Third Time's a Charm - a gift for bk03
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Title: Third Time's a Charm
Author: writersblock76 (pinch-hitter)
Gift for: bk03
Pairing: Harry Potter/Padma Patil
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3737
Summary: Padma wonders if perhaps, when it comes to Harry, the timing will never be right.
A/N: Many thanks to my beta and brainstorming helpers. I really hope you like this, bk03!
Oliver Wood's birthday. Padma isn't sure how she ended up coming, except that it had something to do with Parvati not wanting to seem too desperate by coming without a date. But she also didn't want to seem unavailable by coming with an actual date. Off Again Oliver. That's what Padma calls him, though it makes her sister crazy, because it seems like those two are on the outs more often than they're actually dating.
But as much as she hates to admit it, Padma actually likes Oliver when Parvati isn't spending half the night crying over him in the loo, which is many times, admittedly, because Parvati has started an argument over something tiny. Her poor, high strung sister. Oliver's a nice guy, though, and when he's around, she can almost understand what her sister sees in him. She certainly can't offer up advice on how to do the dating thing better, because she's not even had one in nearly a year now. It's her fault, first because her job is quite demanding, and second because she's not terribly interested any anyone she's met.
Well, except for him, but Padma thinks there's almost no chance of that happening anyway.
The flat is quite a bit bigger than hers, and she remembers thinking, the first time she went there, that she'd never find anyone she knew. She's visited a few times outside of party situations, and even then the size of it has been overwhelming at times. Professional Quidditch can buy a lot of spacial enhancement charms, apparently. More than Healing, and she is paid pretty well for her age and subsequent rank at St. Mungo's, so that's saying something.
"You want to get drinks?" Parvati says, her eyes already searching the room. "I'll just go find Oliver so we can wish him a happy birthday, yeah?"
Padma doesn't even have time to answer, but that's nothing new. She's used to her sister's anxiousness to see him, and she's almost envious of it sometimes. It would be nice to have something other than her job that she could look forward to that much.
Sighing a bit at the thought, she helps herself to some punch, even though she's almost certain it will be laced with something much stronger than she usually likes to drink. If she takes it slow, she'll be all right. Many nights spent discussing Wizengamot politics over a bottle of firewhiskey--or other liquor of the night--with her old Ravenclaw housemates have taught her how to be able to drink almost anything without going overboard. The punch is sweet and fruity, so she trusts it even less.
"Oliver knows how to throw a party, yeah?"
She turns at the sound of the voice, already feeling her face grow warm. Thank goodness the lights are dimmed, because he's the last person she wants to see her blushing like this. "Hi, Harry," she says, taking a sip of her drink just to give her a moment to think. "They're certainly big."
He laughs a little, leaning back against a piece of furniture near him and looking at her. "Not quite as nice as a night at the pub with your mates, but nicer than those Ministry galas we all seem to get drawn into every year."
"Well, I typically prefer a quiet night at home with a few mates, but we're definitely agreed on the galas." She smiles at him, glad that the conversation is flowing easily. It doesn't always, and that's mostly because she has trouble making eye contact, with getting distracted by her thoughts of what could be said rather than what is.
It also doesn't hurt that she thinks he's grown up to be perhaps the handsomest wizard she's ever met. It's amazing how much five years can change one's school age perceptions.
"No, those are definitely nice, too," Harry says, nodding and smiling even more now. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then adds, "It's been a long time since I've had friends over, actually. Not since Hermione and I broke up."
Padma nods, because she remembers that last time he had friends over, or at least the last time she was invited. His house is big, even without spacial enhancement charms, and it has a sort of old Pureblood creepiness to it, even though he's done a lot of work on it over the years. She's seen him since then, of course, but that night sticks in her mind, because it was the first time she ever thought of him as anything other than a friend. He is a friend, albeit one she doesn't see as often as she'd like--bloody work schedules--but she's aware of things she never was before. The way his hair falls across his forehead just so, and how it's completely unintentional. The difference between his genuine smile and the one he uses for conversations with his "fans"--not the Quidditch ones, because those get his real smile, but the ones who think of him as The Boy Who Lived and still won't leave him alone even now, so many years after the war's end.
She's getting the genuine smile right now, but her own lips twitch uncontrollably for a minute as her brain latches on to the last bit of his statement.
"You and Hermione broke up?" she says, proud of herself for sounding relatively even-toned and, well, sane.
