without a wicked Lucius is just unbearably dull."

She spun him around in his chair and sat on his lap. "I've missed you."

"Obviously, since you brought your little friend along to the meeting." Lucius countered. He once would have enjoyed a sexually aggressive Narcissa. Gods knew he had tried to encourage it while they had been married. Now he longed for plump cinnamon skin and sloe-eyed beauty, not this armful of bones and angles. Since he could not have one, he would not have the other. He gave his ex-wife a push. "Enough, Madam Black."

Narcissa clung to his neck as he made to stand. "You have changed and I do believe it's for the worse. I hated you when we married, you know."

"Yes." Lucius felt the knife-edged sharpness of her anger, even after all these years. Lucius had not loved her as she had needed. That had been his failing in the marriage. He saw that now when it was too late. "I suspect you still do."

"Oh, Lucius." She turned her cornflower eyes to him, real pain marring her perfect brow. "I am sorry."

Lucius pulled her to his body, clinging to her as if she were still the most precious thing in his life. "So am I."

Miss Patil Takes a Holiday Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Two months previously...

After Mass Dinner at the rectory had become a ritual. Lucius' daughter-in-law, Elspeth Malfoy, presided in all her pregnant glory while Draco and the two boys danced attendance on her. Draco still bore the emotional scars from the death of his first love and mother of Scorpius. It had been when Letitia (Heaven forbid Lucius refer to the mother of his grandson as Tish) Cavanaugh became pregnant that the Curse effects became known. Now, if the hearty Muggle that Draco had married so much as sniffled, Draco was poised to consult specialists. Lucius might have found it amusing, had his son's peace of mind not been at stake. The woman was a little over four months along and healthy as a Hippogriff. Lucius was certain that she had at least a little magical blood in her background.

Bertie Cowell, still dressed in her Sunday best, strode through the room and handed her daughter a much-washed apron. Draco rose from his seat and attempted to wrest the offending article from his mother-in-law's hands. "Liz needs to rest. I'll help you, Mum."

Lucius rolled his eyes. He had most definitely not raised his son with the word Mum in his vocabulary. His son's more colourful language would not have been tolerated had Lucius been around the last twelve years. Of course, had Lucius been around, much would have turned out differently. He supposed he could live with Draco's language as long as he and his Muggle wife kept turning out brilliant children like Scorpius and Tobias.

Bertie jerked the apron out of Draco's hands as she shot the Malfoy scion a look, as if blaming Lucius for his son's fears. Lucius fixed the woman with an icy sneer. Elspeth took the contested article from her mother's hands. "Draco Eugene Malfoy, when I need your help, I will ask for it. I didn’t become suddenly helpless because I told you I was pregnant six days ago. For Heaven's sake, you knew I was before I told you at the wedding reception."

"That doesn't mean I didn't worry,” Draco answered, his bottom lip jutting tremulously. That look had always worked on his mother, but apparently, his son's new wife was immune.

Elspeth threw her hands in the air in a show of exasperation. "Mum, what do you want me to do?"

The two women left the room in an icy wake. Draco sank back to his customary position on the sofa. With a sheepish grin, he said, "I suppose I have been a little overbearing."

Lucius suppressed the urge to snort. Overbearing was not the word that came to mind the first time Lucius had seen his son carry his daughter-in-law's handbag over her strenuous objections. He shifted his attention to the two boys who were currently looking forlornly at the rain-soaked garden. It had been a wet June, and both boys were feeling the effects of long confinement. Lucius wished he could conjure a wizard chess set for the boys, but since his wand had been confiscated for the term of his parole, he could not.

The entryway door swung open and from Lucius' vantage he could see the good Father enter, now stripped of his surplice and all other trappings but the dog collar of his exalted office. Bloody hell, the day was just getting better by the minute. Lucius was not sure if the priest was still angry with him for the hash the wizard had made of his sermon that morning. Lucius could not help it if the man's oration skills rivalled the fiercely dismal level of Professor Binns, or that the celibate man found the more salacious bits of the Song of Solomon, in the priest's words, 'Wildly inappropriate for Sunday service.'

It was not as if Lucius had found the reading in a Muggle skin periodical. (Thank the gods for those and the young addict that donated them to Lucius' collection of reading materials. Wanking was so much better with visual aids, even if they were static.) The passage in question was in the Priest's holy book, for Merlin's sake. The elder Malfoy had to admit that it had been quite amusing when the Priest read that some ancient Princess' breasts were like clusters of grapes. What an image that was, especially as the priest turned an interesting shade of purple and choked on the words.

Cavanaugh entered the parlour and shot Lucius a reproachful look before going to the dismal hole he called an office. Lucius suppressed a smirk and turned his attention to the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpet of the parlour. The house smelled of the cooking luncheon, beeswax and mouldering decay. Really, an organisation with so much power and wealth should do better by its employees, not to mention the people Cavanaugh served. Even Lucius grudgingly admitted the halfway house was much needed. The East End was rife with despair and drug addiction. He had even seen several young wizards on the Muggle poison since he had become an inmate of the facility. He might consider offering a sizeable donation if the Blood-priest would give up his efforts to better Lucius. Really, the tomes the man had Lucius reading were enough to cause him to commit one of their mortal sins, and suicide was not the transgression Lucius was considering.


Cavanaugh returned to the room with a tattered and ancient box under his arm. "Boys, I've just found this old game of mine. Would you like to play?"

The priest levelled a challenging gaze at Lucius. The word Monopoly was emblazoned across the front of the box and on each side, the printed colours faded to pale reds and blues. Lucius sneered. "A Muggle game?"

"It's actually American," Ian answered with a sublime smile. "My father visited some family in Boston when he was a boy. He loved this game."

"Ah, yes, you are Irish." Lucius took the box lid from the priest's hands and began reading. The game did sound rather interesting, especially since the Americans believed themselves to be Captains of Industry. The object, it seemed, was to acquire as much property and influence as one could. Once a participant bankrupted the other players, the game was over. It sounded like something at which Lucius might excel.

The priest flushed. "My father was Scots-Irish and my mother was English. Not that it matters."

"No, of course it doesn't." Lucius continued his reading. Yes, the game might help sharpen his rusty pecuniary skills. "You are still a Muggle, after all."

"Father,” Draco warned from his seat. Both men looked up, Lucius with a serene smile, the priest with a scowl. Draco uttered through gritted teeth, "I meant biological."

His son focused his glare on Lucius. "Be nice."

"I shall endeavour to follow your example, Dragon," Lucius retorted, a beatific smile gracing his face, his white teeth flashing in the electric Muggle gloom. “Tell me, Ian, where I might meet a wealthy, Muggle widow with a short life expectancy?"

"Father." Draco's voice was a whip that cracked in the silence of the parlour. The priest did not look up at the word.

"I simply see no reason to marry into penury, son." Lucius raised his brows a fraction, an innocent gesture that made his son scowl further.

Ian, for all his high holiness, stifled a chortle as he laid out the pieces for the game. Toby grabbed a small pewter dog, Scorpius a car and the priest a top hat. That left Lucius with his choice of lumpy horse, old shoe or an unrelated piece obviously from some other dreary Muggle game. It was once a vivid green if Lucius could tell by the chips of paint still clinging to the wooden surface. He picked that one, and the game began.

&*&*&

Padma could not get out of the once-a-month family dinner. She had tried to switch shifts, bribed and begged, but no one was willing to save her from the dinner. It was as if she had some karmic duty to suffer through her mother’s attempts to marry her off and her sister’s simpering superiority. Maa had said Padma's absence would be a disappointment at this dinner. There would be an announcement. Bapa was the only person she did not want to disappoint, and he would be late.

Padma had decided at the last minute to bring daal for the meal. She ran through her list of ingredients and the time she had to make a dish, and decided on a simpler Gujerati recipe that her Daadi taught her. Of course, Maa would look down her nose at the foreign dish. Her mother's family came from a long line of higher caste Punjabi mystics and seers. Bapa’s were second-generation wizards, more fakirs than anything. Padma thought that had both families not moved to England when mother and father were young, neither family would have considered an arranged marriage uniting the two bloodlines. Of course, theirs had been a love match, so maybe each of the families would have bowed to their daughter's will and their son's desire.

