Padma Patil and the Felling of Fenrir Greyback

A/N: This is a One Shot. It is also a Crack story. The writer's on this account are all Indians, and we own nothing. We also don't intend to offend any religion. The alternate language used is Marathi, which would be the Patil family's (and ours as well) real mother tongue. Translations are provided in the brackets.

It was just after the eight on the 10th of November, 1996, the second day of the festival of Diwali in the Patil household. In the dark times, the Festival of Light seemed to be the reassurance they needed for them to remember that hope could be found in the darkest of times and places, if one remembered to turn on the lights.

As it was, the whole house was decorated with rangoli patterns and several lamps. The very essence of the festival was in the light that shone from each house during the darkest phase of the Moon.

The truth of their lives in England was that they were unwelcome in the magical world which couldn't even accept natives of their own lands. So it was highly unlikely that any inclusivity could be expected on that account. The non-magical world was, of course, far better in those terms. Sure, there were a few of muggle descent who remembered, but there wasn't anyone else, really, apart from the few business contacts in the muggle world, who they could share the festivities with. It was only the Patil couple, and their children (who were always given leave for the four days).

So when the wards on their home blared, it was a given that whoever had come hadn't exactly come with good intentions. Vilas Patil checked the wards and fear, anger and resignation flitted across his face. He immediately called out to his wife.

"Sunanda, jara tuzi jaduchi chhadi ghe ga. Faralala kon aalay bagh. Sanjay, Parvati ani Padmala tayar rahayla sang." (Sunanda, grab your wand. Look who has come to the party. Tell Sanjay, Parvati and Padma to be ready for a fight.)

Sunanda glanced out of the window. The lantern was flickering slightly, but it was enough to show that they were about to be attacked by Fenrir Greyback and two more from his pack.

Grimly, the lady nodded, stopping only to reassure her husband. "Aho, ghabru naka. Aaj tya rakshasacha vadh hoil. Baghal tumhi." (Don't be scared, dear. That Monster will be eliminated tonight, you just see.)

"Devichi krupa asel tar kharach hoil." (If the Goddess so pleases, it will be as you say.)

The three children and their parents were now waiting. If their wards had been breached, there was nothing they could do but stand and fight.

The twins and their brother were dismayed. This was a time of happiness for them, and it was now going to be marked by a fight, which they weren't sure they would all emerge unscathed from. Feral the werewolves were, and even if they were off by a fortnight, and would therefore not turn them, they could still kill them.

Padma staggered slightly in fear, and clutched onto a table to steady herself. Her movements toppled a box of sweets placed precariously on top of a pile of similar boxes, all sent by their family in India. As soon as she saw the sweets, an idea formed in the quiet, brilliant mind of the Ravenclaw.

"Baba, ek kalpana aahe." (I have an idea, father.)

Deciding to indulge his daughter for what could very well be the one last time, Vilas asked, "Kay ga?" (What is it?)

"Pahunyanche aadaratithya karuya. Faralasathi mithai tar aahe na! Aaplya paramparenusarach hoil sagla." (We must treat the guests well and welcome them, Father. We have the sweets for the festivities. It will all be by our protocol and culture.) Padma had a slightly mischievous glint in her eyes as she said that.

Vilas saw what she was showing, and gave a short bark of laughter. "He jar jamla na..." (If this works...) he left the words hanging. "Prayatna karuya. Sunanda, pratyekala ek taat maand jara. Saglya khokyanmadhlya mithaya waadh. Lakshat thev, matra, saglya updya karun thev." (We can try. Sunanda, please serve a plate for each of them. Serve them all types of the sweets from the boxes. Just place them upside down.)

As she did so, Vilas strode to the door, with his children on his heels. "Mr. Greyback. I know you are out there. Please come in!"

Fenrir Greyback was always the one who surprised people (always tragically). So when he was invited inside by these targets, he was fairly nonplussed. Nonetheless, being very willing to attack, and also being just feral and monumentally stupid, he rushed in with his packmates. He tried to grab his host as soon as he was inside, but stopped upon seeing the decorations and the small wooden seating arrangements with what were unmistakably decorations.

"You are the first magicals to visit us on Diwali, Mr. Greyback. Please, accept our offerings, dear guest."

The pack that the three werewolves were from didn't distinguish humans from food. However, they were still human. This was prey, and this prey was also offering them human food. That was respect that they deserved.

Without acknowledging their hosts, the werewolves grabbed the plates and in one fell swoop, as was their nature, gobbled up all the sweets. They grinned triumphantly for a few moments as they chewed and swallowed the food. Had a certain trio of Gryffindors been present, they would have been reminded of the very similar situation they had had in their second year with Crabbe and Goyle.

In true form, the smiles turned to horrified grimaces, as the werewolves clutched at their throats in pain. They were getting paralysed pretty quickly, their throats constricted and their blood was slowing down as their heart started getting affected as soon as the sweets were ingested. Within a matter of minutes, they keeled over, very much dead.

That night, several members of the DMLE were also served the same sweets – without the disastrous effects – when they arrived in response to the family's call for help.

Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister, asked a question that the family had never predicted. "Are you willing to act as intermediaries and import these sweets? We will waive the taxes for this instance. Nothing has proven to be as good a solution against the feral werewolves."

"We shall get back to you on the matter, Minister," Vilas Patil promised.

When they were all gone, the Patil family had a hearty laugh over the situation, and in relief. "Aata mala kalla tu Ravenclawmadhye ka aahes te," remarked Parvati with a smirk. (Now I understand why you were sorted into Ravenclaw.)

Padma lightly laughed. "Tyanchya evadha god mrutyu baki konala aala nasel." (Nobody else might have had as sweet a death as those three did.)

She then picked up a sweet, liberally coated with Vark, the micron-thick coating of pure silver found on several South-East Asian sweets, and ate it with relish.

This was written in the spirit of Diwali. It just...fell by the wayside. A reiteration: the humour is focussed on the food. WE DON'T INTEND TO MAKE FUN OF THE FESTIVITIES OR THE RELIGION. It's the first time we have added something from the language which was our medium of instruction during our schooldays.