Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

Thanks to all who read and reviewed. This chapter is dedicated to Bill W. and all the people he has helped.

Special thanks to Jilliane who beta-read this chapter. I owe you a bat-free cup of coffee.

Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

Chapter 11

Hello, My Name Is Lucius and I Am an Alcoholic...

Father Ian Cavanaugh had never been on holiday, not once in his twenty odd years of service. He felt decidedly odd, packing for a destination that seemed so idyllic. Of course, there had been that trip to Rome, but that had been in service to the Parish and really was more business than pleasure. That he was able to take in the sights was an added bonus, but he had spent more hours awaiting confirmation of the funding to establish his mission. If the Bishop had not been in Rome at the time, he would have no doubt spent the time in London

He wondered if Delos was chill or warm this time of year, not that his choice of clothing mattered. He favoured the unassailability of the older-style full collar shirt and Roman cassock in lightweight wool, year round and regardless of climate. He would take a few changes of clothing, just in case Lucius needed him to stay longer than a few days, but his choices were what they were.

He looked at the sardine tin on his bed. Mrs. Tonks had graciously taken him to the Port-key office at the Ministry of Magic to travel in wizarding style. He had contacted the older woman once he found that he could not easily obtain more traditional transport to his destination.

Ian Cavanaugh did not travel well.

He was struck anew by the profound difference between the two worlds that most of these wizards took for granted. When Lucius had contacted him, Ian had expected at least a day’s hard travel by aeroplane and then by some type of nausea-inducing sea transport. He had purchased several boxes of Kwells tablets and two boxes of Sea Bands, those little bracelets that were supposed to use some type of Chinese acupressure to alleviate travel sickness. Ian put them inside his travel case. Even if he were not going to use traditional transport to the island, he was not sure of the modes of transportation to Lucius’ villa.

He had Fire-called Lucius with his itinerary as soon as he purchased the Port-key, and was assured the man would be waiting at the destination when Ian arrived.

He finished packing with one eye to the clock. The Port-key agent had said very clearly that his tin was time-dependant. If he were not holding it at exactly 12:07 this afternoon, it would revert to its non-magical form. The agent had issued the instructions as if she was speaking to a child, and several times Ian thought he might have to say extra prayers for his impatience with the girl. Mrs. Tonks had been even less patient with the girl. Ian knew he would have to say at least a decade of his rosary for cheering the witch on, even if the cheer was internal.

It was 12:05 when Ian finished packing. He picked up both his travel case and the tin. He waited for the thing to whisk him away, willing time to pass quickly as if he were once again seven and waiting for his exotic, wizard cousin to disembark from the ferry. He checked his watch, keeping hold of both satchel and tin, and then felt an unfamiliar tugging sensation behind his navel. He lurched to a stand but could find no purchase as he spun in a stomach-churning whirl of colours and sounds. It seemed that the trip might last forever.

He landed in heap on the cobbles of an ancient foreign street. He heaved queasily and then rolled to his feet, trying to stop the cyclic gyration of the world. One of those elf-creatures, dressed in a smart, white bellman’s cap and coat, tentatively reached for Ian as the priest stumbled, and then fell arse over end into a cool, cavernous building. The elf-thing squeaked its alarm as Ian’s satchel gave way, spewing its contents over the entryway. Ian heaved once more, wishing that Catholicism did not frown on petitions for death quite so much.

The first person he noticed, aside from the elf-man-thing, was a large-bellied, dark-eyed fellow who rushed to Ian’s side. The man asked in thickly accented English, “Are you Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Father,” Ian said over a retching lurch of his stomach.

Before could clarify his statement, the man went into a bout of hand wringing and rapid Greek. Another face entered Ian’s vision, this one female by the lack of moustache and slightly higher-pitched voice. “Meester, you are eel?”

Ian clutched blindly for his bag, wishing Mrs. Tonks had warned him of the dangers inherent in this type of instantaneous travel. He found the Kwells tablets and popped two out of the box, struggling with the blister pack. He heard twin intakes of breath and then more furious Greek spilling about him. He heard the words Magikos okhi several times.

He popped the tablets from the pack and placed them on his tongue. A glass of cool water was placed in his hand by the creature and Ian thanked it breathlessly after taking a long draw of water. The creature beamed at him as if he had been given a great boon, but Ian was too ill to think much on the reaction.

A cool, commanding voice cut through the ruckus. Ian could just make out Lucius’ pale-haired elegance through the spinning colours of the room.

