Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

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For those of you who have clamouring for it be warned there are lemons ahead.


Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

Chapter 10

Admissions and Hopes

Lucius and Padma spent the rest of the morning righting the bookshelves in the library. The Slytherin, utilising his finely honed Slytherin skills for subterfuge, had suddenly become dizzy when on the ladder placing the top-most shelves in place. Padma, quite the little Ravenclaw, had merely smirked at him and levitated the remainder of the shelves into place. His disappointment at not being able to peer up the rather large legged shorts she wore while she was on the ladder was palpable. It was then that she instituted a new game.

The game consisted of a kiss or caress for every task completed. Lucius was rewarded dutifully with an open-mouthed kiss after he had moved a rather dusty drop cloth from its place of rest. Padma received a full on sucking lick to her ample thigh after placing the aforementioned cloth in a cubby. Lucius then received a bite to his nipple through his shirt for the suckling lick on her thigh. He now had his Mona Lisa pinned to the wall, her thighs tightly around his waist, as he thrust his painfully constricted erection at her clothed core. She was panting and moving against him with a great deal of fervour.

“What say we take this to a more comfortable venue?” Lucius asked.

His little doctor answered with a heated kiss and clinging arms. She closed her eyes as he moved them down the hall.

“Lucius, the bedrooms are that way,” she protested and he merely smiled at her naiveté.

He began feasting on her as soon as he laid her out on the table, his kisses drugging her to moaning acquiescence. He exposed her body to the air with a whispered spell and a flick of his fingers. His little Mona Lisa clutched at his back as he progressed from her delicate jaw to her rounded belly.

She hissed, “Lucius.”

He divested himself of his clothing as he hummed further down her belly, the vibrations exciting his lips. Once he was at the steamy focus of his ardour, he slowed, bestowing gentle nips to her inner thighs, parting her with his fingers. She mewled mindlessly as he breached her. Padma convulsed as he gave a gentle swipe over the area of his intense focus.

She came undone after only a few moments and before she could recover, he sheathed himself in her fully. Her quivering response to his intrusion nearly sent him over the edge, but he mastered himself, putting off the inevitable until he could see her come undone once more as he ground into her. It took only a few more strokes before she began her pulsating arc to completion. He grunted in surprise as her motions took him over the edge. It had been too long for him, even with Narcissa’s help six months ago.

After they both recovered, he gently withdrew from her, kissing her as he did so. She hissed with the loss of him. “I could get used to this way of doing chores.”

“We would certainly be more pleased with the work.” Lucius chuckled. He sat on the table next to her supine body, knowing he leered at her with some sappy expression of middle aged gratitude. He spied the morning’s dishes, now put away in their respective spots. “Did you mean what you said this morning?”

Padma rolled onto her side, and Lucius followed the motion of her tight, high breasts as she did. She ran her fingers over his sparsely haired thigh. “Which part?”

“The part where you said you—" he grimaced, before saying, “cared for me.”

She cupped her hand over his flaccid length, fondling him as if she were a Tinker trying to judge the weight of gold. “Mmmm, my favourite part of man.”

He shifted, feeling himself rousing to her touch. “I do not believe that was an answer, Mona Lisa.”

She moved closer, her cinnamon fingers dancing over him before she kissed the juncture of his thigh and his torso. “I think you heard me. Is it so impossible to believe?”

“You want to marry,” he said, the statement baldly accusatory.

Padma stood, casting about for her knickers. “Yes.”

Lucius was surprised his paramour had given the game away so easily. It had been years since he had dated anyone, but he was certain women were motivated by one of two things. He had to ascertain which motivated his Mona Lisa: Money or Security. He could exploit either of the motivations, enjoy himself and perhaps still come away unscathed. As he schemed, he almost missed the rest of her statement.

“...sure I will want to marry someday when I find the right man. I don’t think I’ve met him yet though.” Mona Lisa said. “Lucius, did you Vanish my knickers?”

He enjoyed the view as she bent to peer under the table until the statement sank into his sex-sated consciousness. “What do you mean; you haven’t met the right man yet?”

“Here they are!” She stood and donned the practical, white-cotton pants that just skimmed her round hips. Lucius had been charmed when he spied them this morning as she bent to reach for the first shelf. She looked at him for a moment before answering his question. “I mean, Lucius, that as much as I enjoy your considerable charms, I don’t consider you husband material and I’m sure my family would find many objections to you. I may be English born, but I am Indian-bred. Surely you realise that a divorced man with a shady past isn’t a considered a good catch, no matter his wealth.”

She settled between his legs, her hands on both thighs. “Does that set your mind at ease?”

The statement stung him. He was surprised by the nearly visceral reaction to her dismissal of him as marriageable material. Was he motivated by actual feelings for the temptress before him? He just did not know anymore. He almost recoiled from her touch before he saw the humour in the situation. “You’re using me for sex?”

