Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

Chapter Notes: Liz, Toby, Bertie and Ian are all characters from stories posted under tambrathegreat on fanfic.net.

Thanks to Jilliane for her kind review of the first chapter.


Chapter 2: Family Dinner

Two months previous...

After Mass Dinner at the rectory had become a ritual, with Lucius' daughter-in-law, Elspeth Malfoy, presiding in all her pregnant glory while Draco and the two boys danced attendance on her. The two had to call short their honeymoon due to Elspeth's discomfort. 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 not certain that she did not at least have 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 stood, attempting 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 couch. 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's 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 organization with so much power and wealth should do better by its employees not to mention the people Cavanaugh serviced. 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 encrusted 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 Padma 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. Ta!"

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. 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.

78787878

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 own 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 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 dragging at him of lost opportunities and misspent allegiance. 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 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, his new wife and the woman he cheated with, your sister saw the dripping grey 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, at least if she were honest with herself-- and she certainly was not in 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 crushes 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 Gujerati 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 got 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, hunh?" 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, his cheeks 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. The both knew that Maa would have a fit if Padma was 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. 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.


&*&*&


All words 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.

Reviews are welcome like a summer rain on a hot day. Please leave them and let me know what you think.