"Almost a year ago now," he says, nodding. He must notice her look of confusion, because he adds, "We're still friends, still go out together and do things. Dating her was just...er, a bit more complicated than I can handle. And I guess I was the same for her."
Padma can understand this, though she opts not to voice her agreement. She likes Hermione, but sometimes she thinks the other witch makes Parvati look positively laid back. She isn't sure what there could be about Harry that would be too complicated, though. His fame might be challenging at times, perhaps, but Hermione is virtually as famous herself these days.
Harry looks rather uncomfortable with the topic, as he's shifting his weight and rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. She starts to change it, to ask how the new season is going, how Ron is doing, if he ever finished those last renovations on Grimmauld Place, but he speaks again before she can.
"Been thinking about trying to date again, actually," he says, glancing up at her before focusing on his feet again. "Just hard to know sometimes who only likes me for my fame, and, you know--" He looks up at her again. "--who doesn't."
Her throat feels suddenly dry, and she takes a bigger drink of her punch than she intends. This time she tastes the alcohol, can feel it, and she coughs suddenly and forcefully, eyes watering at the strength of it. Harry's immediately at her side, patting her back and asking if she's all right, and Padma does her best to assure him she's fine, even though she can't exactly talk for a moment. Her throat is on fire, and it also doesn't help that Harry's arm is around her. Neither is conducive to coherent speech.
When she finally manages to stop coughing, he steps back a little, but one hand is still on her arm. "Well, it wasn't exactly my plan to have you crying over me," he says with a little laugh, watching her even though he doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Maybe I can make it up to you?"
Her breath seems to freeze in her chest, because she knows that he's going to ask her on a date. The signs are there, in his words and body language, and she can hardly believe this is happening. She doesn't even know if they'll actually make a good couple or not, and there's something a little scary about that idea anyway, but Merlin does she want to try it.
"Harry, mate! Glad you could come!"
Padma stares in disbelief as Oliver--On Again at the moment, if Parvati's smile is any indication--comes up and claps Harry on the shoulder and starts chatting. Her sister gives her a questioning look, but then she's pulled into the conversation as well. Padma smiles and nods as best she can, sipping slowly on her drink and trying to ignore the twisted feeling in her stomach.
There are only two things that console her. First, that Parvati at least won't be moping for a few weeks. And second, that she thinks Harry might just look a little red in the face.
***
"Parvati, I fail to see--"
"Shh!" snaps Parvati, her eyes barely blinking, focused on something unseen in front of them.
Padma raises an eyebrow, searching for something that could possibly deserve the solemnity her sister has bestowed upon it, but all she sees is a large plot of grass. Well, she sees a Quidditch pitch, of course, but at the moment there is nothing visible except the stands and a lot of soggy grass and mud leftover from the previous night's rain. It is far too early in the morning to be outside and still bloody freezing, yet the other has refused to explain why they are making the trip.
Just as Padma is going to attempt her round of questioning again, there is a flurry of activity across the pitch at the base of the other stands. She realises belatedly that the team's changing rooms are probably down there, and she glances at her sister one more time before focusing on the players as they come out onto the grass. All are carrying brooms, but while their clothing is similar in style, they don't precisely match.
Practice time, then.
She groans. "You brought me to see a Quidditch practice." Then something dawns on her. "Merlin, Parvati, is this Puddlemere's pitch?"
When the other witch doesn't answer, Padma groans again. Her eyes immediately roam the players again, and sure enough, she's able to pick Off Again Oliver out of the group. She can't help rolling her eyes. She's been hoping that this was a work-related excursion, some article Parvati has been assigned to write for Witch Weekly, but now Padma knows it's just another excuse for her sister to torture herself.
"Please tell me you didn--" Then she stops, her jaw hanging slightly open as she catches sight of another familiar face in the crowd, one that she doesn't expect to see.
Parvati grins over at her. "Now you understand."
Understand? Yes. Still want to murder her sister for her scheming ways? Absolutely.
"I didn't know Harry played for Puddlemere," Padma says, hating her voice for sounding so strange.
"Today's his first day. Transfer just went through."
Padma doesn't bother to ask how she's gotten this information. When it comes to Quidditch gossip, Oliver Wood, and doing things merely to get under Padma's skin for fun, Parvati is the expert. Still, it bothers her that she doesn't know already. She doesn't have her sister's obsessive tendencies, but she's spent more time thinking about Harry since Oliver's birthday than she cares to admit. They've seen each other a few times since, though always in groups, and she wonders why he hasn't mentioned it.
