The Once and Future [Fic, Padma/OFC, Rated R]
Title: The Once and Future
Author: ...
Giftee: the Pinch Hitters
Rating: R
Pairings: Padma Patil/OFC
Summary: Padma becomes more involved in Hindu mythology than she had planned.
Padma Patil had always been fascinated with Hindu mythology, but when she discovered the story of Bhagiratha the summer after seventh year she was utterly captivated. The mythology surrounding Bhagiratha told of his benevolence and devotion to his people, to the point of doing penance for one thousand years to obtain the counsel of Lord Brahma, one of the three most powerful deities. Legend has it that after such a long time, Brahma came to Bhagiratha and told him he could ask for anything he desired. Bhagiratha wanted only for the Ganga, the sacred river, to once more flow on Earth. Such selflessness enthralled Padma and made her delve deep into her parents’ collection of folklore to discover more on the altruistic king. Many stories told differing accounts of his heroic and noble deeds.
Padma spent hours poring over old manuscripts, indulging herself in her passion one last time before her parents began her marriage negotiations. They had a few suitors picked out and soon, Padma knew, she and Parvati would be choosing between them for their future husbands. The entire affair would take years, allowing everyone some time to get used to the idea, but Padma was still uneasy. Parvati, however, was practically bouncing with delight. Padma didn’t understand how her slightly younger sister could practice beauty charms for hours, fixing an imagined kink in her hair or an endless smear of her kohl smudged eyes with a demure flick of her wand. It just seemed so pointless. While Parvati preened, Padma hid in the library, up to her armpits in musty scrolls and fragile leaflets, looking for more versions of the travails of her precious Bhagiratha. Her methodic and clinical nature allowed for vast storage and organization of every text and bound book. It kept her sane.
The story that interested her most was an account that actually had little to do Bhagiratha himself. It was said that before he had any children, old King Dilipa died. His death left the country in a state of distress with two widows as his only heirs. His lineage, the royal line of Ayodhya, would end if no heir was produced. More importantly, it was known that the Ayodhya line would eventually birth the great god Vishnu incarnate, who would be called Rama. Therefore, it was of dire importance that the line not be broken. It was said that Dilipa’s two widows had fallen in love and that their passion called to Kama, god of love. Kama blessed the union and helped them conceive. It was in this way that the royal line was continued and Bhagiratha born. Padma felt tingly inside.
Lesbians, there were lesbians in the annals of her religion. Re-reading the passages, Padma felt the iron lock she had subconsciously placed on her heart swing open. With such hard evidence on the page in front of her she could no longer hide her emotions from herself. Looking back, she accepted that her unholy obsession with Glinda from Witch Weekly might have been more that just respect for her writing and that her subtle desire to spend time with Cho Chang might have not been all about her (undisputedly amazing) Transfiguration notes. And that she would never be happy with whichever husband she chose. This realization hit her like a blow, shattering her clinical walls and she cried into her lap, tears soaking her green and white sari.
***
Padma awoke to the melodious sounds of Sanskrit. A rich female voice was lilting over its usually harsh sounds, caressing each syllable and entwining sentences into a melody of a paragraph. Padma knew, even before she opened her eyes, that she was in love. Although she had never experienced the emotion before, the trilling in her heart and the responding glow of her magic bouncing off another person assured her that love was the only possible emotion. She opened her eyes and found herself nose-to-nose with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her delicately kohled eyes fluttered happily to see Padma awake.
“Beloved,” she began, “I was so worried. They said…” she trailed off. “I knew they were wrong. I am just so happy to see your eyes sparkle, not be filmy and dull. You have been delirious with fever for over a week. Ay-ya, I was worried.”
Padma reached out her hand to confirm to herself that this lovely apparition was real, to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t. The woman’s hand was as soft and smooth as shea butter. Her startlingly blue eyes crinkled in delight.
“My love! It is good to see that you are well. You would not believe the lengths of despair I felt when… Dilipa died,” she substituted. Here she pursed her full lips and looked away. “It was thought that it would be suttee for us,” she finished quietly. Suttee, or wife burning, was a rare practice in which the wife (or wives) of a man were burned on his funeral pyre. The women were supposedly so in love that they could not bear to be parted from their husbands, but Padma had read enough to know that this was not always the case. The charming practice of carrying long sticks to prod a widow back on the fire did not indicate a willing subject. Not at all. Padma frowned as she imagined anyone harming the woman kneeling beside her.
“Dear one, don’t frown. You should never spoil such a radiant face. Enjoy the sunshine.” Padma blinked and looked around. The air felt newer than she was used to, a feeling she couldn’t explain but could only describe as lighter, more textured. The perfumes in the air were vibrant and the noises of the household comforting. The sumptuous surroundings caressed her senses and made unable to keep from smiling.
