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There was no love lost between Queen Pansy and King Draco.
Their marriage had been arranged since before their birth, and it was the kingdom's worst-kept secret that King Draco was far too in love with another woman to ever care what his queen was getting up to. Consequently, Pansy's days had become progressively more and more lonely and mundane as she wilted in the shadows of King Draco and his amorous affair. It was a strange thing, frankly, to have spent her whole life being pampered and groomed to be queen, only to feel as though she were an outsider in the position – an intruder in her own life.
“Your Majesty," Lady Ginevra's voice severed Pansy's thoughts, bringing her harshly back to her leisurely breakfast with her ladies-in-waiting, "You’ve received a message from the king."
King Draco was a cold man, feared more than loved among their people. Pansy had only heard him laugh once – he’d been tucked into an alcove with Lady Hermione when they thought everyone else had long gone to bed – and the sound had been melodious and joyous. If she hadn't known it had come from him, she never would have believed it to be possible. His missive, however, was in keeping with his usual demeanor – business-like and nothing more:
To Her Majesty, the Queen:
A gardener has been contracted to landscape the castle grounds in spring finery. I trust you to dispatch staff to oversee his work to whatever degree you see fit.
Draco R
The Malfoy crest stared at Pansy mockingly from the top of the parchment. She was a Malfoy in title, sure, but in title alone. She and Draco had never shared a bed – his being perpetually too full for Pansy's liking.
Pansy had filled her own bed with a handful of the many willing knights and lords in the Royal Court. The romps had left her feeling worse than before, a glowing highlight of the loneliness of her station. She'd never expected a love match in her marriage – those were few and far between – but she'd believed her parents when they said she'd grow to love her husband, and that he would grow in love for her. The concept of love felt like a taunt now, as King Draco slipped through the halls of the castle with Lady Hermione in thinly veiled secrecy.
However unorthodox, Pansy decided that overseeing the garden endeavors herself would be a welcome distraction from the turbulence of her mind. She dressed accordingly, with a simple silk gown and boots in lieu of her usual finery and flimsy silk slippers. Her ladies-in-waiting arranged her long, dark locks into a simple plait down her back. Stripped of her usual pageantry, Pansy no longer resembled a queen, but a noblewoman. A bit of freedom, she figured, would do her a wealth of good.
~
The ladies that usually accompanied Pansy were dispatched to various locations as she made her way down to the sprawling grounds surrounding the castle. The air was crisp and fresh, a warm breeze tickling up goose flesh across her porcelain skin. Alone, sun-drenched, and shivering in the breeze, Pansy had yet to feel so alive.
The new gardener easily caught Pansy’s eye as she wandered about the garden. He had bright, gentle brown eyes that were framed by a thick, dark beard. He was a broad man, and he towered over the saplings he'd artfully arranged in the dirt. He stood surrounded by numerous pallets of brightly colored blooms of hyacinths and tulips. Towards the path, Pansy could see even more pallets loaded with narcissus, bluebell, and pansy plants. The last brought a small smile to her lips.
Noticing her presence, the gardener stopped, wiping dirt across the front of his trousers before bowing politely.
"My lady," he mopped sweat from his forehead, streaking soil over his left eye, too. "I pray you will forgive my appearance. My staff is settling into their lodging in town, and I couldn't wait to get started."
Pansy stifled a giggle as she brought out her handkerchief and passed it to the man. "You've got a bit of something," she gestured to her own brow, "just there."
He tutted, wiping off the smudge before inspecting her handkerchief. Its borders were beautifully embroidered with clusters of…
"Pansies. A favorite of yours?"
"One could say so." Pansy hoped her flush wasn't as evident as it felt across her cheeks.
He pressed the handkerchief back into her waiting fingers. "And what shall I call you, my lady?"
"Qu– Parkinson…" she met his searching eyes, "Lady Parkinson."
Later, she’d call it a slip of the tongue, a mistake in articulation, but in that moment it felt far from an accident. Pansy had never been a romantic, and she’d never believed in fate, but how could she not when presented with such fantastical feelings? Something deep inside of her spirit reached for this man – maybe this was what the fairytales meant when they spoke of love at first sight. Pansy knew one thing for sure – she was done living the life her parents had set out for her. This man before her, full of authenticity and a promise of something simple and true, could be worth it risking it all for.