Mona Lisa smiled, a lazy one that send curling frissons of pleasure through his gut. “We are enjoying our holiday. That’s all Lucius.”

She kissed him thoroughly before pulling him from the table. “We have work to complete. I want to go to Athens on Friday. Are you up for it?”

He could think of many things he was up for, Athens could be another. “Lead on, Mona Lisa.”

&*&*&

Tomas spoke to both Muggle and wizarding authorities about his attack. Finnigan had gone to work and made the report early that morning. Tomas had no other visitors but the squib Muggle police that came to ask him questions and an Officer Bulstrode who sat before him now.

She read over his statement, tapping the ever-present pad of parchment with her Dicto-quill as her sharp blue eyes skimmed the words. She looked up at him, “So, how long have you been with Finnigan?”

“I told you, he came to hospital after I was attacked...” Tomas answered, wondering if Finnigan’s interest in his case might mean some trouble for the Auror.

Bulstrode gave a low chuckle, a dry sound in the cool air of the ward. “You don’t know, do you?”

“What?” Tomas asked jerking as the Muggle stitches tightened in his abdomen.

Bulstrode moved to the door, mirth written in the lines of her face. “Just do me a favour. When you do hook up with him, make sure it’s before October thirteenth. That way I’ll win the pool on when he finally decides to come out of the closet.”

Tomas scowled, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah.” Bulstrode put her hand on the doorknob. “And I’m Father Christmas with tits.”

She exited the room, leaving Tomas with a feeling of exultant humiliation and a raging problem below his waist. He looked down at his todger. “You will remain calm; remember how much trouble that nosy dyke got you in during the Amsterdam holiday.”

His todger remained a separate and happy entity and Tomas groaned as the door opened, revealing Finnigan’s clean-cut good looks.

&*&*&

Dibby happily prepared the afternoon tea. His Master and soon-to-be new Mistress were in the library, reeking of wizardy bonding. When they were not touching, they were looking at each other hungrily. Dibby knew those looks and liked them well.

Dibby cast a special house-elf spell, one to increase ardour in joined wizards. It was not exactly proscribed, that spell, but it was skirting the bounds of house-elf decency. Dibby took the spell’s energy a bound it into the food he prepared the strands, barely recognisable silver amidst the swirling white of the clotted cream.

Dibby hesitated when he thought of casting the next spell. The temple house-elf for the Lady Aphrodite had been upset that he even considered using a fertility spell on his yet unattached Master. Dibby had assured the venerable house-elf that he would wait. Dibby felt the spell building behind his eyelids, under his fingernails. He gathered his resolve like a buffering cloak to the cold winds. That spell could wait.

Dibby put the final touches to the light repast and brought the platter with him to the terrace, now the site of all the Malfoy meals. Not like in the old days when Old-old Master would insist on a good English meal, indoors and cloistered away from the sun.

To Dibby, the site that greeted him was beyond his wildest imagininings. Master Lucius held Mistress Doctor in his arms, his silver energies blending with her blue ones as he held her. These two were well on their way to giving Dibby his wish. When the colours became one, a new wizard for the Malfoy clan would be on its way.

He popped the tray over to them, using the stealth that all house-elves were trained to from the day they were pressed into service. Master took the offering with no comment, but the great wizard that Mistress Doctor was caused her to say her thanks aloud. Dibby danced and gambolled with joy as he Apparated back to the kitchen.

Mistress Doctor was a great wizard, almost as great as Harry Potter was, and certainly good enough for Master.

&*&*&

Tomas moaned into Finnigan’s shoulder as the man hoisted the Healer’s lithe body into his arms. The Auror told the taxi-driver to drop them at an alleyway just far enough away from prying eyes that they could easily Disapparate to Tomas’ flat.

Once inside the Apparation point behind the building, Finnigan grunted, “You’re sure about staying in your flat?”

Tomas was not sure about even being able to be alone, but he damned well was not going to tell the Seamus that. He would die before he allowed the Auror to take him in because he pitied Tomas. Furthermore, he could not picture himself living in a guest room in Finnigan’s mum’s house, where the Auror still lived, and be comfortable with the situation. Tomas nodded his head in meagre show that he accepted the consequences of his decision.

Finnigan grunted again as he repositioned Tomas in his arms. “Very well, I’ll stay here with you.”

“Wha...” Tomas’ reply was succinct and urbane to his ears and he grimaced in awareness of the Auror who held him.

Finnigan stepped towards the back entryway of the building. “You heard me. I can’t let Padma’s flatmate be injured again. She’d have my arse.”

Tomas felt a groan issue from his mouth at the thought of his secret obsession being with him for the next fortnight and a few days and the phrase he had just uttered.

Finnigan grinned down at Tomas, his slow, lop-sided smile spreading warmth through the Healer as if Seamus were a small sun. Finnigan said, “I won’t eat much, and I promise to clean up after myself. Let me stay.”

