Kitchen Chats

Padril grinned at Oliver's one-mindness, then shook his head. "I've never heard of him," he confessed. "Though, judging by your tone, this is going to be one of those things people can't believe I haven't heard of. Tell me about him." He led Oliver through the Entrance and downstairs, into the vicinity of the Kitchens. As they approached the still-life of the fruit, the boy tickled the apple, setting it into laughing fits and swinging open the portrait door. Most of the older Hufflepuffs knew about this little trick. They considered the Kitchens to be in their own territory, and wanted to make sure the occasional treats of late-night snacks and drinks provided by the House Elves would remain a House secret. For this reason, the older students generally didn't tell the younger ones about it, but everyone found out eventually.

As soon as they entered the room, Padril waved his wand at a kettle. The vessel filled with water that promptly began to boil. "Tea?" he asked. "I think there are some snacks around here somewhere..." People, he found, were more amicable and open when they doing things, especially eating. If Oliver was concentrating on his stomach, he might talk more freely about his feelings.

"Vicktor was one of the best and most widely known for his skills in quidditch." Oliver explained, "But being the pureblood he is he couldn't stand to be known for his mistakes. he had cheated on his 'beloved' wife with my mother just a little after his second child Cecilia was born, even now he does not claim to even know my mother."he explained quietly and nodded his head "yes tea sounds fine." He watched as padril moved about the kitchen. with the way he moved oliver began to think he spent a lot of time down here. "He began playing as a pro whikle he was still attending school.at durmstranf. and on top pf it he was a part of the triwizard tortament almost beat no other than Harry Potter and he would have if the last challange haddnt been riged."

"He's got quite the resume'," Padril noted, getting the feeling that he was actually talking to the son of a super celebrity. While he was relatively ignorant of sporting heroes, he did know Harry Potter and he had heard that he heard the story of the Triwizard Tournament. Every Hufflepuff knew it well. Cedric Diggory was a legend in the House; the first victim of the Second Wizarding War. If Oliver was the son of the Durmstrang student, then his family had some vague connections to Dark Wizards. That was unsettling, but it had been decades ago, before either one of them had been born. Ancient history.

"But what about your experiences of him?" Padril asked, standing on his tip-toes to reach an overhead cabinet. He came down with a tea pot and a box of tea leaves. "Like...when did you find out he was your father? What was the first time you met him like?" He added two spoonfuls of the tea leaf to the pot and placed the box back, still talking with Oliver over his shoulder. He may also have been purposefully exaggerating his movements to draw attention to his butt.

"I've never met him," Oliver said, "he refuses to claim me because i am illagitimate." He though back to when he first remembered seeing his father. his mum and step father had taken him to a quidditch game in which Viktor had played in, it had been one of his life. "I've always known he was my father, It was not something My mother kept from me, in fact she has incouruged me to find a way to experiance what is rightfully mine to experiance." His thoughts were distante from the place where he sat watching Padril, "I've done everything to prove i am worthy of the krum family name." He explained "sometimes i wish i belonged to the Amry family instead."

Padril frowned, pouring the tea into the cups. "I wonder though," Padril began, passing the saucer over to Oliver. "You're trying to very hard to earn your father's love. What has he done to earn yours?" The Hufflepuff blew gently into his tea, eyes glancing up to look at the Gryffindor through his lashes. The whole situation seemed to have fostered self-loathing in the poor boy. He had a couple of choice things to say about this Viktor Krum, but he left them for now. He only needed to ask questions and help Oliver reach his own conclusions. Padril didn't want to preach to the kid.

Kid? thought to himself, amused. Maybe because he held the social high ground of listener, he was condescending. He would have to watch that. That was a senseless, prideful, and potentially hurtful route. Padril had all the flaws Hufflepuffs despised, yet he also had self-awareness, and a desire to improve himself. He would be better.

Padril moved in front of a large blazing fire in the heart of the kitchen. There were a couple of wooden chairs set up here, with a small table. Whether they had been put there by House Elves with foresight or forgetful students, he didn't know. He stood with his back to the fire, watching Oliver keenly, his brown eyes tinged with sympathy.