Padma felt restless. The energy floating between them was sparkling and taut. Padma felt electric and her stomach roiled like a hive full of bees. She had no idea what to say.
“Shreya,” she began, desperate to ask her questions of where and who and how. Instead she paused in wonderment.
“Neena,” Padma said. And she knew that was her name. Neena, ‘she of the beautiful eyes’.
“We’re alone, my love,” Neena replied, her blue eyes shading to dark. Padma could no longer restrain herself, so she closed the infinitesimal distance between them and kissed her.
***
Padma recalled flashes of the actual experience, tongues, legs, elbows all rolled together on the cushions, elegant saris bunched on the floor, the pungent scent of sex, Neena’s lips forming a perfect ‘o’. As a Ravenclaw, she was a quick study and had splendidly enjoyed studying all parts of Neena. Neena had passionately returned the favor.
Padma felt as if her soul had finally found its missing half. In its joyous reunion, the joining of their bodies was a mere by-product. Compared to such an intense metaphysical event, everything else became a happy blur. She did recall with utmost clarity however, snuggling afterwards, nuzzling the mounds of Neena’s breasts and mouthing kisses to her collarbone. When Padma’s wandering hands reached her belly, she curled her head to spill sweet nothings into Neena’s ear. Instead, came words that she had never known, never even thought before. Each sound vibrated on her tongue and although the language was foreign, she understood every word.
“Lord Kama, I beseech you,” her voice said, “grace this union with your blessing. Leave her not alone in this world. Please, I pray to you.” With that, a surge of magic flooded the room, racing through them, creating a vortex around Neena’s belly.
And you will call him Bhagiratha, a voice echoed in her mind.
“Bhagiratha,” Padma repeated.
Neena seemed blissfully unaware and only nestled closer.
“What a pretty name,” she sighed, her chattering nature quieted for the moment. She began idly stroking Padma’s fingers.
Padma’s emotions rolled and kicked, and the beginnings of a storm that threatened to overwhelm her. Her attraction to women, this woman in particular, was setting off all kinds of alarms and questions. What would her life look like now? What would she tell her parents? And where exactly was she? Her clinical nature recognized that her body would be shutting off soon to reboot and process. She sighed and made herself comfortable. She had never been privy to such happiness before and she wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, before her frantic thoughts overpowered the memory. Neena had curled her soft body closer, silken hair tickling Padma’s nose. She inhaled the sweet scent and closed her eyes. Such satisfaction seemed too precious to be wasted.
***
Padma awoke to a familiar bed. Her own bed. Without Neena’s warm body beside her, Padma felt bereft. She thought of their child, growing in Neena’s belly. And suddenly knowledge struck her. They were gone, millennia past, and Padma knew no way to return. She thought of her soon-to-be husband and she knew that after Neena, she could never lay in the arms of another. A click of the lock distracted her from her thoughts. It was Parvati.
“The boys are here!” she squealed. “Mother and Papa have brought the first few over for dinner! You must let me do your hair, you’ll look so pretty!” She chittered on for a bit then flitted back to her room, distracted by something shiny. Padma stared heartbrokenly out the window and made her decision.
***
It was summer and the air was hot and sweaty. Bhadraksh stared broodingly out the window, waiting for the Patil girls to come down for dinner. He sat formally, with his back straight and his posture correct. He wasn’t anxious for this, accurately skeptical of any arrangements his parents made for him. He was in love already, though they did not approve, with a girl he had never met. He had met her in a dream and visited her there almost every night. He had no desire to marry another. However, his parents were not known for taking his feelings into account. They had insisted on this dinner and Bhadraksh had no strength to argue. What was one dinner, more or less? As he watched, a radiantly beautiful girl dressed in bridal finery stepped outside. Her hair was twisted in many loops and the mendhi on her hands could only have been done by magic. Her kohl-black eyes shimmered in the late afternoon sun. As he watched, she conjured up a bonfire, the flames fanning high and strong. With a deep breath, the girl walked into the fire, the flame tongues licking her elaborate dress. The hungry fire engulfed her. He heard her cry out once, then her body went up like a torch. Any watcher would have thought the young man in the window had seen a ghost, his startlingly blue eyes fixed to the spot where the girl had been.
* * *
Author’s Note: The story of the two widows is a true Hindu myth. All of the names with the exception of Neena are the factual names of the characters. There is, of course, a deeper story in the mythology and I have diverted it slightly for my own purposes, however I did try to stay true to the original. The present day and Harry Potter characters were (obviously) not in the original.
Sari-Indian wrap dress
Shreya-beautiful
Neena-beautiful eyes
Bhadraksh-one with beautiful eyes
Mendhi- henna hand paint worn by a bride
Kohl- eyeliner
Author: ...