Tomas felt his head nod under its own power. Damning his body and his loss of control over it, he squeaked, “Fine.”

&*&*&

Padma luxuriated in the caldarium, enjoying the wash of the soft water over her body as Lucius tended to his own ablutions. She had never been one to want to share her time like this, and was astounded that Lucius’ presence did not grate on her as Justin’s had. She watched as he laid his head back on the surface gouged out of the marble for just such a use. In the steam rising from the water and in his relaxed state, the years of hard use fell from his face. He may not look young but he definitely did not look like a man rapidly approaching middle age. Padma saw that his hair had not actually changed colour from its original blond. It had mellowed to platinum rather than the showier silver it had been. His brow was smooth but with a hint of scowl lines and his chin, while firm was softening, giving him a more vulnerable appearance than he had before. Her eyes drifted to the Dark Mark on his arm. She had heard during the first war, after Voldemort’s defeat that the Mark had faded. She wondered why it had not after the despot’s true death.

She remembered seeing Lucius in all his sartorial elegance during the last year of her Hogwarts education, spying on him as he spoke with Professor Snape. At the time, she had assumed they had business for Voldemort that they had to complete. She wondered now if that was truly their topic, or if they had been even then, working to save the women like the one Draco had married.

Without moving a facial muscle, or opening his eyes, Lucius said. “I know that look, Mona Lisa. You have a serious question about something.”

“I suppose I do.” Padma breathed. She cupped water over her breasts, wishing that they were shapelier. They bobbed to the surface like two ripe melon-shaped sacs, the brown-black nipples puckered in the evening chill.

She felt Lucius shift, his bobbly bits brushing her calves as he adjusted his position. He inclined his head, a gesture of munificence. “I suppose you would not be a woman if you were not curious about me in some way. Ask your questions, Mona Lisa. I shall not guarantee an answer, however.”

Padma was struck anew by his handling of her and their obvious age difference. She blurted out, “You don’t treat me like my father treats me.”

“I should hope not.” Lucius responded with a laconic raise of an eyebrow and a moue of mild distaste. “Now ask your questions, before I fall into the sleep of well-used doddering old man.”

“You know what I mean, you oaf.” Padma scooted from her position across from him to rest her head on his chest. His thick arms snaked around her belly as she settled her bum against his groin. He twitched slightly at her intrusion into his sacred Malfoy air, but made no move away from her. She continued, “You don’t treat me as if I’m a child, you know, Draco’s age.”

“That is because I never knew you as a child. You came to me fully sprung as if from Zeus’ brow.” Lucius rumbled. “Must you remind me of my advanced age in your presence?”

“Oh, what a poetic way of saying you never noticed me until I had bubbies.” Padma answered as she ran her fingers lazily through the sparse hairs on his legs. “I was going to ask you, when you used to come to Hogwarts when Snape was h-headmaster, what were you doing there?”

“My son was there, what else would I be doing?” Lucius asked in feigned innocence.

Padma brought his hand to bear on her breast, letting the weight of the appendage shape it into a more comely form. “I thought you were there on business for Voldemort.”

He hissed at the sound of the most hated name and then murmured, “Sorry, force of habit.”

Padma paused, watching as the Mark on his arm seemed to darken and bubble under the surface of his skin. “It hurts you when someone says Vol-- that name?”

“It always pains me,” Lucius said with no self-pity. “It has done since I took it.”

Silence settled between them as Padma drew his arm to her mouth. She kissed the grey-black surface of the Proteus charm. “I wonder why it hasn’t faded. Professor Snape’s had from what Harry told me, until Vol— He returned in our fourth year.”

“It has.” Lucius said, pulling his arm from her grasp. He dipped his head to her neck. “I believe you were asking an impertinent question?”

Padma shivered against him as he ran his deft tongue and lips over her exposed flesh. “Yes, I was asking, were you always at Hogwarts on His orders or were you working with Snape?”

Lucius sighed. “Sometimes I was there on the Dark Lord’s orders, others on Severus’ and still more on a mission to keep my son from doing greater harm to himself that he already had.”

He nipped her earlobe then soothed the abused flesh with a sucking pull from his lips. “You have more questions?”

Padma relaxed against him. “I suppose I do, but they can wait.”

She felt Lucius smile against her neck.

Bloody man and his wicked mouth, Padma thought as she gave in to the sensation spreading from his gentle touch to her body.

&*&*&

Tomas had almost cried when he had seen the mess left from his attack. His dried and rusty blood littered the door, jamb and carpet of the hallway. He thought that he might discern bits of his hair in that blood. He felt faint as Seamus set him on his feet.

“Sorry about the mess the Muggles said something about this still being a crime scene,” the Auror said. “You’ll be all right while I disassemble the wards? I don’t want you fainting on me.”