The players don't seem to notice the two spectators as they confer on the ground and then kick off into the air. Harry makes a couple of wide circles around the group, his broom pitching almost wildly, climbing and diving, swerving and looping, before he finally comes to rest several metres from his nearest teammate. Below, the coach opens a large case and releases the Bludgers, then tosses the Quaffle to one of the players, yelling something Padma can't understand. Finally, he plucks the Snitch from its spot and holds it in his hand for a moment before releasing it. It flutters briefly in front of him, and then it's gone.
Quidditch isn't exactly her favourite pastime--not even in the top ten, really--but Padma doesn't mind it, either. Attending matches back in school was fun, and she's gone to a few since then as well, either with Parvati or Lisa, her one friend who seems to be obsessed with the game rather than the players. She hates that, at the moment, she seems to fall in the latter category, her eyes following Harry's every move. There's something delicate about the way he handles his broom. One tiny shift of his body, and suddenly he's zooming in a different direction, hunting for his target. It is a bit breathtaking and puts her mind to what else he could accomplish with those sorts of moves.
Padma ignores her sister's knowing smirk.
She is still surprised when the scrimmage is still going two hours later, the Snitch having eluded Harry the whole time, that she hasn't started to get restless. There are actually other bits that are interesting, too. The way the Chasers seem to have a pattern that they fly around the others, adjusting based on Beaters' moves. One of these seems to have a rather kamikaze style, contrasting greatly against his partner, who almost looks graceful with her bat. It's strange that she's never noticed things like this before, as she's been to several Puddlemere games.
"Oh!" comes a startled cry to her left. She looks at Parvati, but the other only nods at something on the other side of Padma. Turning, she makes a little noise of her own, surprised to see the Snitch fluttering not even an arm's length away from her. As she stares at it, the little ball bobs in the air a bit but doesn't fly away.
She should call for Harry, Padma thinks, alert him to his mark. But then it will probably just skitter away and disappear again. And she's intrigued by the way it is hovering there, as if looking at her. She's never seen one this close before, and the urge to reach out and touch it is almost overwhelming. Her hand twitches, then goes back down to her lap. She chances a glance at Parvati, who is watching her expectantly, and when she looks back, it is still there.
Keeping her movements slow, she reaches for it and feels her heart beat a little quicker in her chest when she feels it in her palm. She clutches it like one would a butterfly, afraid of injuring its delicate wings, though she knows from watching previous games that this little Snitch is anything but delicate.
"Never seen anything like that..." mutters Parvati.
Padma nods her agreement, eyes focused on her lightly closed fist, now resting in her lap. The Snitch flutters its wings but otherwise doesn't fight against her grip.
She hears someone clearing his throat near her and looks up, almost jumping to see Harry perched on his broom directly in front of her, looking at her rather strangely. He holds out his hand, expression shifting slightly. If she isn't mistaken, the corners of his lips are twitching ever so slightly.
Breathing is suddenly very difficult. She's probably staring, but she feels more unable to move than a few moments before. Even sweaty and windblown, Harry really is handsome.
"Letting birds do your job now, Potter?" calls Oliver, and there are laughs coming from the pitch as well.
It's only then that Padma remembers the Snitch clutched in her fingers. Feeling a warm flush spread across her face, she places the little ball in Harry's outstretched palm. His hand closes briefly around hers, making sure he has a firm hold on it before releasing her.
"Sorry," she murmurs, so low that she isn't even sure he can hear her.
Harry only grins at her, pausing for another half second before shaking his head and shooting back off toward his teammates.
"Merlin, you've got it bad. Worse even than I thought," Parvati says, laughing. "And all these years you've laughed at my fondness for Quidditch players. Not so silly when you fancy the bloke off the pitch, too, is it?"
For once, Padma can think of no argument.
***
By the time a few weeks have passed, she's put the whole thing entirely out of her mind. Well, out of the part of her thoughts she'll admit to having, at least. She is on a strange shift at the hospital anyway, substituting in the Sports Injuries ward while a fellow Healer is out on maternity leave, and it has thrown her sleep schedule far enough off that she has little free time for daydreaming.
So when she turns the corner and sees Harry perched on the exam table in Room 3A, Padma thinks for half a second that she's fallen asleep on the job. Luckily, he doesn't see her at first, and she has time to compose herself. Which primarily involves lifting her jaw from the floor. "Hello, Harry," she says in a cross between a friendly tone and the one she reserves for patients. "So you're the reason there was a whole gaggle of giggling interns at the other end of the hall."