Giftee: the Pinch Hitters
Rating: R
Pairings: Padma Patil/OFC
Summary: Padma becomes more involved in Hindu mythology than she had planned.
Padma Patil had always been fascinated with Hindu mythology, but when she discovered the story of Bhagiratha the summer after seventh year she was utterly captivated. The mythology surrounding Bhagiratha told of his benevolence and devotion to his people, to the point of doing penance for one thousand years to obtain the counsel of Lord Brahma, one of the three most powerful deities. Legend has it that after such a long time, Brahma came to Bhagiratha and told him he could ask for anything he desired. Bhagiratha wanted only for the Ganga, the sacred river, to once more flow on Earth. Such selflessness enthralled Padma and made her delve deep into her parents’ collection of folklore to discover more on the altruistic king. Many stories told differing accounts of his heroic and noble deeds.
Padma spent hours poring over old manuscripts, indulging herself in her passion one last time before her parents began her marriage negotiations. They had a few suitors picked out and soon, Padma knew, she and Parvati would be choosing between them for their future husbands. The entire affair would take years, allowing everyone some time to get used to the idea, but Padma was still uneasy. Parvati, however, was practically bouncing with delight. Padma didn’t understand how her slightly younger sister could practice beauty charms for hours, fixing an imagined kink in her hair or an endless smear of her kohl smudged eyes with a demure flick of her wand. It just seemed so pointless. While Parvati preened, Padma hid in the library, up to her armpits in musty scrolls and fragile leaflets, looking for more versions of the travails of her precious Bhagiratha. Her methodic and clinical nature allowed for vast storage and organization of every text and bound book. It kept her sane.
The story that interested her most was an account that actually had little to do Bhagiratha himself. It was said that before he had any children, old King Dilipa died. His death left the country in a state of distress with two widows as his only heirs. His lineage, the royal line of Ayodhya, would end if no heir was produced. More importantly, it was known that the Ayodhya line would eventually birth the great god Vishnu incarnate, who would be called Rama. Therefore, it was of dire importance that the line not be broken. It was said that Dilipa’s two widows had fallen in love and that their passion called to Kama, god of love. Kama blessed the union and helped them conceive. It was in this way that the royal line was continued and Bhagiratha born. Padma felt tingly inside.
Lesbians, there were lesbians in the annals of her religion. Re-reading the passages, Padma felt the iron lock she had subconsciously placed on her heart swing open. With such hard evidence on the page in front of her she could no longer hide her emotions from herself. Looking back, she accepted that her unholy obsession with Glinda from Witch Weekly might have been more that just respect for her writing and that her subtle desire to spend time with Cho Chang might have not been all about her (undisputedly amazing) Transfiguration notes. And that she would never be happy with whichever husband she chose. This realization hit her like a blow, shattering her clinical walls and she cried into her lap, tears soaking her green and white sari.
***
Padma awoke to the melodious sounds of Sanskrit. A rich female voice was lilting over its usually harsh sounds, caressing each syllable and entwining sentences into a melody of a paragraph. Padma knew, even before she opened her eyes, that she was in love. Although she had never experienced the emotion before, the trilling in her heart and the responding glow of her magic bouncing off another person assured her that love was the only possible emotion. She opened her eyes and found herself nose-to-nose with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her delicately kohled eyes fluttered happily to see Padma awake.
“Beloved,” she began, “I was so worried. They said…” she trailed off. “I knew they were wrong. I am just so happy to see your eyes sparkle, not be filmy and dull. You have been delirious with fever for over a week. Ay-ya, I was worried.”
Padma reached out her hand to confirm to herself that this lovely apparition was real, to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t. The woman’s hand was as soft and smooth as shea butter. Her startlingly blue eyes crinkled in delight.
“My love! It is good to see that you are well. You would not believe the lengths of despair I felt when… Dilipa died,” she substituted. Here she pursed her full lips and looked away. “It was thought that it would be suttee for us,” she finished quietly. Suttee, or wife burning, was a rare practice in which the wife (or wives) of a man were burned on his funeral pyre. The women were supposedly so in love that they could not bear to be parted from their husbands, but Padma had read enough to know that this was not always the case. The charming practice of carrying long sticks to prod a widow back on the fire did not indicate a willing subject. Not at all. Padma frowned as she imagined anyone harming the woman kneeling beside her.
“Dear one, don’t frown. You should never spoil such a radiant face. Enjoy the sunshine.” Padma blinked and looked around. The air felt newer than she was used to, a feeling she couldn’t explain but could only describe as lighter, more textured. The perfumes in the air were vibrant and the noises of the household comforting. The sumptuous surroundings caressed her senses and made unable to keep from smiling.