Tomas leaned heavily on the wall that had the least of his body fluids on it. Visions of the night flitted through his head as he watched Finnigan’s deft magical work. Seamus hummed atonally as he worked, a thing that Tomas might have found endearing had he not felt so exposed at the moment. His gut hurt where the Muggles had barged in and taken bits out of him, and the Healers could not make the flesh heal magically. They told him he would have to bear it like a Muggle, the sodding fucks.

Seamus finished opening the door and took Tomas’ arm. “Let’s get you to bed. I’m sure you could use the rest.”

Bloody hell, Tomas thought, if that Officer Bulstrode wasn’t right about Finnigan being gay, he was going to kill her with his own delicate hands.

Finnigan settled Tomas onto the aforementioned bed and left the room. A few seconds later he popped his head around the corner of the doorway, “I’ve found linens. Should I use the divan or can I sleep in Padma’s room?”

Sodding fucking hell. Tomas thought grimly as his overactive and recently underused cock sprang to life. Visions of a tousle-haired Irishman’s head on a pillow next to his formed in his mind.

Finnigan took the long silence for an answer. “Right, Padma’s room is off-limits. It’s the couch for me.”

Tomas leaned back against the headboard of his bed wanting to call the Auror back and show him where he could sleep. Not that Seamus would actually get much rest. He gingerly slid down onto a pillow. All he needed right now was for Finnigan to return and see him in such a state of arousal. He would scare the poor closeted man right out of the flat.

&*&*&

Lucius stirred from a sated sleep, wondering why he felt so buoyant and yet so weighted. Mona Lisa sighed in her sleep and Lucius watched the glistening drops of water that he had stirred trickle down her skin. He stretched as much as he could with her graceful body draped over him in the water. She sighed, her mouth a perfect oval.

“Oh, Lucius, I think we need to get out,” she said.

Lucius lifted her away from him until he could get a good footing. “I do believe you are correct, darling.”

She stirred, almost childlike in her movements as she got out of the bath and padded towards the bed. Lucius cast a quick drying spell on her before she hit the soft sheets and began slumbering in earnest.

He wasted no time in joining her, but after tossing for what seemed like hours, he got up. He wanted a drink and he wanted it badly. He had promised the little termagant that now occupied his bed that he would have no alcohol while he was with her. It shamed him that she felt she had to extract that promise from him. Addictions seemed to be more a Muggle issue than a wizarding one. He winced as he realised his son had been addicted to the Muggle poison heroin, and his own father had succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver rather than battle wounds as Lucius had spread about. Perhaps Ian would know what to do. The Muggle blood-priest had been addicted to alcohol, and had said something to Lucius about it before he left England.

He found himself in front of the Floo powder in hand ready to make a Fire-call. A bit of powder seeped from his clenched fingers, causing the Floo to flare green. Lucius took that as a sign and cast the Floo powder in. “Father Ian Cavanaugh, his rectory office.”

Lucius thought the priest might still be up; his ministry did tend to make him work long hours. Lucius said clearly as he stuck his head into the flames, “Hello, Ian?”

The priest answered, his face flushed from some type of Mugglish exertion he practiced to keep himself fit, if Lucius could tell by the beads of sweat on the man’s brow. “I was just working out in the other room when I heard you call. What can I do for you, Lucius?”

“I was just... That is, I wondered how...” Lucius choked on each of the lies he tried to commit. The Muggle had that effect on him. He finally said after moments of Ian’s patient consideration. “I believe I may have a problem with alcohol. I may be... addicted.”

“I’ll come to see you, Lucius. Just let me make arrangements here and I’ll be there tomorrow. You’re on Delos, right?” Ian answered. “Can you hang on ‘til then?”

Lucius ran a shaking hand over his face. “I believe I might be able to, but Ian, I have a paramour at the villa. I shouldn’t want to shock you with her presence.”

“You finally gave into to your feelings for Dr. Patil?” Ian asked. “I received a rather odd message from your house-elf about her. I’m glad for you, Lucius. She always seemed to be a nice woman.”

“Good night Ian.” Lucius answered with a scowl. “I shall expect you tomorrow. I should also be interested in seeing the letter from my house-elf. I think there are some things he and I need to discuss.”

“He means well, Lucius,” Ian said. “Oh, and we’ve broken ground on the new facilities. We haven’t named it yet, we wanted your input on that.”

“The Letitia Cavanaugh Centre,” Lucius answered without thought. “Name it after her. She’s the one who saved my son’s life. It’s only fitting.”

“Very well, Lucius.” The Floo fire began to pale. International connections were notorious for failure. “I see our time is up. Goodnight.”

Lucius found himself bidding goodnight to an empty grate and cursing himself for his blasted weakness. He padded back to bed to spend the night awake and trembling as he waited for a drink that could never come.

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