"Not his love. Just his acknowledgement," Oliver said standing next to padril but instead he faced the fire. He reached out and and the the warmth that rose from the flames dance around his fingers. A slight smile appeared on his face. "I want him to at least admit I am his mistake." Oliver crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes clouded over with sadness. "Do you understand what I mean?" He asked glancing over and down at padrils butt while he thought he was not looking. Butts were nice, Oliver understood what it was like to be the butt end of a bad joke.

Padril nodded, biting his lip as he thought. He glanced at Oliver as he was about to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Did Oliver just check out his butt? Did...did that just happen? Padril flushed, wondering whether the heat was feeling was entirely due to the fire at his back. This entire time Padril had been play-flirting with the Gryffindor in his head because he liked imagining these macho-guys as gay, which he knew would make them immensely uncomfortable. But if Oliver had just checked him out...

Stop it Pad, he silently told himself. Chances are he was looking at something else. Checking to see where your wand is. Looking at shadows. Maybe there's some mud stains on your butt and he was laughing in his head about them. That was an uncomfortable thought. Padril focused on his tea, forcing himself not to suddenly become self-conscious. Or, more importantly, look like he was.

"Uh, I mean I get that," he started nervously, taking a sip of his tea. "But why even bother with his acknowledgement? What changes when you have it?"

"Because of the status and everything that goes with being a Krum." Oliver said, "And My mother wants be to be known for what i really am." He shook his head and took a baggie of a white chalky substance out of his pocket and dropped some of its contents into his tea string till it devolved. "Do you want some?" he asked offering some of it to Padril. "The respect and harritage that goes with it." He said quietly with a shrug as taking a sip of the tea mixed with sugar. Though the sugar that he put in his tea was not the sugar that was normally associated with tea, or anything at all. "What about you? Wouldn't you want your father to at least say he made a mistake and it resulted in you?"

Padril frowned, focusing on the heat clawing at his back. Warmer, he dropped his mud-stained, torn cloak onto one of the chairs, then resumed his old position. He still didn't agree with Oliver's position. Sure, he would climb the social ladder, but it was populated with people like his father, blood purists who disowned their bastards. It was such an unpleasant place to be. And if Viktor could build up the Krum name to carry some weight, why couldn't Oliver build his own? Who would want to follow in that man's footsteps?

Oliver offered Padril some sugar, which the Hufflepuff accepted politely without much thought. He didn't often put sugar in his tea, it was all too sweet, but he found it hard to refuse things when offered. It felt like bad manners. The lighting made it almost seem blue, but he dropped it into the tea anyway and stirred it with his finger absently.

He tilted his head at Oliver's question, considering it. It was hard to imagine his father- all tweed and bow ties, ever doing something like that. He was quiet, respectful, and deeply loyal. When his wife had cheated on him, he had only been withdrawn, hurt to the point when it pained him to even whisper a word. It was simply too bizarre a concept to even consider. But consider if he was Tim, his younger brother, who had been born from infidelity. Padril wasn't supposed to know, but he had heard more when he was a child than he had ever let on. If either of Tim's fathers had disowned him. what would he have done? He would have stood tall, giving that half-glare through the fringe of silvery-blonde hair, and told them exactly where to stick that inheritance.

"I guess I can't draw a comparison," he said instead. "But your own happiness should never hang on the approval of another. So you go up the social rankings. What then? Do you like the sort of people up there? The purebloods, the rich kids, the people who disinherit their children when they disagree?" Padril took a sip of tea, frowning at the taste. That sugar tasted weird. But he was on a roll, so he didn't pay it much mind. "If my father didn't recognize me, that would be his problem, not mine. If I spent my life trying to earn a loveless man's love, I'd end up vastly unhappy, and when he died, I'd be haunted."

Padril drew himself short. "I sort of went on a tangent there. I crossed the line. I apologise." He looked at Oliver and smiled.

"You have a point," Oliver whispered to Padril taking a sip of his tea and smiled slightly. The fifteen year old had grown accustomed to the taste that came with 'sugar' and often craved more and more of it, so he thought nothing of it as Padril mixed it with his drink. "But how can i know what i truly am with out experiencing the part of life that comes with it?" he asked. Oliver knew what it was like to be a pureblood, but his mother and stepfather were of a lower stats than his father. "They are whom i am accustomed to be around. Or i was before I came here. Hogwarts is ridden with mud-bloods, and muggle borns." he stated quietly a slight grimace on his face.