Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

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Chapter 17: Satellites, Insemination, and Severus Snape... Oh My!



If anyone involved in the saga that had become Lucius Malfoy's bloody Monday had predicted the start of that morning in New York, they would have never thought that it would begin with a massive interruption of all Muggle satellite communications. Even Sybil Trelawney's best prediction would not have had a small house elf on a mission mistakenly casting a powerful spell on a Muggle communications satellite that rebounded off all the others, creating a net of images that spread across the world. A certain blonde-haired, patrician, British woman was caught in flagrante delicto with a rather lusty American man of Italian descent, with a strong Brooklyn accent. It would also not have been predicted that after copious amounts of colourful phrases that the woman uttered, telling the man what, where and how to place certain parts of his anatomy and with how much force, that said woman would stride from the bed, revealing her gloriously nude and heavily gravid frame. In passing, several ambassadors who were working at the UN at the time of the interruption did wish that their wives, and in one case, current mistress, had retained their beauty the same way that this glowing British rose had during her pregnancy.

The next turn that Monday morning took was that said woman, who was rapidly approaching middle age, attached herself like a limpet to the impossibly young Italian-American man as he strode about in equally naked glory, and then exposed to him that the children she carried, twins, were not his. That she had, in fact, utilised some sperm stored by her ex-husband during the first war (to this, most Muggles watching shrugged) in the event that he did not produce an heir before his death. The blonde woman had liberated said biological material from her Healer's storage by the nefarious use of a former servant (said as house elf, but again overlooked by the Muggles) and a very terrifying threat of punishment to the same creature. The unenviable state of two eggs being incubated within her frame resulted from injudicious use of fertility drugs prescribed by a (Muggle) physician with few scruples and a gambling problem. The young man whinged appropriately and said he would not raise some other man's bastard children, to which the blonde replied, that he would not have to once the child support issue was settled. She would simply find an appropriate orphanage in which to place the brats, and they could trot off to Rio as planned.

At that pronouncement, any support the aforementioned blonde might have garnered from the various rabid feminists and embittered current or ex-spouses of rich bastards with too much money and too little sense, was lost, and the very fickle public turned against her. Jerry Springer, the American tabloid host and freak show barker, could not have produced a better programme than the one in which Narcissa Black-Malfoy was now involved. Springer, incidentally, concurrent with the conversation, began phoning various talent agents, asking how he might be able to book said woman, her current infantile paramour, and the as yet unknown ex-husband.

More sex ensued between the woman and the infant, this time with body parts uncovered on the kitchen table, and a rather dubious reaction to the man's performance. The FCC chief was, at that juncture, pulling tufts of hair out of his head, screaming at various broadcasting companies about the nature of their programming, and fielding calls from furious government officials. At one point he was contacted by no less than seven outraged heads of rather conservative states, and at least fifteen religious leaders, including His Holiness, the Pope. By 8:30 in the morning, the poor chief had nearly overdosed on physician prescribed acid reducers and Tums.

At this same time in New York, it was six hours later in London, and one Draco Malfoy, who had stayed home from work to assist his wife with their latest bundle of joy, boredly flipped on their Muggle television set as his wife slept. He was wishing that a wizard had invented something like this nearly magical box for his world, when he caught sight of his mother, in circumstances that made him want to gouge his eyes out and then Incendio the portion of his brain that retained the image. Once recovered, and remembering the odd statement his father had made about a business trip to the states the day following his daughter's birth, Draco made a frantic firecall to Severus Snape, begging him to find Lucius Malfoy in New York City before Unforgivables thrown or blood was spilt. He wanted his children to know at least one of their grandparents, preferably outside the walls of an American prison.

Lucius, at the beginning of this particularly ill-fated Monday, was waiting in a holding cell at the Port Authority, having to explain, yet again, that he had been cleared of all charges relating to his unfortunate association with a certain Dark Lord, and that the Dark Mark he bore meant little more than an embarrassing youthful blunder. The bored Port Authority worker, a Squib who had the unenviable job of dealing with an increasingly irate Malfoy, took his statement, nodding periodically and making the appropriate noises, but seemed distracted by a little screen on a Muggle device he carried. Lucius, whose wand had been confiscated until he was allowed to exit the drab facility, itched to provide the Squib with some incentive to get him out of the dingy white cell, even as he knew that incentive would also prove that Lucius' Dark Mark was more than a youthful indiscretion.