Padma removed the lentils from the pressure cooker, mashed them lightly with a fork and added the heady spices before placing them in a pan to cook further. Lemon juice would be added just before she served it to set off all the flavours.

She looked at the time and decided to skip most of her make up, settling for lip rouge, kohl, and a small, rhinestone bhindi. Her new sari was laid out, a rich, plum silk with gold threads shot through it and a simple geometric border along the bottom and the shoulder drape. She decided on a contrasting gold blouse with purple metallic motifs embroidered on the sleeves. Her old black slip would have to do. She hadn't time during the week to run to the shop for a new one to match the sari.

As she wound the garment around her, arranging the pleats in the front in knifelike folds just so, she heard the timer go off for the daal. "Tomas! Can you get that for me, please?"

"Yes, my imperious Rani," his answering shout resounded down the hall. Padma quickly drew on her gold sandals, low-slung and comfortable, before patting her braided hair into place and exiting her bedroom.

Tomas was ladling the last of the Toor daal into the carrying bowl that Padma used every month that she had to attend one of these gatherings. She could not remember the last time she had attended, only that it ended as it always did, with her fuming at her mother and feeling sorry for herself. If she remembered correctly, it had been a few months after Parvati announced her engagement to Justin.

Tomas turned and whistled a low sound that would have been welcome coming from almost any other man, but was pointless coming from him.

"You like?"

"Ja wold, mein grosse fraulein." Tomas answered as he popped the lid on the dish and handed it to her with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

Padma laughed. "I know I don't speak German, but I think you just called me fat girl."

"Oh." Tomas pulled a face. "That language school isn't worth the money is it?"

"It would be if you studied in class instead of flirting with the teacher." Padma retorted with little heat.

Tomas clutched his chest. "But, he's the reason I'm taking the class. Why would I want to waste time studying when I could be making headway with him?"

"Because you might learn something?" Padma said aridly.

Tomas kissed her cheek, leaving a vague impression of sandalwood and whisker on her skin. "Well, I'm off to gay people's Mass!"

Tomas meant a three-martini brunch with Cosmopolitan chasers most likely followed by a casual shag with one of his mates or someone that caught his eye. He slipped a fag out of his pocket. He had picked up the nasty habit during his internship in the States, but had cut back to smoking only on Sunday mornings. Padma held out her free hand in supplication. "Are you sure you don't want to skip drinking your brunch and go with me?"

"Darling, you have to face that mess sometime." He gave her a quick hug and another kiss. "Now, Francisco and Goran are waiting for me at the hunting grounds. Come by if you manage to get out of your dismal family affair soon enough. You know they just love to see you all dolled-up in your sari. It gives their inner drag queen something to aim for. Now, buh-bye."

"Ta, you rat,” Padma said to Tomas' retreating figure. Once she gathered her handbag, along with a light cardigan, she Disapparated from the foyer.

&*&*&

Lucius was frozen in the dream. The Dark Lord was advancing on him. He knew of the Death Eater's change of allegiance. Lucius attempted to move, scream, or do anything as the first curse hit. The Body Bind held, and he watched as Draco took the curse in his chest. Pain blossomed across his features and he shook with the force of the Crucio. Lucius screamed...

He was able to jerk awake, just as Scorpius landed in his lap. Lucius ran a shaking hand over his face before patting the boy. "What do you want from grandpapa, little man?"

"Nothin'." The little boy scooted further onto Lucius, grinding his bony buttocks into the older man's leg. "Just a hug."

Lucius complied before he noticed his son had entered the room. The two had little to say to each other since his release. Lucius had not been the best father, and Lucius feared Draco knew it now as the younger man assumed the mantle of fatherhood so spectacularly. Lucius let his gaze fall from his son's.

Lucius knew he had failed Draco in all ways, from taunting him into compliance to his inability to protect him when he should have. It was a damn wonder the boy even tried to have a relationship with him.

"Father," Draco uttered as he scooped his son from Lucius' lap. His lips moved but no words came until he blurted, "Thank you for not cheating at the game. It was nice that Toby was able to win."

"The boy has a good head for business,” Lucius stated in tacit approval. "I could not deny him his victory. When he leaves school, he will definitely have a place in the family business."

Draco set his son on down and patted his buttocks as he said, "Go and see if Mummy Liz needs some help clearing the table."

The two men watched as the boy scampered away with a shout. Draco sat beside his father on the couch. "I don't know if you've changed or if I'm seeing you more clearly, but..."

"Dragon..." Lucius felt the familiar pain of lost opportunities and misspent allegiance dragging at him. It had been like this between them since he had taken his turn with the Order and had to leave his son out.

"I know, Father." Draco's expression was unreadable as he bumped his shoulder to Lucius'.

"Thank you... for everything. Now, we've got to go. Liz's Mum has to get to work at the hospital."

As his son exited the parlour, Lucius whispered, "I love you. I always did."

Draco did not pause, but his shoulders straightened perceptibly.

&*&*&

Padma looked out over the dripping garden, the forlorn heads of the heavy flowers mimicking her pose perfectly. Parvati was four months pregnant. That had been the news her mother could not wait to tell her. That had been the announcement that could not wait for a Fire-call or a quick note. Padma had tried not to cry and had done a masterful job until she could get to the toilet. Kohl wasn't pretty when it ran down one's cheeks. It looked even worse when your cheating ex-boyfriend and his new wife, the woman he cheated with, your twin sister, of all people, saw the dripping grey-black mass of cosmetics.

Padma wasn't even sure why she was crying. Yes, Justin had been her first, but she had not loved him-- not in the way she would marry for-- and she certainly was not at a place in her career where she could reasonably consider children. It just hurt.

A week ago, she had thrown herself at Lucius Malfoy. His son was her age, for Merlin's sake and Malfoy was a grandfather, ex-Death Eater and divorced. The man who had saved Luna from further torture and rape after she had been taken from the school in her sixth year. Still, for her traditional parents, not good son-in-law material. She just could not help seeing potential dates as potential husbands; it was the way she was raised. And if Lucius Malfoy had professed his undying love or even kissed her back, could she really stand any more drama of the East-Enders variety? Padma most definitely did not think so.

Padma slipped out the sliding door, careful to keep the silk of her sari from the muddy pathway. Bapa followed her. For years, his import business had thrived in both the Muggle and wizarding communities. Now, as he approached middle age, he could afford to hire Cousin Devi and her husband Arnold to run the business while he puttered around the garden. Today had been an exception. Vendors from India, in town for just a few days, had insisted on touring the warehouses. He had just arrived when Padma's breakdown occurred. Padma had been able to hear his shouted Marethi over his mother's calm Punjabi, with Parvati's shrill English cutting through the liquid Indian syllables.

"Let me show you the lavender I planted." He took Padma's arm in his. “It's good, almost Potions-grade. I bought it from a bloke who lives in France and he said the stock was from the Romans."

Padma always loved the way her father's eyes lit when speaking of his garden, his refuge from daily life. "Bapa, how much did you pay?"

"Oh, no. It was free." Her father ran his hand over a smallish, grey-leaved plant. Purple-blue buds were just breaking through the calyces. "I just had to look over his books."

"Just that, huh?" Padma squeezed his hand. "I don't want to call my own father gullible, but this looks like every lavender bush I've ever seen."

Bapa smiled, the crow's feet at his eyes becoming more pronounced as his cheeks grew jowly. "Tell me, Flea, have you gone out with that young man your mother was pushing on you at your sister's wedding?"

"He's a prat, Bapa." Padma pulled a face. "Maa always introduces me to prats."

Bapa's eyes crinkled more and his eyes nearly disappeared as he chuckled softly. "I know. I don't know how I ended up with her, if her taste in men runs along those lines."

The crossed to the gazebo, an Imperial-style confection of white and gold. "I always wanted you to marry here, in this garden. Do you think you'll be able to find someone on your own, or should I consult a panthulu for you, Flea?”

"No, thank you, Bapa." Padma laughed at the old joke between them. They both knew that Maa would have a fit if Padma were not married by the time she was thirty, and Bapa always asked if she needed the Brahmin’s specialised help. "You haven't called me 'Flea' in years. I've missed that."