His head snaps around at the sound of her voice. "Oh, Padma! Er, what are you do--I mean, I know you work here, of course, but what--" He pauses for a breath, looking rather sheepish. "Should I be calling you Healer Patil?"
"Of course not."
She pulls out her wand and murmurs a few words as she waves it, and when its tip glows green, she smiles and nods. No adverse magical effects lingering from the last patient. Not strictly protocol, as the last Healer would have checked himself, but it never hurts. And she needs a moment to gather her thoughts
"What are you in for?" she asks, pulling the scroll that contains his medical records from the slot by the door, unfurling the last few inches of it without actually reading. She watches him instead.
"Check up," Harry says, looking so unlike the confident Quidditch player that it was a little surreal. His cheeks are a bit pink. "For, erm, a broken tail bone."
Padma's lips twitches. "So what you're telling me is that you're here so I can examine your arse, then."
His reply is mumbled, barely readable as assent. She can't hold back her laugh as she steps up to him, wand raised. He doesn't look afraid--she's seen fear on a lot of faces, Harry's included, and this isn't it--but he definitely seems wary. It isn't an uncommon reaction from patients, but she's assumed he is used to this sort of thing by now, considering the number of times he'd landed himself in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Of course, then it wasn't a female friend who is threatening to make him drop his trousers.
Harry rises slightly off the table, but Padma puts a hand on his shoulder. "No worries, Harry. Just a basic diagnostic. I'm sure the Healer in the emergency ward wanted to be sure sitting on a broom all day didn't affect the healing. It's very important chain of bones, you know."
"Yeah, that's right," he says, nodding and looking relieved as he settles back into his seat. "That's what he said."
Padma casts a few spells, jotting notes on the patient record as she goes. There don't seem to be any issues, based on her surface scan. For anyone else, this would be sufficient, as sitting in an office chair is the most strenuous activity most tail bones would be likely to see on the average day. But for Harry, she wants to be sure.
"Go ahead and lie down on your stomach." It is pretty easy to ignore where she's waving her wand, all things considered. She's used to detaching a bit from her sensibilities in order to serve a patient without discrimination. As she continues the tests, she asks, "Do I even want to know how you managed to break your tail bone in the first place?"
"Bloody Pendleton," Harry mutters. She can tell it's an explanation, but it sounds almost like a curse. "He's on the reserve team, though Merlin knows why. Should be coaching kiddie Quidditch in the park on Sunday afternoons. But instead the tosser decides that it'd be a brilliant idea to try out a Wronski Feint in the middle of Quaffle drills, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground with a broken arse. And he's a bloody Beater! Why's he's need to Feint anyway?"
"Envy?" she says, smiling a little. It's a compliment, and she means it that way, but she hopes it's more funny than obvious.
He looks up at her, a bit sheepish. "Sorry, didn't mean to go on."
"You can go ahead and sit up," Padma says, patting him on the shoulder out of habit. She sits down on a nearby stool and begins to jot more notes on the parchment. "I don't mind," she adds without looking up. "You might be surprised at the number of Quidditch stories I've heard in this ward."
And besides, your stories are always interesting, she wants to add, but manages to refrain.
"I didn't know you liked Quidditch." It almost sounds like a question. "I was sort of surprised to see you. You know, at that practice a few weeks ago."
Padma laughs a little. "Parvati dragged me." After about half a second of pause, she realises that it might sound like she hadn't wanted to be there. Which she hadn't, but she doesn't want him to know that. And besides, she's changed her mind, and he actually wasn't the only reason she enjoyed herself. "I don't mind Quidditch. I'm not nearly as obsessed as my sister, mind you, but it was fun."
"Have dinner with me," Harry blurts. It's a statement, but again, it feels like a question, even if it was completely unexpected. "Sorry, I--"
"Okay," Padma says, looking up at him. She isn't sure where the word comes from, but her brain seizes onto it before he could try and take the invitation back, or worse, they could be interrupted. She glances at the door.
"What?" he says, frowning a bit.
"Oh, no!" she says at the expression on his face, which looks either annoyed at himself for opening his mouth or disappointed at her answer and subsequent reaction. She gestures vaguely at the area outside the exam room. "Just wondering if Oliver is lurking out there somewhere and just missed his chance to interrupt."
A crooked sort of smile creeps onto his face. "Okay. Good then," he says, then clears his throat. "So...how's my arse?"