It was ten by the time that Lucius was able to convince the various authorities that he posed no threat to the safety of the American citizens or its government. He was given back his wand, and set free without even an apology for the inconvenience. American savages, he thought viciously. If he had been a man who cursed, he might have let loose a string of expletives to rival his daughter-in-law's from the day before. He proceeded to the appointed Apparation node and left New Jersey's foetid air for the equally intoxicating ether of New York City.

He entered Times Square, discommoded by the stench of traffic and the crush of bodies both magical and Muggle. Lucius had never liked large gatherings of milling Muggle humanity unless he could curse his way through them. He did note that most of the mob's attention was focused on a rather large screen situated on the side of a building. Having rarely been exposed to that particular form of Muggle inanity, he did not pay attention to the images. That was until, after a brief glance up, he noted the similarity of one of the participants in the rather seedy drama unfolding on the screen that dominated the square, to his ex-wife. It was then that he felt the first throbbing of true, bone-deep, white-lipped rage. He had not felt such strength of emotion since his darling wife had engineered the divorce in such a spectacular manner in Azkaban... and now this...

The bitch.

The whore.

The walking dead woman.

&*&*&

Dibby was dismayed by the reaction of the spell on the Mugglish technology. He had never dreamt that their magic was so fragile. He cast several spells to end the fiasco once he realised that his aims were not being met. His former Master would never see Old Mistress on Mugglevision. When the last spell leapt from his body, he then saw his error. The Mugglevision sky-lights were reflective, and each spell cast caused the reflection to increase. Dibby folded his ears down against his body as the first of the Apparations occurred around him in the field beside the stink-infested, American-Italian jet-animal stables.

"You are bid by the Council of American Brownies to answer for your attack," the tallest, furriest creature said.

Dibby feared American Brownies. They were house elves that had decided to stay after the thirteenth amendment mistakenly freed all slaves in the country, including those magically bound. Decent house elves, house elves with pure breeding and no native sprite or leprechaun blood, had returned to the Europe to serve true masters. A master would keep the house elf tendency to be bossy and interfering under control with the ironing of ears and enforced servitude. Brownies were bad, bad creatures that were lawless and demanded bribes from humans. They bought their own clothes and expected to be paid. What shameful elves they were.

Dibby stood straighter, his nose lifted as he had seen both Old Master and Old-old Master address other humans, and said in his best continental elvish, "Dibby is serving the House of Mistress Doctor Patil. If the Brownies want to speak to Dibby, they will have to do it through Dibby's Mistress."

The tallest, furriest Brownie clapped his hands together and several of the base creatures flanking Dibby, grappled him to the ground, smearing his face into the marshy, chemical smelling dirt. Dibby fought, but could not free himself. They had used Native Magic on him.

"Very well," the biggest elf said, “you will come with us, and wait in the dungeons of New York while we fetch your Mistress."

A female, who was part goblin, if Dibby could tell by her ugliness, stepped forward, if Dibby could tell from her ugliness, and with a wave of her hand, dispelled Dibby's reflective magic. She turned to the big elf and said sourly through pointy teeth, "It is stopped, but the images will take some time to dispel. This is a strong little guy, even if he is a slave."

&*&*&

Padma tried to get through her day in her usually serene manner, but with the hormones running through her veins and the emotional turmoil of the previous day, she ended up snapping at the mediwitches assigned to her and fumbling through consults. It was well past lunch, she was still nauseous, and was becoming dizzy either from lack of sleep, or from the absence of food. Possibly it was both.

Padma finally retreated to do her paperwork for the day when she made a young intern cry for eating in the ward. She had attempted to smooth feathers, but had given up as the girl, fresh out of medical school, wailed louder over her apologies.

