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Miss Patil Takes a Holiday	By : tambrathegreat Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 3542 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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This story is part of a series posted on fanfic.net under tambrathegreat, beginning with Draco's story and how he came to be married to a Muggle, and ending at this point with a WIP about Snape in America.

The story to date: Lucius was a spy for the Order along with Snape. Dumbledore double-crossed him and hid the papers that would exonerate the entire Malfoy family. Draco spent six years in prison and became a drug addict. He was saved by a Muggle who bore Scorpius. She died. Her brother, a Catholic Priest, related to Snape, took him in and gave Draco a new life. Draco discovered his father's service to the Order, and was able to help get him out with Harry Potter's and Hermione Weasley's help. Lucius tried to kill Narcissa because she asked for a divorce and then tried to commit suicide. He had a stroke and was turned over to the care of Dr. Padma Patil. The two shared a mild flirtation, but Lucius decided to let her find a man who was better than he.

Okay, now, on with the story.
Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

Chapter 1: Raison d'Etre

Lucius had spent his entire parole, all 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 generations of wards had been disassembled by the Ministry, 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. Many had been further desecrated by the aforementioned Muggles. 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 divan 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 that exited the rents that now streaked its surface. 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. The elder 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 cot 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 no longer. 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 anemic wind of late summer.

He paused outside Draco's 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. Lucius strode to the fireplace that dominated the room. He tapped once on the brick with his newly acquired wand, and then said the incantation that Snape had developed for Lucius after he had defected to the Order.

It always boggled Lucius' mind that Snape thought himself pants 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 plaited 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 married and 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.

Lucius 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, 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 Lucius' spine and he readied his wand.

�Who is there?� he asked his voice dry and shaking. It seemed nothing of Lucius held the dark authority he had once commanded.

There was a small pop, and Lucius was greeted by a wizened house elf that had prostrated himself in front of the wizard and was 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 run by Father Ian Cavanaugh, 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 over The Leaky Cauldron. Not that she was keeping tabs on the arrogant prat.

So, 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 betrayer. Her sister had been his partner in the latter. Parvati and Justin were married four months ago and expected their firstborn in six 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, resembling nothing more than an Indian version of Gilderoy Lockhart. His winning smile and waving hair were as fake as Lockharts, 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 poncy Healer and dismissed him entirely. He had cornered her in the powder room of the hotel and attempted to kiss her. Padma left him gasping for breath after she put the skills learned in Ian's self-defence class at the shelter, hoping at the very least 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 �particularly a more mature man, with cool grey eyes and an air of danger-- 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 weren't 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 and 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 gotten to be 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 interest. 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 injuries would have been speedily dealt with by the more traditional Healers, 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 coud 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 odors of her parents' homeland 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 for a private clinic, would be home soon. Padma hoped he wouldn't 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 drink, feeling only a little better about the day's events. 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 bed-springs 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 and 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, still too worn out to change 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 Malkins with a wave of her languid hand.

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

His ex-wife stood, letting the loosely clasped cloak she wore 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, 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 Draco's 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 away. 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 were 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."

Reviews are appreciated, constructive criticism welcomed, and I wouldn't turn down Jason Isaacs if he offered.
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Miss Patil Takes a Holiday