"Lady Parkinson," his eyes were bright as he offered her an easy smile, "you can call me Trevor."
~
The garden renovation, or perhaps it was Trevor himself, turned out to be just what Pansy needed. His free and easy spirit seemed to release her own from bonds she hadn’t even known were holding her back. Being Lady Parkinson was a type of freedom that Queen Pansy wasn’t sure she’d ever known. Her abundance of free time was now spent gallivanting around the castle gardens with Trevor and his servants, learning about the right time to plant hyacinths and the correct depth to bury a narcissus bulb. The garden made Pansy feel alive, and Trevor, even more so.
As the summer neared and the garden filled, dangerous thoughts began to fill Pansy’s mind. She fantasized about leaving, about convincing Draco to let her go. About faking her death and disappearing into the simple life of a commoner with Trevor. Would she dare? She could renounce her title publicly and be disowned by her parents and scorned by the entirety of the Slytherin Kingdom.
Would it be worth it for a man who might not even want her?
Was there anything Pansy wouldn’t sacrifice for love?
She wasn’t sure when the word had even begun flitting around her mind, but there it was, the glaring truth: Pansy had fallen in love with a commoner. Pansy thought a chance at real love might be worth it.
She found him tucked into a bed of pansies, which felt auspicious somehow. His hair was disheveled, a sheen of sweat covering his body as he tirelessly worked to rid the plants of any weeds that may threaten their blooms.
He stood as he noticed her shadow, dirt streaked across his face. Her proffered handkerchief hung between them again, a gesture of her unspoken care for him.
“I’ve a confession for you.” Her words floated across the air, barely a whisper. The truth spilled from her mouth like a great waterfall, her true identity now hanging in the air between them. “I intended to tell you that it was a mistake, a slip of the tongue. That I had just wanted to be someone else for a little while. This has become something more for me, something akin to destiny or fate. Something like divine providence.”
He remained silent as she spoke of his kind eyes, his open smile, and his free spirit – of all the little things that had drawn her to this moment. She pressed on despite his lack of acknowledgement, the unbridled words galloping freely across the space between them.
“I was lonely and invisible, and for the first time since my childhood, someone saw me. I have been discarded and shunted aside, nothing more than an obligation, but you made me feel as though it was an honor to be in my presence.”
The silence that followed spoke volumes. Trevor’s large hands clutched at her handkerchief, the embroidered petals crushed in his grip. For a moment, Pansy feared he would say nothing at all, but then his face split into a smile. He released a deep belly laugh, and the recent silence became a preferable alternative to his mocking laughter. Face burning with shame, Pansy fled to the safety her chambers provide to be doted on by her ladies-in-waiting. His shouts rang after her, but Pansy didn’t stop despite her tears blurring her vision and causing her to abandon her usual grace and poise.
Back in her chambers, the queen soaked in a warm bath as Lady Ginevra's agile fingers plaited her hair. Pansy sobbed bitterly, mourning the death of her naïve dreams. It had been silly, she knew, to value love over logic. She had been a fool to think that she’d ever have more than the “wealth” that she had been given. A girl with everything, doomed to a life that meant nothing in the end. Lady Ginevra's soothing tuts finally won out, and Pansy’s sobs settled to the occasional forlorn tear as she dressed for dinner in her finest robes. At the request of Draco, she was to join him in welcoming the king of Gryffindor that evening. She was to be ready by sundown, her own broken heart cast aside yet again in the face of duty to her husband and her kingdom.
~
Pansy arrived in the banquet hall to a magnificent meal prepared in anticipation of the arrival of the king of Gryffindor. She'd heard tales of his strength of body and character, his bravery in battle when he was but a young prince. Despite her miserable mood, Pansy was determined to enjoy the party and the company as much as she could. But with King Draco, already staring longingly at Lady Hermione seated several places away, her evening was not off to a promising start.
The arrival of Gryffindor's king was preceded by much fanfare as Slytherin worked to maintain the long-standing peace between the two powerful kingdoms. Pansy was quiet and sullen as the king and his entourage were announced. As they swept into the banquet hall, her melancholy morphed into shock, for there, draped in elaborate finery, was Trevor.