Title: Third Time's a Charm
Author: writersblock76 (pinch-hitter)
Gift for: bk03
Pairing: Harry Potter/Padma Patil
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3737
Summary: Padma wonders if perhaps, when it comes to Harry, the timing will never be right.
A/N: Many thanks to my beta and brainstorming helpers. I really hope you like this, bk03!
Oliver Wood's birthday. Padma isn't sure how she ended up coming, except that it had something to do with Parvati not wanting to seem too desperate by coming without a date. But she also didn't want to seem unavailable by coming with an actual date. Off Again Oliver. That's what Padma calls him, though it makes her sister crazy, because it seems like those two are on the outs more often than they're actually dating.
But as much as she hates to admit it, Padma actually likes Oliver when Parvati isn't spending half the night crying over him in the loo, which is many times, admittedly, because Parvati has started an argument over something tiny. Her poor, high strung sister. Oliver's a nice guy, though, and when he's around, she can almost understand what her sister sees in him. She certainly can't offer up advice on how to do the dating thing better, because she's not even had one in nearly a year now. It's her fault, first because her job is quite demanding, and second because she's not terribly interested any anyone she's met.
Well, except for him, but Padma thinks there's almost no chance of that happening anyway.
The flat is quite a bit bigger than hers, and she remembers thinking, the first time she went there, that she'd never find anyone she knew. She's visited a few times outside of party situations, and even then the size of it has been overwhelming at times. Professional Quidditch can buy a lot of spacial enhancement charms, apparently. More than Healing, and she is paid pretty well for her age and subsequent rank at St. Mungo's, so that's saying something.
"You want to get drinks?" Parvati says, her eyes already searching the room. "I'll just go find Oliver so we can wish him a happy birthday, yeah?"
Padma doesn't even have time to answer, but that's nothing new. She's used to her sister's anxiousness to see him, and she's almost envious of it sometimes. It would be nice to have something other than her job that she could look forward to that much.
Sighing a bit at the thought, she helps herself to some punch, even though she's almost certain it will be laced with something much stronger than she usually likes to drink. If she takes it slow, she'll be all right. Many nights spent discussing Wizengamot politics over a bottle of firewhiskey--or other liquor of the night--with her old Ravenclaw housemates have taught her how to be able to drink almost anything without going overboard. The punch is sweet and fruity, so she trusts it even less.
"Oliver knows how to throw a party, yeah?"
She turns at the sound of the voice, already feeling her face grow warm. Thank goodness the lights are dimmed, because he's the last person she wants to see her blushing like this. "Hi, Harry," she says, taking a sip of her drink just to give her a moment to think. "They're certainly big."
He laughs a little, leaning back against a piece of furniture near him and looking at her. "Not quite as nice as a night at the pub with your mates, but nicer than those Ministry galas we all seem to get drawn into every year."
"Well, I typically prefer a quiet night at home with a few mates, but we're definitely agreed on the galas." She smiles at him, glad that the conversation is flowing easily. It doesn't always, and that's mostly because she has trouble making eye contact, with getting distracted by her thoughts of what could be said rather than what is.
It also doesn't hurt that she thinks he's grown up to be perhaps the handsomest wizard she's ever met. It's amazing how much five years can change one's school age perceptions.
"No, those are definitely nice, too," Harry says, nodding and smiling even more now. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then adds, "It's been a long time since I've had friends over, actually. Not since Hermione and I broke up."
Padma nods, because she remembers that last time he had friends over, or at least the last time she was invited. His house is big, even without spacial enhancement charms, and it has a sort of old Pureblood creepiness to it, even though he's done a lot of work on it over the years. She's seen him since then, of course, but that night sticks in her mind, because it was the first time she ever thought of him as anything other than a friend. He is a friend, albeit one she doesn't see as often as she'd like--bloody work schedules--but she's aware of things she never was before. The way his hair falls across his forehead just so, and how it's completely unintentional. The difference between his genuine smile and the one he uses for conversations with his "fans"--not the Quidditch ones, because those get his real smile, but the ones who think of him as The Boy Who Lived and still won't leave him alone even now, so many years after the war's end.
She's getting the genuine smile right now, but her own lips twitch uncontrollably for a minute as her brain latches on to the last bit of his statement.
"You and Hermione broke up?" she says, proud of herself for sounding relatively even-toned and, well, sane.