"You haven‘t jumped around like that in years. You need to settle down. First, you wanted to be a Healer, then a physician, and then you wanted your own place. You’re my eldest daughter, even if it is only by a few minutes, I worry about you.” Somehow, his words were not the condemnation they would have been if her mother had said them. “Now, let's get back to the gathering, you know how your mother is, she‘ll want to eat at eighteen hundred, sharp."

Bapa patted her hand, and led her back to the house.




Note: All Hindi words were found at Wikipedia, except daal. That was in my cookbook.

Bapa: (Hindi) father

Maa: (Hindi) mother

Daadi: (Hindi) Maternal grandmother

fakir: (Hindi) A Muslim or Hindu mendicant who is often a wonder-worker. In this story a class of street magician/wizard.

Rani: (Hindi) Queen.

daal: a red lentil used extensively in Indian cuisine. Yum.

bhindi: a small sticky decorative mark set in between the eyebrows.

panthulu: (Telugu) A Brahmin who parents consult for matrimonial matters if a suitable partner is not readily available. For the purposes of this story, a matchmaker.

Miss Patil Takes a Holiday Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Travel Plans

The Present...

Padma pulled a bag of Galleons out of her handbag for her Portkey ticket. She thanked the agent, a bored, post-Hogwarts teen who had been reading a lurid-covered Romance novel entitled, Love Amongst the Death Eaters. A picture of a large-nosed, dark-haired wizard with a dashing air, who held an equally dashing and buxom, blonde witch, moved erratically on the surface. Both participants looked as if they were in the throes of a grand mal seizure, rather than grand passion.

Padma suppressed a shudder. Snape-inspired romances had become popular since the man's acquittal some thirteen years ago. Authors either who did not attend Hogwarts in the previous millennium, or who were suffering from early-onset, senile dementia, apparently wrote the tomes. Snape was definitely not Padma's idea of sexual fantasy come-to-life. Yes, he had served his purpose and followed orders like a good soldier, but he was a nightmare on two legs. How a character uttering the inevitable line, “Detention, Mistress Fill-in-the-Insipid-Name, served under me...” could remotely turn anyone on escaped Padma. Snape would no more have shagged a student than he would have given O's in Potions to Neville Longbottom.

And that hair... and those teeth... and those big ears... If Padma looked up the word plain in a dictionary Snape's picture would have scowled and directed her to ugly. He did have a nice voice and a rather well formed arse, if she were being completely honest. Of course, she had only seen the outline of his backside once, and that had been when she was serving detention during her seventh year. She had been less impressed with that aspect of him, and rather more terrified that the Carrows would intervene and take her for the special classes in Dark curses. Still, his intellect was appealing, and his spying might be considered romantic, but his chilly demeanour and cutting remarks were off-putting to Padma. All in all, she decided if he did receive attention of the female variety, it would be out of pity, rather than any appeal on his part.

Padma suppressed a snort of amusement at the thought that he was even interested in sex. There had been rumours about Professor Burbage in fourth year, but she was so pretty and young and Snape was so… Snape.

The agent was staring yawp-mouthed at Padma, the doctor's ticket offered in a limp, ragged-nailed hand. Padma flushed and stuttered an apology as she took the slip of paper. The agent returned to her purple-prose and a flustered Padma exited the office.

She made her way out of the Ministry to meet Tomas in Muggle London for luncheon in a cafe close to his workplace. He was bringing one of his friends from the surgery and had cautioned her to take a little time on herself that morning. She wore a plain white blouse and loose-fitting, tan trousers, her normal workday clothes. She had a shift later that day and did not feel like returning to the flat to change. Tomas would not be impressed, and she hoped, neither would her blind date. Padma wanted another person setting her up as much as she wanted to celebrate another birthday.

There was a sore topic. She would be thirty-years-old in August. Maa called her almost everyday with pointed hints about Pradesh's interest with her customary truculent tone. Parvati was held up as a paragon of the virtuous daughter who was already married with baby on the way. It was enough to make Padma scream.

Padma hopped on the Underground, a conveyance she normally did not get to take. She liked the slow pace of the cars, and the anticipation of her arrival. It was noon and relatively busy with the lunch crowd. She shuffled through the mass of people to a find a strap to hang onto. She let her mind wander as the car jolted to a start.

She had decided on the Isle of Delos for her holiday. An island in the Cyclades, it had a relatively small but thriving wizarding community. The only Muggles on the island were archaeologists and a few old shepherds, and both were a seasonal lot. She had chosen that destination because she wanted to visit the Temple of the Asclepian Apollo, the wizard who had laid the groundwork for so many Healing spells some twenty-five-hundred years ago. Padma viewed this destination as a continuation of her post-graduate travels in India. When she visited her parent's homeland after her last disastrous year at Hogwarts, she had already decided her path, and she had toured the Healing Temples of India from Tamil Nadu to Gujerat. Since she only had a month this time, she would begin her European tour of such destinations on Delos and perhaps make a day trip to Athens and to Thrace. The Temples of Apollo in those cities had been ruined by Muggle interference and were no longer used, but put in a historical context, they might be interesting.

The carriage stuttered to a halt, to let off passengers and let more on. She saw a flash of silver hair above a set of familiar broad shoulders clothed in exquisitely tailored wizarding robes that might pass for Muggle togs if one lived in the last century. She wondered what a pureblood like Malfoy was doing riding a Muggle conveyance. It seemed out of character for him from what she knew of his prejudices. She would have expected, once he was released from his parole, that he would retreat to Malfoy Manor to gather his forces and schmooze his way to power again. Her hands fluttered to her hair as he turned, his wintry gaze warming as he spied her. He mouthed, "Mona Lisa."

She blushed, and cursed under her breath as she remembered the scenes of her last shameful interlude with him the night before his son's wedding. He probably thought her a sensualist or desperate, maybe both, and neither idea suited Padma. One stop from her destination at the Tooting-Broadway station, Padma pushed herself to the door. Several men politely cleared a path for her, Londoners born and bred most likely.

A greasy-looking man, a throwback to the nineteen-eighties with his shaved head and leather clad back, shoved her against the door. "Oi, ya dizzy bint, I dare say ye’ll notice me next time."

He held her upper arms in a bruising grip as he ground his jeans-clad groin into her backside, his breath fouled with cigarettes and beer fanning across her cheek. Padma slammed her thin-heeled shoe into his instep, knowing that his Doc Martens would deflect any pain. If the train were not so full of Muggles, she would have drawn her wand and hexed the oaf, Magical Reversal Squad be damned. He was hurting her. "Wot say, I teach you some foine English manners, yeh dirty Pakkie bitch. We'll have some fun, luv."

He grabbed her breast and pinched it with a brutal twist.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Never in her life had Padma been treated with such disrespect for her femininity and disdain for her heritage. The wizarding world, while hidebound, blood-prejudiced and ever so slightly sexist, was willing to overlook culture and gender for degrees of purity. As the doors swished open, Padma felt a shove to her back from her attacker. She fell on her knees as her heel caught between the platform and the doorway. Suddenly, a cool, pale hand was on her ankle, freeing her. Lucius Malfoy's wintry voice reached past the pounding in her ears. "We seem destined to save each other, Dr. Patil."

He swept his arctic gaze to her attacker who was the only other person to have followed her off the car. As the train pulled from the deserted station, Lucius commanded in his most cutting, cultured tone, "Introduce me to your Muggle friend."

Lucius Malfoy was in a rage, if Padma could tell by the working of his jaw and the strong pulsing of his carotid above the pristine linen collar. Lucius fixed his wand on the man, who laughed stupidly in the face of such fury as he drew a knife from his boot. "Whut's the stick for, to poke me i' t'eye, ya old perv? I got me own, see?"