&*&*&

Tomas spent his morning mooning about in his pyjamas, silk ones that he had never worn before. He ate more chocolate than was safe to consume and was treated to the sight of the dangerously ripped back muscles of Seamus Finnigan as he strode from the bathroom to his pallet in the parlour wearing nothing more than wet hair and a towel.

As he smelled bacon frying in the kitchen along with the odour of toasted crumpets, Tomas pined for his Auror. He bit into the bitter chocolate as he heard the clatter of pans. He sucked on the crumbs left on his fingers as he heard the man’s soft tread in the hallway.

Finnigan poked his head through the open door, and with that darling half-grin asked, “Decent?”

Tomas wanted nothing more than to tell the Auror to bugger off and find another charity to practice, but he was hungry, thirsty, and more than a little bored. He pulled the bed linens up to his chin with a half-hearted shrug.

Finnigan’s expression clouded. “Now, we can’t have any of that.”

Tomas shrugged again as the Auror brought a heavily laden tray into the room. “Mind if I join you?”

He placed the tray on the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress. Tomas eyed the food before picking up a crumpet, which was toasted to a turn. “Where did you find these?”

“Oh,” Finnigan said around a mouthful of bacon, swallowing noisily before he continued. “I went to the shop down the street. I didn’t know how to cook most of what you have.”

“Neither do I.” Tomas said. “Padma is the chef; I do carry-out on my nights to cook.”

The two men ate in silence for a moment. Finnigan’s eyes kept darting around the room, taking in the tasteful décor. Tomas sighed, “Ask your questions.”

Finnigan was in the midst of drinking and he gulped the hot liquid too quickly before perching the cup on his knee as he blushed furiously. “I try not t’be that obvious, most of the time.”

“Yes, but you’ve got a real live gay right in front of you,” Tomas said with as much acid as he could summon. The pain from the Muggle operation was making him feel waspish.

Finnigan laughed. “Bulstrode said something, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you mean...” Tomas began, but could not suppress the fluttering of his hands, a sure sign he either was in full diva mode, or was lying.

Seamus said, “Bulstrode doesn’t know everything there is to know about me.”

Tomas pushed back into his pillows, a new quivering pain assaulting him that was nowhere near his incision. Finnigan took a bite of bacon, fascinating Tomas with the movement of his jaw muscles and sensual lips. It was going to be a long week.

&*&*&

Lucius Apparated directly to the villa in a panic. Draco would never forgive him if he had broken the priest. These Muggles were just too fragile.

The priest in question clung to Lucius, his face a strange shade of green, his shaven head dotted with a thick sheen of perspiration. As soon as the priest moaned, Lucius bellowed, “Padma! Dr. Patil!”

Lucius half-carried the man to the futon in his own room, trying to remember the Muggle first-aid that Severus had tried to teach him right after he had assumed the duties with the unfortunate women. He thought that he remembered something about blowing into their mouths. He really did not want to do it, especially with the priest. Who knew what strange yearnings a man who had never had sex might have if Lucius were to kiss him. The man moaned and clutched his gut.

There was nothing for it. Lucius licked his lips trying to make the experience as pleasant as possible for the man, even though he knew he himself would not enjoy it. He leaned over the priest, his lips puckered, emitting a thin stream of air as he did.

Ian’s eyes widened in shock as Lucius’ lips touched his. He pushed weakly at the larger man’s chest.

“For Merlin’s sake Lucius, what in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Padma said as she rushed into the room.

Ian had clawed his way past Lucius’ grasp, a look of shocked outrage on his rapidly flushing face. It created an odd look with the green undertone, Lucius thought.

“He’s ill. I was administering Muggle first aid the way Severus taught me.” Lucius answered, his embarrassment making him defensive. “What’s so bloody wrong with that?”

“Severus taught you to snog someone when they’re ill?” Padma’s voice broke with suppressed mirth.

“I was blowing, wasn’t I, Ian?” Lucius rose abruptly, his anger rising.

The priest laughed weakly, and Padma joined him more heartily. Lucius spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, his pride stung.

He paused outside the room, genuine concern for the man overriding his sense of outrage. “Please just fix him, Doctor. Draco will never forgive me if I’ve broken him.”

He swung the door to his room shut, wishing the leather hinges would give him the satisfying sensations of a good, proper-hinged slam. Lucius went to the library and retrieved his last bottle of Ogdens from behind a book on household spells. He really needed a drink to face the afternoon and Ian Cavanaugh.