"Almost a year ago now," he says, nodding. He must notice her look of confusion, because he adds, "We're still friends, still go out together and do things. Dating her was just...er, a bit more complicated than I can handle. And I guess I was the same for her."
Padma can understand this, though she opts not to voice her agreement. She likes Hermione, but sometimes she thinks the other witch makes Parvati look positively laid back. She isn't sure what there could be about Harry that would be too complicated, though. His fame might be challenging at times, perhaps, but Hermione is virtually as famous herself these days.
Harry looks rather uncomfortable with the topic, as he's shifting his weight and rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. She starts to change it, to ask how the new season is going, how Ron is doing, if he ever finished those last renovations on Grimmauld Place, but he speaks again before she can.
"Been thinking about trying to date again, actually," he says, glancing up at her before focusing on his feet again. "Just hard to know sometimes who only likes me for my fame, and, you know--" He looks up at her again. "--who doesn't."
Her throat feels suddenly dry, and she takes a bigger drink of her punch than she intends. This time she tastes the alcohol, can feel it, and she coughs suddenly and forcefully, eyes watering at the strength of it. Harry's immediately at her side, patting her back and asking if she's all right, and Padma does her best to assure him she's fine, even though she can't exactly talk for a moment. Her throat is on fire, and it also doesn't help that Harry's arm is around her. Neither is conducive to coherent speech.
When she finally manages to stop coughing, he steps back a little, but one hand is still on her arm. "Well, it wasn't exactly my plan to have you crying over me," he says with a little laugh, watching her even though he doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Maybe I can make it up to you?"
Her breath seems to freeze in her chest, because she knows that he's going to ask her on a date. The signs are there, in his words and body language, and she can hardly believe this is happening. She doesn't even know if they'll actually make a good couple or not, and there's something a little scary about that idea anyway, but Merlin does she want to try it.
"Harry, mate! Glad you could come!"
Padma stares in disbelief as Oliver--On Again at the moment, if Parvati's smile is any indication--comes up and claps Harry on the shoulder and starts chatting. Her sister gives her a questioning look, but then she's pulled into the conversation as well. Padma smiles and nods as best she can, sipping slowly on her drink and trying to ignore the twisted feeling in her stomach.
There are only two things that console her. First, that Parvati at least won't be moping for a few weeks. And second, that she thinks Harry might just look a little red in the face.
***
"Parvati, I fail to see--"
"Shh!" snaps Parvati, her eyes barely blinking, focused on something unseen in front of them.
Padma raises an eyebrow, searching for something that could possibly deserve the solemnity her sister has bestowed upon it, but all she sees is a large plot of grass. Well, she sees a Quidditch pitch, of course, but at the moment there is nothing visible except the stands and a lot of soggy grass and mud leftover from the previous night's rain. It is far too early in the morning to be outside and still bloody freezing, yet the other has refused to explain why they are making the trip.
Just as Padma is going to attempt her round of questioning again, there is a flurry of activity across the pitch at the base of the other stands. She realises belatedly that the team's changing rooms are probably down there, and she glances at her sister one more time before focusing on the players as they come out onto the grass. All are carrying brooms, but while their clothing is similar in style, they don't precisely match.
Practice time, then.
She groans. "You brought me to see a Quidditch practice." Then something dawns on her. "Merlin, Parvati, is this Puddlemere's pitch?"
When the other witch doesn't answer, Padma groans again. Her eyes immediately roam the players again, and sure enough, she's able to pick Off Again Oliver out of the group. She can't help rolling her eyes. She's been hoping that this was a work-related excursion, some article Parvati has been assigned to write for Witch Weekly, but now Padma knows it's just another excuse for her sister to torture herself.
"Please tell me you didn--" Then she stops, her jaw hanging slightly open as she catches sight of another familiar face in the crowd, one that she doesn't expect to see.
Parvati grins over at her. "Now you understand."
Understand? Yes. Still want to murder her sister for her scheming ways? Absolutely.
"I didn't know Harry played for Puddlemere," Padma says, hating her voice for sounding so strange.
"Today's his first day. Transfer just went through."
Padma doesn't bother to ask how she's gotten this information. When it comes to Quidditch gossip, Oliver Wood, and doing things merely to get under Padma's skin for fun, Parvati is the expert. Still, it bothers her that she doesn't know already. She doesn't have her sister's obsessive tendencies, but she's spent more time thinking about Harry since Oliver's birthday than she cares to admit. They've seen each other a few times since, though always in groups, and she wonders why he hasn't mentioned it.