Padma felt the crackling energy of Dark magic as Lucius continued his cold appraisal of the fool. The skinhead-throwback continued his derisive braying and brandishing until he was blasted with the bright, blue light of a silent curse with which Padma was vaguely familiar. Blood welled from a slice on his chest. Lucius’ wand cut again, slicing the man's legs with a flick. The wizard stood to his full height, his hair brushing the collar of his robes. Another flick and the man began to scrabble backward, away from Lucius' advancing attack. Padma rushed to stand, her ankle twinging painfully. The blond wizard raised his wand again, his face contorted in a skull-like, grinning rictus. Padma had only seen such an expression once, and that had been on the face of a Death Eater who was aiming at her sister at the Final Battle. The Muggle fell, now writhing and gasping as the wounds deepened. Padma screamed, "Mr. Malfoy! No!"

The former Death Eater continued to advance, his movements panther-like and deliberate, even encumbered by his cane. He blasted another curse, and the man flew against the tile wall. The skinhead drew a rattling, painful breath as Lucius levelled his wand for another curse.

"Expelliarmus!" Padma shrieked as Malfoy's wand made another slash. His wand flew to her hand, the spell sending shards of tile through the air, as Lucius hissed a harsh exhalation in the echoing tunnel. She Stunned the Muggle and rushed to him. The damage to the Muggle's body wrought by the enraged Malfoy scion was getting worse, and the blood was spreading. She slipped as she bent to the prone body, her trousers and hands sticky with the red liquid. She barked harshly, "What is the counter-spell?"

"Leave, Doctor" Malfoy's tone was dull, his face devoid of all emotion, his utter stillness alarming. Coldness seeped into Padma along with a healthy dose of fear of the type she had not felt since seventh-year.

The doctor began running through her repertoire of counter-curses, finally finding an ancient Egyptian spell that staunched the blood-flow but did nothing to seal the wounds. Lucius sank to his knees next to her as he kicked the knife out of the man‘s hand. He plucked his wand from her numb fingers, and began singing. Once the wounds were sealed, Lucius stood and whispered, "Obliviate."

He jerked her to a stand by her hand and began hauling her away as she turned to check the man. She struggled against his crushing grip until she heard the distinctive pops of Apparation resounding in the Tube station. Lucius said coldly, "Don't be a fool."

He flicked his wand and a door marked Restricted opened with a sharp snick. He thrust her ahead of him and then cast a complex series of wards. He drew her closer, his arms like bands of steel around her ribs. Without a word, he Disapparated them from the dank interior to the hallway of a large ruined Mansion. Padma struggled against him as he cast another series of spells, his concentration never breaking. He settled her against him, pressing her harder against the length of his body and Disapparated to a second location on a sunny moor. Padma felt as if she were swooning and clawed at his arms feebly. Lucius Disapparated them a third time and carried Padma to a small bedroom in a well-appointed apartment. He strode from the room thundering, "Dibby!"

He closed and then locked the door behind him.

&*&*&

Lucius had lost what little control he possessed when he saw the Muggle filth manhandling his Mona Lisa. Legilimency had given him the impetus to act. The man had stalked her since she left her flat that morning and had extremely dark designs on her person. He knew he should have approached the situation differently, but could not when he saw that the Muggle planned to hurt her badly. He thanked the gods that Ian had taught him about the Underground. He never would have thought to use it to get to his noon luncheon with the Priest at the Monsignor's residence.

The old Lucius would have left her there to deal with the Aurors and the mess on her own. That would have been the smart thing to do. Leave her to face the questions, after a quick Obliviation on both her and the Muggle, while Lucius escaped. Death Eater Lucius would have ignored the danger in which she found herself, no doubt scoffing at a witch taking a Muggle conveyance. Spy Lucius would have left no traces and gotten her out of there. The new erratic Lucius, the Lucius who read the books of Father Cavanaugh, who had lived twelve brutal years of his life in Azkaban and had lost everything, wanted to annihilate the vermin and make sure the girl was safe by any means necessary. That was the Lucius who endangered his freedom by kidnapping a war hero and respected physician and hexing a Muggle within an inch of his life. An urge to swear swept over him, which he suppressed out of habit. He no longer had the excuse of his stroke for that particular ill-bred weakness.

Abraxas' ghost still had a strong hold over his son; that much had not changed.

Lucius drew out a bottle of Firewhisky from the bar, surprised at the amount left only one day after he purchased it. He was drinking too much to make up for the hole left in his life after the losses he had suffered. He grimaced as he realised his only friends were a house elf that he had tried to give away and a Muggle moralist. He had no wife, and a son who avoided him on general principle, the same son who was off hunting Snape, the compatriot who had abandoned him to his fate twelve years ago. Gone were the days of familial supremacy. A new, Malfoy-less era ruled the wizarding world. He poured two fingers of the whisky with a shaking hand and slugged down the liquid amber. Lucius shuddered as the drink hit his oesophagus and threatened to return.

"Master called?" The house elf bowed, his forehead and ears scraping the floor. Lucius poured another glass and noted with some satisfaction the small moue of displeasure on the elf's face.

"Dr. Patil is in the guest room. Draw a bath and fetch some clothes for her from Harrods or some such place. She likes Muggle clothing." Lucius downed the second glass. "I shall return later this evening. When the doctor chooses to leave, please escort her to her destination and ensure her safety.”

"Yes, Master." The elf disappeared with a soft ‘pop!’.

Lucius summoned parchment and wrote a brief note of apology, giving a sketchy explanation of his actions, and begging the doctor's forgiveness. He knew he would never see her again; her fear of him had been palpable during the conflict, and so her rejection of his supplication did not sting as much as it might. As he folded the parchment and left it on the mantle, he could not help but regret his hasty actions. He would miss Mona Lisa no matter how tenuous their connection.

Lucius cast Tergeo on his bloodstained trousers and Disapparated to the priest's hovel, hoping he could catch the man before he left for the Monsignor's residence.

&*&*&

Padma, after attempting and failing to Disapparate, began pounding on the door. She needed to return to the tunnel to explain what happened. Both of their magical signatures were at the crime scene.

Fear still clung to her like shreds of sticky cobweb. The steely weapon that she had seen today was not the man she had idealised over the past months, and certainly not the ironic, handsome aristocrat she had kissed. His coldness and control terrified her. What he had inflicted on the Muggle... she shivered. A faint ‘pop!’ of Disapparation drew her from her reverie and made her renew her efforts to leave the gilded prison in which she found herself.

After what seemed like hours, a wizened house elf opened the door. It bowed, its ears drooping to the floor. "Master bid Dibby to draw a bath for Mistress Doctor Patil. She is to give Dibby her clothes and change into these."

The elf held out a garnet-coloured, silk blouse and natural, linen trousers, the tags from a Muggle couturier still dangling from the garments. Padma attempted to push past the elf, but was compelled backward by an unknown force. The elf frowned. "Dibby is to escort Mistress wherever she wishes. Master is... sorry for his actions. Dibby can tell. Master left Mistress Doctor a note."

The elf pulled a creamy length of folded parchment from its pillowcase and held it out to Padma. She reached for it, still filled with a nightmare sense of wrongness. "Thank you, Dibby."

"Your bath, Mistress Doctor... it is through there." The elf bowed deferentially once more as it pointed to a door Padma had not seen before, and then it disappeared with a soft ‘pop!’, the sound in the silence of the room like a nipple exiting a nursing infant's mouth.

&*&*&

Ian greeted Lucius from the rectory office, his smile warm. "I thought we were going to meet at the Monsignor's residence... Lucius, have you been drinking?"

Malfoy sank heavily to a chair, his hands firmly gripped around his silver-tipped cane to quell the shivers that had taken hold since he left his flat. He turned his lifeless, argent gaze to the fireplace, now deadened and black in the heat of the summer. “I needed it.”

"Take my word for it; no one needs alcohol, Lucius." Ian spread his large, blunt-fingered hand on the top of his desk. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

A harsh, choking laugh escaped Lucius' throat. "I don't think you want to hear it, Muggle apologist that you are."

Ian closed his eyes as if in pain. "I had thought things had changed between us, Lucius."

"We haven't the time, Ian, to explore our changed relationship." Lucius stood, almost in command of his body, but still leaned heavily on the cane. "The Monsignor awaits, if I am not mistaken."


"Sod him." Ian's tone was conversational, but his face flushed. "We can reschedule."

Lucius turned his back to the priest, his movements slow and measured. "I don't believe we can, Ian. I will be leaving England at the end of the day."

