Chapter 11
Mr. Patil peered suspiciously out at him. "Do you have my money?"
Ziad stood there, stunned.
"Is that seriously the first thing you thought of? Not, oh I don't know, 'what the bloody hell are you doing here?' or 'aren't you that Ziad kid from Hogwarts?'"
"Who the bloody hell are you? Aren't you that Ziad kid from Hogwarts?"
"Thank you. And no, I don't have your money. If I had that kind of money, I wouldn't be here right now, about to beg for even more help."
"Hmmph. I suppose you'd better come in and sit down." he looked down at Ziad's shoes, "Leave those outside."
"Thanks."
Ziad slipped off his admittedly filthy shoes and entered the Patil residence. He was immediately struck dumb with awe at the normalnessof it. This was what he had thought an English household would look like when he was in Beirut and never been out of the Middle East and never met an Englishman.
Mr. Patil directed him to the sitting room, which looked exactly like a sitting room should, and sat him down.
"Tea or coffee?" he said in a surprisingly sympathetic voice.
"Tea, thanks."
"Good, we don't have any coffee."
He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Ziad alone to look at the sitting room. There were two pictures set on the mantelpiece, one of Mr. and Mrs. Patil at their wedding, and another of Parvati and Padma, who looked like nervous young about-to-be-First-Years. Neither of the pictures were moving, like Ziad would expect in a magical household.
"Dad, are you making t-"
Parvati stood half-way down the stairs, wearing what could only be described as a shocked expression, bed-hair, and not a whole lot else.
"Uh..."
Ziad looked immediately at the floor.
"Hey, Parvati."
"Hi Ziad. I'm going to go... Uh.. Change. Yeah."
"Great!" said Ziad in a forcefully cheerful voice.
He heard the thump of feet sprinting up the stairs.
Mr. Patil came into the sitting room again with a tray of tea and some biscuits, and wore a somewhat smug expression.
He handed Ziad a small mug of tea, that smelled like the tea English people drank, and that Ziad had developed quite a taste for at Hogwarts. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Ziad took a sip. Exactly like at Hogwarts.
Mrs. Patil entered the sitting room. "Oh, hello Ziad." she said, as if it was completely normal.
"Helloo..." said Ziad, starting to get a little confused.
They sat in silence as Mrs. Patil read a magazine.
Parvati came downstairs again, this time fully clothed, followed by Padma.
"Hi Ziad," said Padma.
"Hello."
Mr. Patil re-entered the sitting room and glanced at Mrs. Patil.
"So here's the part where I ask you why you're here. Why are you here?" he said calmly, arms crossed as he leaned against the mantelpiece.
"Well, when I got to where I remembered my Uncle lived, I found out he's dead. So, as I had no other options, I made my way here in order to ask for advice or help, or both. My end goal is to go to Jerusalem and prevent my mother from stealing all of my sister's money and property, although I may be too late." Ziad presented this story in a matter-of-fact tone that somewhat surprised the Patils.
Parvati leaned forward, "I'm sorry your Uncle is dead."
Ziad chuckled, "I never knew him, and from what I heard of him from my sister and mother, he was a real bastard. I don't really care."
Mrs. Patil looked mildly shocked, "You shouldn't say that about somebody, even if they were horrible."
"Granted, but my point stands. I need to get to Israel, or at least the general vicinity, some time soon."
Mr. Patil sighed and walked into the kitchen and returned with a bundle of newspapers.
Israeli Defense Forces Occupy South Lebanon
Violence Escalates in Ongoing Conflict
–
12 Israeli Commandos Killed by IED
–
Muslim Leaders Condemn Israeli Aggression
–
Hezbollah Continues Launching Rockets at Israel
–
At Least 300,000 Flee South Lebanon
The headlines and articles continued. Images of burning buildings, rubble-strewn streets, soldiers, and Hezbollah and SLA militia festooned the newspapers.
"The point of this," Mr. Patil waved at the newspapers, "is to give you the idea that it won't be very easy."
Ziad continued flipping through the newspapers and looked closely at each and every image on the off-chance he saw somebody he knew.
"Can you make a portkey to go there?" asked Ziad.
"Were it so easy, yes. The problem is that doing so is illegal. In addition, there's no way to know if the area you are transporting to is clear of obstructions. I've never been to Jerusalem, and neither has my wife or any of my children."
Ziad looked up, "I've spent a little time in Jerusalem, when I visited my sister and her husband. I could go to her- his house- he's with the government in some fashion, so he's likely to be very busy during the day, which would leave the house empty."
Mr. Patil looked thoughtful. "An interesting proposition. That still leaves the creation of the portkey itself, as well as your preparation for such a journey. After all, you have no money. Do you even know if your mother is still in Jerusalem?"
"Most likely," said Ziad thoughtfully, "I don't think my sister's husband would let my mother get away with whatever it is she's trying to do without a long fight."
Mr. Patil creased his eyebrows in thought.
"Of course, I'll be happy to help you with this endeavor."
"Really? Thank you-"
"But I will not let you go alone." Mr. Patil gave Ziad a contemplative gaze.
"What are you proposing?" Ziad asked warily.
Mr. Patil looked around at his family, "Well, we've been talking about going someplace interesting for the summer holiday, and I hear Israel is beautiful this time of year. I certainly doubt it will be dull."
"If by beautiful you mean bloody hot, and by 'not dull' you mean sunny with a chance of suicide bombs."