Padma felt restless. The energy floating between them was sparkling and taut. Padma felt electric and her stomach roiled like a hive full of bees. She had no idea what to say.
“Shreya,” she began, desperate to ask her questions of where and who and how. Instead she paused in wonderment.
“Neena,” Padma said. And she knew that was her name. Neena, ‘she of the beautiful eyes’.
“We’re alone, my love,” Neena replied, her blue eyes shading to dark. Padma could no longer restrain herself, so she closed the infinitesimal distance between them and kissed her.
***
Padma recalled flashes of the actual experience, tongues, legs, elbows all rolled together on the cushions, elegant saris bunched on the floor, the pungent scent of sex, Neena’s lips forming a perfect ‘o’. As a Ravenclaw, she was a quick study and had splendidly enjoyed studying all parts of Neena. Neena had passionately returned the favor.
Padma felt as if her soul had finally found its missing half. In its joyous reunion, the joining of their bodies was a mere by-product. Compared to such an intense metaphysical event, everything else became a happy blur. She did recall with utmost clarity however, snuggling afterwards, nuzzling the mounds of Neena’s breasts and mouthing kisses to her collarbone. When Padma’s wandering hands reached her belly, she curled her head to spill sweet nothings into Neena’s ear. Instead, came words that she had never known, never even thought before. Each sound vibrated on her tongue and although the language was foreign, she understood every word.
“Lord Kama, I beseech you,” her voice said, “grace this union with your blessing. Leave her not alone in this world. Please, I pray to you.” With that, a surge of magic flooded the room, racing through them, creating a vortex around Neena’s belly.
And you will call him Bhagiratha, a voice echoed in her mind.
“Bhagiratha,” Padma repeated.
Neena seemed blissfully unaware and only nestled closer.
“What a pretty name,” she sighed, her chattering nature quieted for the moment. She began idly stroking Padma’s fingers.
Padma’s emotions rolled and kicked, and the beginnings of a storm that threatened to overwhelm her. Her attraction to women, this woman in particular, was setting off all kinds of alarms and questions. What would her life look like now? What would she tell her parents? And where exactly was she? Her clinical nature recognized that her body would be shutting off soon to reboot and process. She sighed and made herself comfortable. She had never been privy to such happiness before and she wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, before her frantic thoughts overpowered the memory. Neena had curled her soft body closer, silken hair tickling Padma’s nose. She inhaled the sweet scent and closed her eyes. Such satisfaction seemed too precious to be wasted.
***
Padma awoke to a familiar bed. Her own bed. Without Neena’s warm body beside her, Padma felt bereft. She thought of their child, growing in Neena’s belly. And suddenly knowledge struck her. They were gone, millennia past, and Padma knew no way to return. She thought of her soon-to-be husband and she knew that after Neena, she could never lay in the arms of another. A click of the lock distracted her from her thoughts. It was Parvati.
“The boys are here!” she squealed. “Mother and Papa have brought the first few over for dinner! You must let me do your hair, you’ll look so pretty!” She chittered on for a bit then flitted back to her room, distracted by something shiny. Padma stared heartbrokenly out the window and made her decision.
***
It was summer and the air was hot and sweaty. Bhadraksh stared broodingly out the window, waiting for the Patil girls to come down for dinner. He sat formally, with his back straight and his posture correct. He wasn’t anxious for this, accurately skeptical of any arrangements his parents made for him. He was in love already, though they did not approve, with a girl he had never met. He had met her in a dream and visited her there almost every night. He had no desire to marry another. However, his parents were not known for taking his feelings into account. They had insisted on this dinner and Bhadraksh had no strength to argue. What was one dinner, more or less? As he watched, a radiantly beautiful girl dressed in bridal finery stepped outside. Her hair was twisted in many loops and the mendhi on her hands could only have been done by magic. Her kohl-black eyes shimmered in the late afternoon sun. As he watched, she conjured up a bonfire, the flames fanning high and strong. With a deep breath, the girl walked into the fire, the flame tongues licking her elaborate dress. The hungry fire engulfed her. He heard her cry out once, then her body went up like a torch. Any watcher would have thought the young man in the window had seen a ghost, his startlingly blue eyes fixed to the spot where the girl had been.
* * *
Author’s Note: The story of the two widows is a true Hindu myth. All of the names with the exception of Neena are the factual names of the characters. There is, of course, a deeper story in the mythology and I have diverted it slightly for my own purposes, however I did try to stay true to the original. The present day and Harry Potter characters were (obviously) not in the original.
Sari-Indian wrap dress
Shreya-beautiful
Neena-beautiful eyes
Bhadraksh-one with beautiful eyes
Mendhi- henna hand paint worn by a bride
Kohl- eyeliner