"I don't understand; what of your daughter-in-law and your plans for the shelter?" The priest's face fell.

Lucius smirked. "I shall keep tabs on Elspeth through my normal contacts, and I shall not shirk my financial duties."

Lucius pulled a Gringott's bank draft from the interior of his waistcoat. "I think I shall miss the meeting today. Please convey my deepest regrets and this voucher to the Monsignor."

He handed the draft to the priest. Ian's eyes flicked to the paper and he stuttered, "Lucius, this is for... half a million pounds."

"A mere drop in the bucket for all you have done for my family." Lucius turned a frosty smile to the Muggle. "I trust you will put it to good use."

Lucius strode to the door. "Priest, thank you for all your kindness. I wish you well."

&*&*&

Padma sat across from Seamus Finnigan, his stuffy office stacked with case-files and littered with still-fluttering Ministry memos. Finnigan, in his official capacity, still looked like the jug-eared child Padma had first met years ago. In his soft, Dublin accent, he asked, “So you're telling me, that you and Lucius Malfoy just happened to be ridin' t'Underground at the same time and out of nowhere, a man attacked you. Then Malfoy, a known Death Eater and Muggle-baiter, cursed the self-same fellow, and Healed him. Then he took you on a Death Eater scramble finally ending at his flat. Is that correct?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's what happened." Padma's voice sounded annoying, even to herself. "He left a note explaining his actions. He said the man had been stalking me."
Finnigan's face contorted in a grimace of near pain. "T'Muggle had been. We Legilimised him."

"So, what Malfoy said was true? I was in some danger?" Padma felt a throat-clogging fear and struggled against nausea.

Finnigan would not meet her eyes. "You still are. We couldn't hold him on what he intended to do."

"Oh." Padma sank back in the uncomfortable chair. "I see."

"We'll set up MLE surveillance for you." Finnigan's next words were obviously practised. "We would expect you to exercise some caution, stay out of Muggle areas, stick to Magical means of transportation and the like."

"What of Mr. Malfoy?" Padma asked, unsure why she cared after his high-handed actions of the morning and his utter disregard for her feelings. "He did save me. Will he be charged with anything?"

Finnigan looked as if he had swallowed a bite of lemon. "There will be no prosecution, but you two should have stayed. It would have made for less paperwork."

Padma snarked, "Yes, I should have considered your workload before I was abducted. So sorry."

&*&*&

Dibby mournfully packed what Lucius would need for his extended stay on the continent. Once done, Malfoy cast a shrinking and lightening charm on the ornate trunk and placed it in the pocket of his travelling robes. Lucius would not risk exposure to the Ministry and so opted for a hastily and illegally made Portkey. The elf clucked his tongue as he observed. "Master should wait before he goes. Mistress Doctor said she was going to explain to the traitorous Aurors. Master is no longer the bad Death Eater he was; Mistress Doctor knows this."

Lucius raised his cane, as if to strike the little beast, but only tapped the cringing figure on the shoulder. "I shall send for you when I am more settled, Dibby. Now, if you do not wish to have to iron your ears, you will desist in your useless nattering and allow me to leave."

"Master knows what Master must do, but Dibby will always be faithful." The house elf scraped once more before asking slyly, "Is there no one Master wishes to inform of his cowardly fleeing?"

"Soon it will be more than an ironed ear, Dibby,” Lucius iterated. "You are ordered to watch Mistress Elspeth and my two grandsons until Master Draco returns. That will be all."

The elf's shoulders fell, and then straightened as he drew a breath to speak. Lucius drew back his cane, intending a well-placed blow at the elf's buttocks. "Must I treat you as I have in the past, Dibby, to receive your compliance?"

"No, Master." The elf's eyes filled with tears as his Master activated the Portkey and disappeared. Lucius was sorry about the manner in which they parted.

MPTaH Chapter 4: Heart Problems

Chapter 4: Heart Problems

One fortnight previously...

On July tenth, Anno Domini 2010, Lucius Malfoy lost faith in himself.


July 9, 2010

Lucius' day began as it normally did during his time with the Muggle priest. He was up before dawn, preparing the day's offering to the addicted and downtrodden masses of the East End. At seven o’clock, he managed to grab his own meal of a sandwich and anaemic coffee, which was a better brew than he received in Azkaban, but not up to Malfoy standards by a long shot. He was used to the schedule after his months on probation and even thought he might miss it when he left.

Lucius picked up the novel he had started the night before which he found in the lost and found bin. The story was from a genre called Science Fiction by an American author, Frank Herbert. It was an interesting insight into the way Muggles viewed magic of a sort and practitioners of the magical arts. He felt a slight affinity with the Baron Harkonnen, a canny bastard who was trying to consolidate his power whilst clinging to an outmoded way of life. He was somewhat less taken by the Arakin worship of the Muad d'ib character, a young messiah who would save a planet by destroying the power structure of the universe's governing bodies. Messianic literary figures had never been a favourite of Lucius'. He had lived through two of the real thing, one Dark, one Light, and both children in their own way. Even so, Lucius was captivated by the story.

Colin Paisley popped his head into the office as Lucius marked his place with a blue hair-ribbon, also from the lost and found. "Mr. Malfoy, the last of the breakfast has been served. Did you want us to set up for lunch? "

"No, just clean your area and go home. I have some inventory to do before we will be ready for set-up, and I know your schedule is quite tight today." Lucius lifted the stained volunteer schedule. "Mr. Paisley, I was under the impression you would be serving tomorrow."

"No, I can't. It's my fourth year sober and my wife's throwing a party for me in the afternoon. I asked one of the blokes from Wednesdays to work for me." Colin beamed at the wizard. "Alice wanted me to ask you to come. She said there'll be a few women there from her office."

Lucius masterfully hid a grimace behind the schedule. Since Draco's wedding, the Paisley boy had worked at the shelter two days a week to give back to the community that he had stolen from whilst he was in the throes of his heroin addiction. In addition to that bit of community service, young Paisley took it upon himself to set Lucius up with the most eligible females he knew. The boy had a distinct air of a crusader about him when he dealt with the elder Malfoy.

"I shall see what I can do, Mr. Paisley." Lucius gave a wan smile before levering from behind the rickety office desk. Once Malfoy’s shift was over at lunch, he had business on Diagon Alley. Lucius shuddered at the thought that he had joined the ranks of the employed who worked in shifts, no less. The end was near for that little disgrace; thank the gods for that. Lucius was in the process of consolidating his considerable holdings from various banking institutions, both wizarding and Muggle, from around the world and would see a return of most, if not all of the Galleons he had lost to the Dark Lord and then later the Ministry. His trip to Diagon Alley would end his fiscal paucity and usher him back into more civilised circles.

&*&*&

Padma went to work by the St. Mungo's Floo connection, something she normally did not do, instead preferring to take a leisurely stroll from her flat just over a mile away. The Chief of the MICU had Patronus-called just that morning, two hours after her shift ended, to tell her she was needed as soon as possible. There had been an accident at a fireworks plant just outside Chelsea near a primary school for magical children that had been holding holiday classes for students who were going to Hogwarts in the next school year. St. Mungo’s MICU was taking the wizarding victims that were near the epicentre of the blast. There were nine physicians on staff and all had been called. Padma had dragged herself out of bed after only an hour of sleep, slammed down a Pepper-up Potion, and had been out the door in less than fifteen minutes. Tomas headed to his surgery to deal with the less urgent care. Both Healer and Doctor did not look to see their flat before midnight.

Padma entered the MICU and was immediately assaulted by the smell of cooked flesh and the sounds of ragged screams, both overlaying the more sterile scents and mechanical sounds of the unit. She shrugged into her lab coat, twisted her hair under a cap and scrubbed in, vying for the limited space around the basins spaced out around the room. Pradesh the Prat was beside her at the sink, his mind-numbing prattle unwelcome in the vigilant state Padma currently tried to sustain with her limited amount of sleep. He leaned close to her, his minty breath touching her neck, wet and uninvited, his white teeth flashing in the corner of her vision. “Hello, darling. Will you be up for dinner after work?”