The players don't seem to notice the two spectators as they confer on the ground and then kick off into the air. Harry makes a couple of wide circles around the group, his broom pitching almost wildly, climbing and diving, swerving and looping, before he finally comes to rest several metres from his nearest teammate. Below, the coach opens a large case and releases the Bludgers, then tosses the Quaffle to one of the players, yelling something Padma can't understand. Finally, he plucks the Snitch from its spot and holds it in his hand for a moment before releasing it. It flutters briefly in front of him, and then it's gone.
Quidditch isn't exactly her favourite pastime--not even in the top ten, really--but Padma doesn't mind it, either. Attending matches back in school was fun, and she's gone to a few since then as well, either with Parvati or Lisa, her one friend who seems to be obsessed with the game rather than the players. She hates that, at the moment, she seems to fall in the latter category, her eyes following Harry's every move. There's something delicate about the way he handles his broom. One tiny shift of his body, and suddenly he's zooming in a different direction, hunting for his target. It is a bit breathtaking and puts her mind to what else he could accomplish with those sorts of moves.
Padma ignores her sister's knowing smirk.
She is still surprised when the scrimmage is still going two hours later, the Snitch having eluded Harry the whole time, that she hasn't started to get restless. There are actually other bits that are interesting, too. The way the Chasers seem to have a pattern that they fly around the others, adjusting based on Beaters' moves. One of these seems to have a rather kamikaze style, contrasting greatly against his partner, who almost looks graceful with her bat. It's strange that she's never noticed things like this before, as she's been to several Puddlemere games.
"Oh!" comes a startled cry to her left. She looks at Parvati, but the other only nods at something on the other side of Padma. Turning, she makes a little noise of her own, surprised to see the Snitch fluttering not even an arm's length away from her. As she stares at it, the little ball bobs in the air a bit but doesn't fly away.
She should call for Harry, Padma thinks, alert him to his mark. But then it will probably just skitter away and disappear again. And she's intrigued by the way it is hovering there, as if looking at her. She's never seen one this close before, and the urge to reach out and touch it is almost overwhelming. Her hand twitches, then goes back down to her lap. She chances a glance at Parvati, who is watching her expectantly, and when she looks back, it is still there.
Keeping her movements slow, she reaches for it and feels her heart beat a little quicker in her chest when she feels it in her palm. She clutches it like one would a butterfly, afraid of injuring its delicate wings, though she knows from watching previous games that this little Snitch is anything but delicate.
"Never seen anything like that..." mutters Parvati.
Padma nods her agreement, eyes focused on her lightly closed fist, now resting in her lap. The Snitch flutters its wings but otherwise doesn't fight against her grip.
She hears someone clearing his throat near her and looks up, almost jumping to see Harry perched on his broom directly in front of her, looking at her rather strangely. He holds out his hand, expression shifting slightly. If she isn't mistaken, the corners of his lips are twitching ever so slightly.
Breathing is suddenly very difficult. She's probably staring, but she feels more unable to move than a few moments before. Even sweaty and windblown, Harry really is handsome.
"Letting birds do your job now, Potter?" calls Oliver, and there are laughs coming from the pitch as well.
It's only then that Padma remembers the Snitch clutched in her fingers. Feeling a warm flush spread across her face, she places the little ball in Harry's outstretched palm. His hand closes briefly around hers, making sure he has a firm hold on it before releasing her.
"Sorry," she murmurs, so low that she isn't even sure he can hear her.
Harry only grins at her, pausing for another half second before shaking his head and shooting back off toward his teammates.
"Merlin, you've got it bad. Worse even than I thought," Parvati says, laughing. "And all these years you've laughed at my fondness for Quidditch players. Not so silly when you fancy the bloke off the pitch, too, is it?"
For once, Padma can think of no argument.
***
By the time a few weeks have passed, she's put the whole thing entirely out of her mind. Well, out of the part of her thoughts she'll admit to having, at least. She is on a strange shift at the hospital anyway, substituting in the Sports Injuries ward while a fellow Healer is out on maternity leave, and it has thrown her sleep schedule far enough off that she has little free time for daydreaming.
So when she turns the corner and sees Harry perched on the exam table in Room 3A, Padma thinks for half a second that she's fallen asleep on the job. Luckily, he doesn't see her at first, and she has time to compose herself. Which primarily involves lifting her jaw from the floor. "Hello, Harry," she says in a cross between a friendly tone and the one she reserves for patients. "So you're the reason there was a whole gaggle of giggling interns at the other end of the hall."