Except he wasn’t Trevor at all–he was King Neville, whom she’d known by name but had never met.
If she hadn’t recognized his eyes so quickly, his identity may have remained a secret – his appearance was so altered from what she’d come to know. Instead of a thick beard, he was now clean shaven and stately. Instead of linens in neutral tones, he was now adorned in deep purples and golds. He was striking and Pansy was rightfully speechless. Her shock eventually melted into a deep vexation.
An elaborate meal followed, but Pansy couldn’t recall eating anything. Her vexation morphed into fear when King Neville requested a private audience with her and her husband following the meal and entertainment.
Pansy’s hands became progressively shakier as her anxiety grew. She was in for a grand chastisement, she was sure. King Neville would expose her foolishness and humiliate her. She’d be made a laughing stock for her impertinence. She prepared herself for the worst.
After dinner, Pansy reluctantly allowed Draco to escort her to the meeting. In the small, dimly-lit room, she finally allowed herself to meet Neville’s eyes. She was surprised to find that in place of the scorn she expected, there was the familiar warmth in his deep brown gaze. Pansy pointedly attempted to ignore the tiny flicker of hope that seemed to reignite in her chest
“I have never been a scheming man," Neville’s voice filled the room, "I've been told it's because I'm too honest, possibly to a fault. In the pursuit of transparency, I've developed a plan that I think you will find more than amicable.”
To anyone else, Neville probably appeared confident and in command, but Pansy knew him better than that. She knew how his form looked relaxed and at ease among the blooms. She saw the tension in his shoulders now.
“It has come to my attention,” Neville continued, “that the marriage of the king and queen of Slytherin is a farce. That the deed of consummation was never verified, and that the king himself is in love with another. Do you find any falsehood in my words?”
Draco stood, his pride affronted. “What knowledge do you have of the queen that you would find it pertinent to seek her welfare and happiness?”
“Queen Pansy I cannot claim to know,” Neville’s face softened, “but Lady Parkinson I have endeavored to know quite well over these last few months. I was the hired gardener, you see, working under her direction on the grounds. She hadn’t the faintest idea of my real identity, as I had intended.” Neville stands now, turning to stare out the window. “My parents, too, had arranged matches for me. I severed them all, discontent with the prospect of marrying for power or strategy instead of love.
“Here I am now, advancing in age and still alone. I intended to seek out a wife, someone who would love me, not only for my wealth and crown. I am well-studied in the science of botany, a hobby of mine since youth. I’ve spent the last two springs landscaping Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, our neighboring kingdoms, while spending the rest of the year in my own. I had hoped to find a love match sooner, but I’ve had no luck until now.
“You have done the lady in our presence a great disservice, creating a farce of her loyalty and love. It is my suggestion that you dissolve your marriage. Let me marry her instead, you may then be free to pursue your own happiness with Lady Hermione. I’ll even repay her dowry, if you so wish.”
A confusing cocktail of confusion and hope was brewing in Pansy’s chest. Draco took his seat again, appearing to be weighing the options before him. Pansy’s marriage to Neville would highlight his inadequacies, but it would free him to pursue his own marriage to Lady Hermione. “And what have you to say about all of this, Pansy?”
“I’d like to go,” Pansy had never felt more sure of anything before, “even if this ends poorly, I’d like a chance to choose for myself for once.”
Draco nodded before standing abruptly and heading for the door. “Pansy,” his form stalled in the archway, “For what it’s worth, you deserved more than I could give you from the start. I only wish I could have been as fearless with my own future as you have decided to be.”
Draco’s words hung in the air long after he’d gone, leaving Neville or Pansy to break the uncomfortable silence. Pansy, feeling brave, decided it would be her.
“Trevor?”
“As a child, I had a pet toad called Trevor.”
Pansy giggles before finding herself sober again. “Are you angry with me for misleading you?”
“Without your deceptions I may never have had the chance to earn your affections. What was it that you called it, Lady Parkinson ?” Neville stood before her now, searching her face, “Some iteration of divinity?”
“Yes,” A feeling of bliss settled somewhere deep inside of Pansy's chest, “it’s divine.”