Padma refrained from a sharp comment as she turned to another physician, a thirty-something doctor with whom Padma had worked before. “How many have been transferred so far?”

“Right now, fifteen: four adults and eleven children. The explosion occurred right after the morning bell rang for class. Two outbuildings were blown up.” The doctor’s response was terse. “You’ll want to cast an Anti-viral Barrier Spell; there’s been an outbreak of Dragon Pox at the school.”

Padma finished cleansing and cast the necessary spells. It was shaping up into a grim day. Two more patients were being Floo’ed in as Padma took her first chart and began directing her team of Healers and mediwitches to the triage area.

&*&*&

Lucius watched the TV as he ate his meagre lunch of soup and an orange, shortly after the noon hour. Lucius finished his orange and sat back in the squeaky chair attempting to ignore the content. The attractive television Muggle announced breaking news. Malfoy surmised it would be another pointless terrorist scare or news of the latest Royal scandal. Bored with the entire situation, Lucius picked up his novel again paying half attention to the show as he wandered further into the novel. The brutal Harkonnen had just set up his rule on the desert planet Arakis and was now under siege by the strange, blue-eyed, worm-worshipping natives. He registered the announcer speaking antiseptically over a scene of destruction and his eyes darted to the screen. He registered figures in wizarding robes emblazoned with the Aurory's and MLE’s insignia working in the rubble of what looked like a school. He set aside the book, but the announcer went to a commercial break. Lucius thought ironically that even tragedy had become a commercial venture. Ian entered at that moment to discuss the remainder of the day’s workload, and Lucius forgot all about the disaster and the Ministry’s involvement.

&*&*&

Padma worked non-stop from a little after eight that morning and at noon, her energy flagged. She groaned as three more children Floo’ed through with the heavily begrimed rescue workers and a bleeding, but conscious, Millicent Bulstrode. That brought the total of the critically injured to thirty-six: five adults and thirty one ten and eleven-year-old children. Padma had lost two patients already, a young teacher and an impossibly small boy, their lungs too damaged to sustain them whilst the standard Pulmonary Rejuvina Potions took effect. Three more children’s vitals were low, and as Padma rubbed her strained back, the distinctive code-blue alarm, known to physicians and Healers alike, sounded from behind a curtained station.


Padma donned another paper smock and began plodding to the area. The young physician from that morning waved her off. “You need a break. Go grab a quick bite to eat and a nap. I‘ll send one of the mediwitches to wake you.”


She decided to check on the most pressing of her cases before taking his advice. She entered the cubicle of a young Nigerian Muggle-born girl. Her parents sat beside her bed, numbly watching the Muggle medical instruments as they monitored the girl's vitals. The mother held the girl's pinkie-finger, the only part of the girl's arms and hands not swathed in burn bandage and ointments. The father acknowledged Padma's presence with a quick upward glance and then returned to his whispered prayers, his lips moving as he did. Padma looked at the chart to give herself something to do. The girl moaned and her black eyes opened to slits as she mumbled something in a language Padma did not know. The mother answered in the same soft glottals and the girl quieted.


Padma cast a diagnostic spell, thankful for the efforts of the Muggle Liaison Office to condition Muggle-borns’ families to this world. The man interrupted, “What are you doing?"


"I'm seeing how much of her own magic she’s expended to combat the burns,” Padma said absently, worried that the girl's magical core was being depleted at a greater rate than could be combated. The girl might end up a Squib or dead if Padma could not stop the drain. The doctor silently Accio'ed Calming and Sleeping Draughts and administered them before leaving the parents to their vigil.

&*&*&

Lucius entered Gringotts after a less than pleasant trip through Diagon Alley. Even with the recent revelations about his role during the war, the Malfoy name, which had once commanded respect and perhaps a little fear, was diminished. Or, perhaps it was Lucius who was diminished judging by the whispers, stares and outright jeers directed his way. He wore the only wizarding robes he owned, the ones that Mona Lisa purchased for his trial: grey, conservative and cheaply made. It was no matter; once he transferred his funds and was free to move about at will, he would adjourn to Madam Malkin’s to purchase a new wardrobe. The shoddy togs would do for this outing.

A blonde witch with an ample décolletage and coltish legs, both features highlighted by her abbreviated robes, ushered Lucius to a richly decorated office He surmised from the witch’s appearance that he would be dealing with a human rather than one of the goblins, which was just as well. Malfoy Manor had been the site of many atrocities against the creatures. Lucius had tried unsuccessfully to reason with the Dark Lord about the use of the goblins to their cause, and received brutal punishment for his interference. He would rather not face their censure at this point in his parole. It could be disastrous to his plans.

A young man entered the office, his shoulder-length, ginger hair slicked back into a truncated queue, his robes a wizarding version of a Muggle business suit. They discussed the matter at hand, and Lucius quickly secured his funds in the family vault. As the meeting concluded, Lucius commanded, "I should like a draft drawn on my account in the amount of two-hundred thousand galleons, and I would like it directed to my sister-in-law's vault, Mrs. Andromeda Black."

"Are you certain, sir?" The man's eyebrows lifted. "Gringotts will be happy do so, but... such a large amount? You are still recovering from your recent incarce... uh…"

Lucius lifted an autocratic brow, “Did I stammer or in any way make myself less than utterly clear?"

"N-No, sir." The young man withdrew a parchment from his desk and wrote the draft with a quick flourish. "Would you like the bank to owl Mrs. Tonks, sir?"

Lucius inclined his head graciously. "That will not be necessary. I wish the gift to remain anonymous."

He exited the room, passed the rather amply endowed secretary, and made his way to the door leading to the exterior, only to be stopped by a familiar goblin. "Mr. Malfoy."

The creature clasped his attenuated fingers loosely over his belly, his face drawn in lines of hauteur. Lucius frowned but recovered quickly as he bowed slightly. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Mr...?"

"You are correct, Mr. Malfoy, pleasure had nothing to do with our encounter." The goblin gave an approximation of a laugh. "My name is Griphook, since your memory is faulty. I am surprised you could forget my name with the amount of pain you took trying to protect me."

The goblin's sly eyes winked at Lucius in the dim braziers of the bank. Griphook stepped forward, coming to Malfoy's knee. "Certain interested parties took an interest in the solvency of your vault. You might find your financial situation much less dire than it might have been."

"My financial situation was never dire,” Lucius retorted, thrown by the familiarity of the creature.

"Even so, Mr. Malfy, foreign goblins have heard our story. I'm sure that played a large part in your recovery,” Griphook said and then turned from the wizard. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy. My debt to you is paid."

Lucius bowed fully and swept from the bank, grateful for the creature’s assistance.

&*&*&

Padma lost five patients. They had never really had a chance if she were honest. The young African girl had been the last. She died an hour before Padma’s shift ended. The doctor finished her workday in a numbed state of fatigue. She Floo'ed home and sank to the couch, giving in to the tears that had threatened all day. Her professional barriers were breached and her heart was broken.

She sank into exhausted sleep where she sat on the couch and dreamed of the girl and her parents.

&*&*&

July 10, 2010


Lucius was forced to work the serving line because young Paisley’s replacement did not show up for work that morning. He felt ridiculous with his hair in a net and his hands in sweat-producing, plastic gloves. Horrid Muggle inventions. It would have been so much simpler to cast an Impervious Charm and be done with it, but Ian explained patiently that the health officials who occasionally inspected the shelter might not understand the usefulness of magic in preventing bacterial and viral infections.

Lucius served one of the blue-haired, old ladies that frequented the soup kitchen, the ones that preferred feeding their housefuls of cats to purchasing food for their own consumption. He would never understand the dependence these lonely old women had on furry vermin. They lavished such love on the creatures and when they died, alone in their little flats, the animals ended up devouring their corpse until someone noticed the stench. Some gratitude. Lucius thought he might understand the need for companionship, but he did prefer less fur and more leg and breast.