"Change of pace, and all that."
Ziad remembered that there were biscuits on the tea tray and ate one.
And another one. And then the rest of them.
"You seem a bit peckish." said Padma.
"Your powers of deduction are truly Sherlockian."
After a large breakfast, Mrs. Patil and the twins went off to Diagon Alley to pick up a few things before their journey. Ziad and Mr. Patil got some time to know each other and plan.
Mr. Patil got right to the point.
"So, Ziad, what are your plans regarding Parvati?"
"Wait... What does this have to do with either a fun vacation to Israel or preventing my mother from doing bad stuff?"
"Nothing, frankly. But I'd note that of all the places you could have gone, such as the Ministry of Magic, you instead chose to risk traveling out here. Not what I would call the actions of a logical man, but instead one driven by other factors."
"After the recent events at the Ministry, I don't trust them. As for other options, I don't see any. Yours is the only house of magical ownership of which I know the location. In addition, I will admit to having a certain attraction to Parvati perhaps beyond friendship, but it is something I can easily ignore if necessary. I may be sixteen but I am an exceedingly rational and intelligent sixteen-year-old."
Mr. Patil looked pleased at his response. "Good. You should keep it that way, at least until you're back at Hogwarts."
"Of course."
After that, they got back to planning. Which didn't last long, as they didn't have access to maps or travel guides, as the Patils hadn't planned on traveling to Jerusalem until an hour ago.
"I suppose we'll have to wing it," concluded Mr. Patil as he put down the only book on the area he had, Exodus by Leon Uris, which frankly wasn't going to be any help.
The twins and Mrs. Patil returned, and by then the sun was starting to set, and they went into town to get dinner at a restaurant.
Over a salad (Ziad asked if they served Halal meat, the waiter had asked him if what that was), Parvati, Padma, and Ziad discussed their previous year at Hogwarts, leaving out most of the reckless endangerment and reck-full endangerment. Ziad ate with his right hand as his left still had the faint scar of a rather vulgar nature on it. Mr. and Mrs. Patil were dutifully amazed at the incompetence and stupidity of Umbridge, despite having heard all about it in both the Daily Prophet and in letters home. Ziad ended up spending about half-an-hour giving his full life story up to his admittance to Hogwarts.
They finished their meal, payed the bill, and returned home.
Mr. Patil clapped his hands, "Well, as we're leaving early tomorrow morning, I suggest we go to bed. Ziad, you can sleep on the couch."
Ziad looked at the couch. It looked a hell of a lot more comfortable than the dirt he had made-do with last night.
"Excellent."
After making the couch up with sheets, Ziad took a long hot shower, brushed his teeth, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
"Hello, Ziad."
Ziad turned his head. Behind him stood Parvati, wearing what passed for pajamas. She looked radiantly beautiful, as the hot Israeli sun baked them.
"Hey Mariam." Parvati morphed into his sister. Corporal David Ben-Ami, Golani Brigade, IDF, walked up behind her and took her hand.
"We're going to Qana today, Ziad. Will you come with us?"
David Ben-Ami was missing most of his left side. Blood dripped to the ground. Mariam's hand was smeared with his blood. She was oblivious.
"David..." said Ziad.
Mariam and David skipped off down the street, his rifle rattling against his ammunition packs. They skipped right past a truck with a sweating and white-faced driver.
A squad of Israeli soldiers, David among them, his rifle no longer slung carelessly on his back but instead raised and loaded, were berating the driver. When he refused to answer, the Captain brought up his rifle.
The truck disintegrated in a ball of fire and metal. The soldiers were shredded, and the storefront the truck was parked in front collapsed in a heap of rubble.
When the dust cleared, Ziad saw Mariam and Parvati engaged in conversation as they cared for orphaned children. As a squad of Israeli medics arrived at the scene of the truck bombing, Ziad heard the rumble of heavy artillery.
"Run! Get away from here!" he shouted.
Mariam turned and smiled at Ziad.
Her face became a rictus of cruel mirth.
Bellatrix Lestrange was engulfed in a blaze of artillery fire as the orphans were blown apart. Lestrange remained unscathed as she raised her wand.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
A flash of green light-
Ziad awoke in cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably. He stumbled into the kitchen and poured a glass of water and gulped it down. He gasped and steadied himself against the sink. He needed fresh air.
He crept outside into the cool night air. He checked his watch. It was only about midnight. Ziad walked into a copse of trees and sat down, his back against the trunk of a large tree. He stared into the night, and tried to get his thoughts in order.
Ziad heard the distant roar of a motorcycle, which calmed him somewhat.
"Brain..." Ziad muttered to himself, "please don't go all PTSD victim on me. I need to keep my wits about me. Please don't screw that up."
His brain didn't answer. He wasn't that messed up, not yet at least.
He stood up, brushed leaves and loam off himself, and returned to the house. He lay back down and attempted to go back to sleep. Eventually a fitful sleep overcame him, but to his relief (later on, of course), no more nightmares troubled him that night. OK, it was morning by that point.
Author's Note:
It's gotten too serious lately. I'll try to fix that in later installments, but this week I'm truly swamped with work, so when I do write some of my own stress tends to manifest itself in my words. My apologies. Hopefully I'll have a lot of time this weekend to write a few nice long chapters.
Drop a review if you like it, hate it, or are ambivalent. Anything helps me improve later chapters.
Also +10 points to anyone who correctly knows what the title of this chapter is referencing.