She pulled out the drawer to her desk and searched for the crisps that she had stashed there Friday before she left for the day. They were vinegar and salt and seemed to be the only things she could keep down. She located the bag and opened it, pulling out a handful of the greasy slices and cramming them into her mouth. They were stale, but edible.

She was busily munching away when the door swung open and a familiar black head popped through. "Padma, darling, aren't you through with work yet? You need to conserve your strength for my adopted niece or nephew."

"Shut it, Tomas," Padma replied around a mouthful of crisps spewing crumbs as she spoke. She swallowed hastily and asked, "Why are you off work so early?"

"We're slow, and I have no paperwork to fill out." Tomas shrugged. "Seamus came by and invited us to eat at his Mum's tonight."

"No." Padma answered. "No. I will not be a buffer between you and his mother again. You remember the last dinner we had. No. I 'm not in any shape to do it, not now."

Tomas flopped into the chair across from her desk, crushing the papers on it as he did. "Please. I was there for you, and there was violence at your gathering."

"She tried to convert me, Tomas, and that was after she accused you of turning her son gay." Padma wiped her greasy fingers on her lab coat then turned her attention to the stack of transcription she needed to read through. "At least with my family you gave as good as you got. I had to just sit there and smile."

Tomas laughed just as the crying intern knocked and the pops of Apparation were heard just outside Padma's door. He stood, wand drawn, as Padma did the same. The door blasted open, and two strange, house elf-looking beings grabbed both Tomas and Padma. They waved their fingers and stunned both Healer and physician. Padma could hear the shriek of the crying intern just as the creature that held her Apparated.

&*&*&

Lucius had just cast a Point Me spell, hoping that in the mass of humanity, that Narcissa's magical signature could be recognised. He waited as the spell's argent line exited his wand and began glowing in an easterly direction.

He began walking, knowing that the flat she occupied had to be closer than a mile for the spell to work. It was as he crossed the street that he became aware of the tingling feeling of a Point Me spell directed at him. He side-stepped a rather dazzling young woman in walking shoes and a Dolce suit and turned, his wand ready.

He paused, stunned at the sight of Severus Snape stumping toward him with a cane, his Muggle coat billowing behind him like the best of his old Death Eater robes. The man had a way with clothes, Lucius would give him that. A dark-skinned, Asiatic-looking young man with plaited hair followed behind him, black eyes darting around sharply at the scenery. If Lucius hadn't known Severus for so many years, he might have mistaken the younger man for a relative of his old friend. The two older men stared at each other for some moments, both reluctant to break the years of silence between them. A yellow taxi honked, causing Lucius to jerk forward slightly. He silenced the noise with a well-placed spell, and waited for Severus to approach.

Several more horns sounded, and the original irritant poked his head out of the side of the car. "Hey, buddy, get outta the way! We got places to go."

Snape drew abreast of Lucius and reached out with a shaking hand. "Lucius, old man."

Lucius took the offered hand and clasped it as if it were a lifeline holding him above water. He felt his eyes stinging and he nodded mutely. He could not fit words over the lump forming in his throat. Severus, whose eyes were also suspiciously damp, said, "We are obstructing traffic. Let's find a pub so we might talk."

Once across the street, Severus stopped. "I would like you to meet my son, Joseph Red Horse. We call him Joseph Pony to distinguish him from his father. Joseph Pony, this is Lucius Malfoy, an old associate of mine."

"Nice to meet you," the younger man said, with sharp nod. "Dad's told me a lot about you."

Lucius pulled a face, finally able to get past the warring dichotomy of his emotions, the roiling rage mixing with a sickening dismay at Severus' appearance and his true happiness at seeing his friend alive. Lucius finally choked out, "None of it good, I suppose."

Red Horse's teeth flashed white in his dark face. "Nah, just funny stories, you know."

"I surmise that my son contacted you, Severus." Lucius began looking about the street for a likely place to get rid of his old friend. It would not do for him to be involved in any way in Narcissa's murder.