The previous evening, he had dreamed of the lovely little twit in Gringotts but somehow confused her with Mona Lisa midway through the rather erotic action. He awoke to an embarrassing kind  of mess which he had not made since his teens. Lucius thought he might have to seek some company in the exclusive bordello he had visited occasionally when he was a bachelor. An Animagus who hired only those who could learn the skill she possessed ran it. She explained to Lucius that it cut down on her overhead. She could hire fewer professionals whilst maintaining a well-stocked array of looks for those who had a preference. Thus, any girl Lucius purchased time with would be exactly to his taste, and he would no longer have the disturbing dreams of petal-soft, cinnamon lips on his skin, and round, brown thighs around his waist. He shifted his attention to the next person in line, aware of the painful, throbbing problem he now possessed. He would take himself in hand later.

Later, after the last person was seated, Ian (Lucius did not remember when the man had become less of an object of ridicule to him and more of a friend, but he had) was extolling in his daily sermon the virtues of sobriety and sacrifice whilst the kitchen staff cleaned. He noticed a female figure entering from the street entrance, and turned slightly to see if he might find one last sandwich to give the waif when he felt a hard slap across his face.


He reeled back, wishing he had his wand, and turned to see Andromeda Tonks' angry countenance. He greeted her cordially, "Andromeda, it has been too long."

"My grandson and I don't need your blood money." She threw a bank draft at him, the parchment fluttering to his feet.

"I haven't any idea of what you are speaking, Mrs. Tonks. Please enlighten me." Lucius lifted a brow in the same autocratic way he had done to the banker the day before. He goaded, "Do hurry, as you can see, I am quite busy."

She drew back her hand and slapped him again, this time drawing blood with her wedding band and engagement ring. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she beat at his shoulders and face, each blow punctuated by the choking sounds of her grief. Lucius stood still, letting her take her time with the abuse. He would not stop her from her punishment. He could have prevented the death of her husband even if her daughter's was beyond his control.

Several inmates of the facility stood to better see his arrogant arse beaten, but none cared to help. Andromeda's wrath continued until Ian dragged her away from Lucius. "Malfoy, go fix your lip in the rectory and put some ice on your jaw or you'll bruise."

Lucius bowed stiffly as he made his exit whilst Ian held the sobbing form of Andromeda Tonks nee Black. He wondered at his lack of response. Had it been a few years earlier, he would have had no problem destroying her. Now, his heart just wasn't in it.



Note: This is the last of the confusing backward chapters. I just needed to setup a few things before we get on to the meat and potatoes of the story. Oh, geez, I hope that wasn’t some arcane double entendre.

Miss Patil Takes A Holiday Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Of House Elves and Plots

Lucius strode through the crowded market, listening to the familiarly strident cadence of buyer and seller. The Greece of his childhood had been replaced by this Euro-nonsense and the wizarding community on the Isle of Delos had been affected adversely. He had thought to capture some sense of purpose as he revisited his father's villa in the Cyclades, but had instead been insulted by the changes to the area. No doubt, both Muggle and wizarding Greece was much better off, but he missed the fire and verve of the past. Economic security had wrought insipidity for the entire nation.

Lucius turned away from the market and headed toward the Apparation point. He planned to spend two months here, readying the villa for sale, and then move on to other Malfoy holdings. The vineyard in Tuscany would be next, then the palais in France. Only then could he face the sale of Malfoy Manor, the place of his greatest shame and horror. He hoped Abraxas was spinning in his grave with the thought of the seven-hundred year-old family seat being sold. Lucius decided to settle on Capri. The Roman-era villa there was his mother's and had no dark memories for him. His father thought the area overrun by Muggles and so never visited it after Mother's death.

Lucius thought of informing his only Muggle friend of his whereabouts, but though Ian was a friend, Malfoy was ashamed of the exigency of his exit from London.

Unbidden, another face from his sojourn in London came to mind, one with almond-shaped eyes and cinnamon-skinned sensuality. Lucius turned his mind from the lovely Doctor Patil, with a great effort of will. She was Draco's age and therefore off limits. He would not lust after a mere girl, even if that girl were almost thirty-years-old. He had badly frightened her in their last meeting. He meant to. She was too trusting by far, and too damned young for him. He did not need a romantic encumbrance again. At least not now. He had already been burdened with a wife who hated him. He did not want a fearful young woman in his bed. It would lead to more heartbreak and Lucius really did not have much more heart to spare.

Lucius realised he had stopped in the middle of the street, drawing stares from surrounding shopkeepers and pedestrians alike. He took a trick from Snape's book and stalked to the Apparition point with billowing robes and resplendent scowl, all to disguise to him how much he wanted his untouchable doctor.

&&&

Padma's Portkey had taken her to a small hostel on the outskirts of the only wizarding village in Greece. It was appropriate that she started her journey at the birthplace of Apollo, Sun God, and patron of the medical arts. She would spend some time at the ancient Muggle sites to be sure, but she would also go to the new temple of Apollo, built in the early part of the twentieth century after a devastating earthquake destroyed the original. That temple had been occupied since the birth of the greatest Greek wizard some three thousand years ago: Apollo Asclepius, Healer and teacher.

Padma let the bell-elf take her bags to her room. It was still early afternoon, and most businesses were still closed, but Padma could do without the bustle and hurry of the markets while she gathered her wits. Portkey was her least favourite way of travel because it always made her slightly nauseous. She strolled the quiet back streets, admiring the architecture of the area along with the brightly painted surfaces. Somehow, it reminded her of the summer holiday she had spent in Iran between the year she finished Muggle uni, and the start of her one year Healing apprenticeship that was also concurrent with her medical internship. That was also the season her sister had begun her affair with Justin. It hurt more that it had taken years for Padma to discover their perfidy.

Padma had loved Justin, in the way one is fond of their first lover. The pain of his betrayal had been less while Lucius Malfoy was there to make her feel attractive and wanted, but the loss of the elder Malfoy's attention had sent her, once again, into the mild depression that had plagued her ever since the end of her first affair. Padma moved her mind away from the pain of the thought as she entered the bustling market. She was here to enjoy herself, not to relive her past.

She window-shopped, but found nothing she could not do without. Once she thought she saw a strange house-elf following her, but when she looked at the spot she had seen it last, it had disappeared. Padma finally settled on buying a sheer Egyptian cotton robe set with a matching cloak. It would be a perfect gift for Maa. She found a book, in Latin, on Potions for Bapa, and settled on a set of cuff links for Tomas. She would purchase something for the baby later. Padma and Justin would receive one of the touristy things from the kiosk at the Portkey area.

Once done with her obligatory gifts, she turned back toward the hostel suddenly weary.

&&&

Lucius entered the now gutted library of the villa, remembering his most memorable moment in the room.

His father had hired a maid for the summer, a local girl who was Lucius' age. Her name was Katya. His father used the girl at night, while denying his seventeen-year-old son the same outlet. Lucius had spent his evenings listening to his father fuck the girl. Her breathless cries of pleasure had inflamed him beyond madness. Lucius had spent the first month of that particular holiday in a haze of lust so strong that even his own ministrations had failed to ease his discomfort.

Then, on a day that his father had been called back to London to take care of some urgent Ministry business, Katya had discovered Lucius in that very library, wanking off yet again. She had taken his virginity on the spot and given Lucius the education his father would never allow. He had been grateful and half in love with her that afternoon. That was, until his father came home and paid her for her services to his son. Lucius had used her again, but never with the same care or feeling. His illusions had been shattered. Abraxas Malfoy, it seemed, owned him, body and soul.

With a wave of his wand, Lucius covered the ancient mosaic floors with tarps and stripped to his bare chest. He had found he enjoyed the slapping of paint on surfaces. It was no artistic endeavour for him, to be sure, but after spending six months serving in Ian's kitchens, he missed the sheer mindless physicality of Muggle labour. Painting gave him an outlet for his energy that magic never would.

While he painted, he practiced his speech, still slightly altered after his stroke over nine months ago. He made the nonsense sounds Mona Lisa had taught him, moving his lips in the exaggerated way she showed him. He could feel his facial muscles beginning to work properly the more he did them. He moved to elocution next, practicing the words on which his tongue still stumbled, ironically mostly ones beginning with the letter S. He had spent years as a servant of the Dark Lord, a man equally yet oppositely challenged by the same letter. However, Lucius' sound came out a truncated asperative and the Dark Lord's had been an extended susurrus.