His head snaps around at the sound of her voice. "Oh, Padma! Er, what are you do--I mean, I know you work here, of course, but what--" He pauses for a breath, looking rather sheepish. "Should I be calling you Healer Patil?"
"Of course not."
She pulls out her wand and murmurs a few words as she waves it, and when its tip glows green, she smiles and nods. No adverse magical effects lingering from the last patient. Not strictly protocol, as the last Healer would have checked himself, but it never hurts. And she needs a moment to gather her thoughts
"What are you in for?" she asks, pulling the scroll that contains his medical records from the slot by the door, unfurling the last few inches of it without actually reading. She watches him instead.
"Check up," Harry says, looking so unlike the confident Quidditch player that it was a little surreal. His cheeks are a bit pink. "For, erm, a broken tail bone."
Padma's lips twitches. "So what you're telling me is that you're here so I can examine your arse, then."
His reply is mumbled, barely readable as assent. She can't hold back her laugh as she steps up to him, wand raised. He doesn't look afraid--she's seen fear on a lot of faces, Harry's included, and this isn't it--but he definitely seems wary. It isn't an uncommon reaction from patients, but she's assumed he is used to this sort of thing by now, considering the number of times he'd landed himself in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Of course, then it wasn't a female friend who is threatening to make him drop his trousers.
Harry rises slightly off the table, but Padma puts a hand on his shoulder. "No worries, Harry. Just a basic diagnostic. I'm sure the Healer in the emergency ward wanted to be sure sitting on a broom all day didn't affect the healing. It's very important chain of bones, you know."
"Yeah, that's right," he says, nodding and looking relieved as he settles back into his seat. "That's what he said."
Padma casts a few spells, jotting notes on the patient record as she goes. There don't seem to be any issues, based on her surface scan. For anyone else, this would be sufficient, as sitting in an office chair is the most strenuous activity most tail bones would be likely to see on the average day. But for Harry, she wants to be sure.
"Go ahead and lie down on your stomach." It is pretty easy to ignore where she's waving her wand, all things considered. She's used to detaching a bit from her sensibilities in order to serve a patient without discrimination. As she continues the tests, she asks, "Do I even want to know how you managed to break your tail bone in the first place?"
"Bloody Pendleton," Harry mutters. She can tell it's an explanation, but it sounds almost like a curse. "He's on the reserve team, though Merlin knows why. Should be coaching kiddie Quidditch in the park on Sunday afternoons. But instead the tosser decides that it'd be a brilliant idea to try out a Wronski Feint in the middle of Quaffle drills, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground with a broken arse. And he's a bloody Beater! Why's he's need to Feint anyway?"
"Envy?" she says, smiling a little. It's a compliment, and she means it that way, but she hopes it's more funny than obvious.
He looks up at her, a bit sheepish. "Sorry, didn't mean to go on."
"You can go ahead and sit up," Padma says, patting him on the shoulder out of habit. She sits down on a nearby stool and begins to jot more notes on the parchment. "I don't mind," she adds without looking up. "You might be surprised at the number of Quidditch stories I've heard in this ward."
And besides, your stories are always interesting, she wants to add, but manages to refrain.
"I didn't know you liked Quidditch." It almost sounds like a question. "I was sort of surprised to see you. You know, at that practice a few weeks ago."
Padma laughs a little. "Parvati dragged me." After about half a second of pause, she realises that it might sound like she hadn't wanted to be there. Which she hadn't, but she doesn't want him to know that. And besides, she's changed her mind, and he actually wasn't the only reason she enjoyed herself. "I don't mind Quidditch. I'm not nearly as obsessed as my sister, mind you, but it was fun."
"Have dinner with me," Harry blurts. It's a statement, but again, it feels like a question, even if it was completely unexpected. "Sorry, I--"
"Okay," Padma says, looking up at him. She isn't sure where the word comes from, but her brain seizes onto it before he could try and take the invitation back, or worse, they could be interrupted. She glances at the door.
"What?" he says, frowning a bit.
"Oh, no!" she says at the expression on his face, which looks either annoyed at himself for opening his mouth or disappointed at her answer and subsequent reaction. She gestures vaguely at the area outside the exam room. "Just wondering if Oliver is lurking out there somewhere and just missed his chance to interrupt."
A crooked sort of smile creeps onto his face. "Okay. Good then," he says, then clears his throat. "So...how's my arse?"