&*&*&

Padma had liked the bluff Priest as soon as she had met him during Lucius’ stint under her care in the MICU. She watched him now, struggling against the nausea that enveloped him, and considered her options for his care. Lucius had nothing but ordinary wizarding potions at his villa and a few Hangover Cures that might work in a pinch. Ian retched into a rubbish bin and groaned, “I’ve always gotten ill when I travel. I almost threw up on a Carabiniere in the airport in Rome when I travelled there. It was...ugh...quite embarrassing.”

“What have you taken for the travel sickness?” Padma asked as she watched Father Cavanaugh’s eyes droop, obviously from the drug in his system.

Ian sopped at his brow with a handkerchief. “Something from the chemist’s. It’s in my bag.”

Padma retrieved his medicine and read before replacing the box. “I think I might be able to do something for you, if you don’t mind a little magic.”

“If it helps, please,” he groaned.

Padma cast a Stasis Charm over the man’s inner ear and he moaned at the sudden cessation of the sickening movement. Padma knew the charm would work because she too, suffered from travel sickness, though not as severely as Ian did.

She stood, “Now, just sleep. Once you wake, everything should be back to normal.”

The priest dutifully closed his eyes and Padma left the room. Lucius had told her nothing of Ian’s arrival, and she went in search of the man.

She found him, his long legs spread before him, glass of Ogdens in his hand. He lifted the tumbler to his lips with a quirk of his brow. “I do apologise, Mona Lisa. I was never one to keep my promises.”

She watched him gulp against the fiery trail of the drink, his eyes soulless and cold. She moved into the room and picked up the bottle from beside his feet, trying to suppress her anger and disappointment at his actions. She knew from experience that anger was not what he needed. “Is it that important to you?”

“I suppose so,” Lucius said, as he took another drink. “I drank quite a bit when I was with Narcissa... especially towards the end of the war.”

Padma put the bottle down, and perched on the arm of the chair. “Do you dream?”

“Yes.” He sat forward, nearly unseating her. “Always of... never mind.”

She moved to his lap, situating herself so that most of her body met his torso, her feet perched between his legs. “You know that you have a problem, right?”

Lucius gave a dry chuckle and placed his now empty tumbler on the table next to him. “One of a myriad, but I suppose you’re speaking of the alcohol.”

“Yes.” She put her arm around his shoulders. “I’ve treated more than a few alcoholics, Lucius. It’s not something you want to die from. Please consider getting help.”

“I am,” he answered, and leaned into her arms, placing his head against her shoulder. “My father... he died of drink. I always wondered if I had been a better son...”

She watched as Lucius’ face contorted for a moment before he could mask his pain with the cold persona he had perfected over the years. Padma smoothed her hand over his silky hair. “He beat you.”

Lucius nodded mutely, swallowing against her chest as he did. “Sometimes daily. I vowed to never touch my son and my wife in the way he had... but I failed.”

“You beat Draco?” Padma asked, trying not to think of how many times she had wanted to beat the prat while in school.

“I beat Narcissa, once.” Lucius said. “Then there was the attempted murder.... I never touched Draco. I didn’t have to use a cane to wound him.”

“But your father used one on you...those white scars are from him?” Padma suddenly felt sickened and wanted to heal the hurts of the man she held.

Lucius disregarded her question and said instead, “I continue to disappoint. I am a relic of a bygone era, Mona Lisa. You should allow me to go the way of the dinosaurs.”

Padma kissed his brow, unable to formulate a response that would be anything but pity-filled.

Lucius leaned away from her, his mouth drawn down at the corners as if he were in pain, a suspicious glitter under his pale lashes. “You should leave. Find that young man that was so adamant about marriage and have many children.”

“And you should take care of yourself and worry less about how I use my ovaries,” Padma shot back tartly. “Why is Ian here?”

“Because he... because I am Lucius and I am an alcoholic. I believe that’s how they worded the statement at the shelter.” Lucius spread his fingers out in supplication, as if asking Padma to understand his weakness. “I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how.”

She knew the admission of his need for help cost him more than he was showing. She leaned on his shoulder, liking his warmth against her skin. “You don’t have to do it alone Lucius. Not anymore.”

He encompassed her in his embrace and they just were two people who cared for each other for a moment.

Nothing more was needed.


AN: Magikos okhi My attempt at saying ‘no magic’ in Greek using English script. If you are Greek and I have offended, please forgive me.


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