Lucius spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet practice saying words in a nonsense string, over and over. He felt foolish and was glad he had sent Dibby to the market for his evening repast of cheese, pita, delectable purple-hued Amphissa olives, and wine. The elf was too observant for Lucius' tastes.

&*&*&

Padma ate her dinner alone in her room, not willing to suffer the company of other humans in the mental state in which she found herself. She picked up a novel; one Tomas had recommended but found the romantic nature of the story too much to bear. She wished she had taken her flatmate up on his offer to take holiday with her. At least they could have shopped and dished about the other tourists like two girls. As it was, Padma was looking at long, boring days on the rock beach and long, hot nights under the squeaking ceiling fan of her room. She had chosen Delos in the wrong season. The summer tourists from the States had already gone back to resume their jobs or schooling. The Northern European tourists would not be here until Yule, and even the ever-present Japanese sightseers with their guided tours and incessant snap taking were away.

Padma sighed, willing anyone to be on the island beside the contemptuous locals and the odd Muggle. She closed the book with a snap. It would do her no good to sit in her room and moon about what she wanted. She would just make her own fun. She was in Greece, after all, land of yearlong street festivals and all night discothèques; if she could not find a dance partner, she could always dance by herself if she drank enough ouzo. With that resolved, she slipped into her best green, knit shell, a matching pair of Capri's, embroidered at the hem and up one side, and her gold sandals. She considered her hair, which at the moment fell in raven-black waves down to her hips. She decided to leave it, but put small bits of rhinestone, hair jewellery in it to catch the light in winking glints. Next, she applied the soft-carmine lip-rouge she preferred and added just a hint of colour to her cheeks. Kohl came last to her slanting, almond-shaped eyes. Once done, Padma Shrank her room key and her wallet and put it in her pocket before exiting the room for the nightlife she knew must await her.

Fuck all if she was not going to pick up a man tonight and shag Lucius Malfoy out of her system.

&*&*&

Lucius relaxed on the patio adjacent to the master suite of the villa. His father had been the last occupant of the room, and his presence hung like a dour painting in the air. Lucius, upon his arrival, had stripped the room of all the memories of his father. Down came the heavy tapestries of bloody stag hunts. Portraits of long-dead ancestors were relegated to the attic and his father's desk, the site of many of Lucius' most painful punishments, was sold to a second-hand shop after Lucius removed the wards and traps Abraxas Malfoy had placed on it. His father was very thorough, and that particular job had taken two days. Lucius found an antique dealer to haul away the rest of the furniture in the house. He was glad to be rid of the heavy, ornately carved headboard. Lucius had been strapped at the side of that bed many times and for many offences. The idea of sleeping in the presence of that particular furniture daunted him.

He bought a small, modern futon that served as both bed and divan and slept well on it. He did not plan to refurnish the villa before he sold it.

Lucius had painted the room a soft white. It had taken two coats to cover the steely grey his father had preferred. He replaced the heavy wooden shutters with light Roman shades and slept with the windows open to the night-sea air. Dibby was responsible for the major structural repairs to the rotting wooden floor in the kitchens and the entryway, but Lucius had hired a Magetecht to refurbish the ancient mosaic floors and strengthen the equally ancient walls.

He stirred from his thoughts when he heard the heavy beat of the local discothèque’s house music begin. A quick Tempus charm told Lucius it was eleven, just the start of the evening for young people. He remembered taking Snape to his first nightclub. The younger boy had been diffident and cool which drove the local girls wild with the desire to crack his aloof shell. The idiot did not even know he held appeal for the opposite sex and had spent the evening scribbling ideas for potions on the paper serviettes of the club. Lucius chuckled softly. He hoped Snape had finally gotten over the Mudblood. He deserved so much more than what he had ever given himself.

Dibby entered the area, bowing as he always did. Lucius wished again that the Weasley chit had taken the elf off his hands. Lucius really could not abide the creatures, even though this one seemed a little better than most. "What is it, Dibby?"

"Master," the elf began, wringing his hands and casting mournful glances at the wizard. "Dibby has heard there is an important pureblood party at the nightsong spot. Master should go. There will be gains to be had by Master."

Lucius did not trust the sly creature, but knew if he were going to reclaim the Malfoy status he would need to be seen. "Very well. Prepare my bath and lay out my blue robes. Not the velvet, it's too hot. The linen."

Lucius downed his fourth glass of whisky for the evening, and started on a fifth. If he had to endure the company of other humans, he may as well have a nice buzz while doing it. Maybe he would get lucky and shag himself senseless without having to imagine Mona Lisa while he did it.

&*&*&

Padma slammed back her third ouzo of the evening. A German wizard on an archaeological dig in conjunction with a Muggle one for the al-gāmaa a al-almāniyya bil-Qāhira, or less pretentiously and with much less spittle flying, the German University in Cairo. Padma was tipsy enough to find the hacking and spitting of both languages highly amusing. She was not tipsy enough to find it attractive that he now was whispering guttural Arabic endearments in her ear. Her hair was becoming wet with his efforts to seduce her. A young Greek boy, all of fifteen, took her by her hand and whisked her onto the dance floor.

They gyrated to the rhythm until Padma became dizzy. The boy with his glowing skin and dark eyes laughed and pulled her against him, clutching her closely to his hard body. Padma fitted into his arms well. If he weren't so young... She broke away. Paedophilia was not her style.

Another wizard, tall and broad, slipped behind her. His pale hand held a glass of Firewhisky, not what the German would choose to drink. Padma took the tumbler laughingly from his hand and downed it. He pinned her to him with his large, golden-haired arms and ordered another. The boy, now pouting prettily, turned to another girl on the dance floor and Padma began a slow, hip twitching dance with her new partner. He nuzzled her neck, an effort for him since she was obviously so much shorter than he was. She leaned into his broad shoulders, her hair tickling his throat and lips. He continued his assault as the drinks appeared. Padma downed hers, now drunk to the point of seeing double.

The man hefted her against him, his face in shadow as he Disapparated them away from the loudness and the lights.

&*&*&

She remembered his hands on her breasts, his mouth hot on her private places. She remembered squirming wildly as he induced her to orgasm with his talented tongue. She remembered the clean and musky taste of his penis as she swallowed him greedily and then the wrenching sensation of his withdrawal as he drunkenly clambered over her body, his skin moon and shadow, a silver sheet of hair cascading over her body as he entered her, his thrusts masterful and climax inducing. She remembered falling asleep in a haze of pleasure so sweet that it filled the aching void that the loss of Lucius Malfoy's diffident attention had made. She remembered all that, but not his face. She awoke drunkenly when the man's arm gathered her closer in his sleep, his fingers twitching reflexively over her breast. She fell asleep again, too drunk to move under her own power and see the mystery man. She would look at him tomorrow morning.

&*&*&

Dibby knew what it took to be a good house elf. Loyalty was first. Dibby possessed that. Then came cunning. With a Master like Master Malfoy, Dibby knew he had learned it.

He reclined in his nest of tea towels and cast off linens behind the ancient wood burning furnaces of the caldarium. Master had finally found Mistress Doctor Patil and they were doing the wizardy thing to make them bond. Dibby hoped for more, but was happy with the night's work. Master had been sad without his old Mistress. She had not been nice to Dibby, but she made Master happy and that was what counted. When he saw Mistress Doctor Patil, she had been kind to Dibby and happy/sad about Master. House-elf magic let Dibby know where Mistress Doctor would be, and house-elf magic had made Master go to Delos before he sold the villa.

Dibby heard the creaking of the futon as Master made Mistress Doctor happy and Mistress Doctor did the same for him.

Dibby hated lying to Master, but it had not been an outright lie. Mistress Doctor was important to Master, even if he did not acknowledge it yet.

Dibby decided to write to the castrated Muggle, the one who served the Bloody Gods, to see what else needed to be done to make Mistress Doctor and Master see what Dibby could so clearly. Dibby wasn't so good with writing, but he would manage if it meant having a family with children to serve again.

Dibby closed his eyes and dreamt of serving little Masters and Mistresses with dark hair and grey eyes, his feet run ragged by their demands. It was the best dream Dibby had had in twelve years.