Severus answered softly, "He did. He was concerned you might do something hasty given the nature of the television programming this morning."

"How did he know?" Lucius asked.

The young man answered, "Everyone does. Whatever spell was used broadcast the whole morning on Muggle television all over the world."

Lucius laughed, at first ruefully, but then with greater mirth. He suspected he knew who, or at least what creature, was responsible for the unmasking of his ex-wife. If he ever saw Dibby again, he would provide him with anything his heart desired and then hex him thoroughly.

As the three men began walking to a storefront that promised refreshments and food, Severus stumbled. The younger man slowed, a fleeting look of pain passing across his features. He steadied Severus by surreptitiously placing his hand at his elbow. "Dad, slow down, you know I don't walk as fast as you."

Red Horse's solicitude brought a scowl to Snape's face but no more. Lucius smirked. Had the younger man said the same thing when Lucius was better acquainted with his hold friend, wands would have been drawn and hexes exchanged. Perhaps Severus had mellowed with age.

They entered the dim interior of a pub that seemed to be the twin of the Leaky Cauldron except for the Muggle television, which incidentally was no longer showing "The Narcissa Malfoy Show." Instead, a stern-faced news-presemter recapped the day's events. Lucius scowled as he saw a Muggle still-shot of Narcissa's face flash across the screen. Severus, leaning heavily on the cane, said in his driest tone, "I see that your lovely ex-wife is well, Lucius."

"Sod off," Lucius spat. He smelled the ambrosial fumes coming from the bar, even over the odour of stale beer and smoke, and wished he had not given up drink.

Severus merely chuckled as he found a booth in which to sit. Lucius and Red Horse followed him.

"So, Lucius, tell me what brought your life to this very odd turn of events." Severus' dry delivery belied his concern. "Joseph Pony, would you please fetch me a Coca Cola, and you, Lucius, your usual?"

"No," Lucius demurred. "I no longer indulge."

Severus' eyes glittered like two black diamonds but he said nothing. Lucius remembered several rather heated conversations during the last months of the war that Severus had mounted attempting to warn him of his addiction. "Please fetch Lucius a mineral water."

"Sure," the young man answered, as Severus slid paper currency across the table to his son. The young man flashed a bright smile at him. "How long you want me to take to get it?"

"Until you fetch it, Joseph Pony. Now off with you."

Lucius, hearing the note of humour in his old friend's voice, commented, "This country has changed you for the better, I see."

"I no longer have to deal with dunderheads and Dark Lords," Severus answered as he watched his son reach the bar. "We are not here to discuss my life, Lucius. Tell me how you and Narcissa came to this pass, and why it is being broadcast on Muggle television."

Lucius sagged, his fury finally fully abated. He stared ahead dumbly as Red Horse returned to the table bearing three drinks. The young man sat a clear beverage in front of Lucius then took his seat by Severus, lounging with his long legs sprawled before him. He knocked Lucius' booted foot with his and murmurred a terse-lipped apology, his expression assessing.

Lucius coloured. "You should probably know before I begin, that I have impregnated one of your former students. Accidentally."

Red Horse snorted but wisely refrained from comment. Severus' lips thinned so much they almost vanished. Lucius toyed with the glass in front of him. Severus had always been Lucius' conscience, even during the darkest, first days of servitude to the Dark Lord. He had always assumed, given his final assignment from Albus Dumbledore, that Severus was quite protective of all the students that had been under his auspices. He would mostly likely disapproved of Lucius' near paedophilia. Lucius was older than Mona Lisa's father, he had found out that much about her family. He wondered now, what he could have been thinking, even as he yearned for the woman in question.

Lucius glanced up to confirm the disaproval in his old friend's eyes. Severus inclined his head. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning, Lucius."

Severus folded his hands on top of the table. It was then that Lucius noticed how gnarled and twisted they were. No doubt his old friend's service to his two masters was responsible for the ravaged appearance of his body.

Lucius gathered his thoughts as he took a long sip of the water before him. Once done, he answered, "As you know, my family and I were incarcerated after the war…”


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