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Settling herself on a small park bench, Pansy felt a swell of pride as she overlooked the expanse of the Community Garden she had donated in honor of the lives lost during the Second Wizarding War. She had worked for over two years on the proposal, finding the right staff and funds to ensure it was dedicated on the Tenth Anniversary. The Remus Lupin Memorial Gardens were a testament to both the capacity to accept all wizarding people and the sacrifice so many made during both wars.
After years of struggling to find her place in the new world order, she had reconnected with a strong-willed, and dare she say, handsome former Hogwarts alum, who had encouraged her throughout the process.
Head Gardener Neville Longbottom was a testament to her charity organization, setting up community events, specializing in rare and common magical plants, and overseeing free weekly magical-house plant lessons.
She made a point of coming by the gardens every Wednesday evening to partake in the classes, watching him interact with patience, care, and humor.
But the best part of Wednesday evenings was at the end of the lesson, after he said his farewells and shared small conversations with the mostly older witches crowd, he would glance around to find her. She made a small game of being somewhere different every time, to observe his shaggy brown hair swish while his head scanned the gardens, his bright amber eyes sparkling with mischief when he eventually captured her own emerald greens.
Her heart always skipped a beat or two when he moved towards her, the familiar feeling of peace settling over her with the promise of another enchanting time spent with him.
“Pansy. How are you this evening?” He settles in next to her, as close as he can without touching her. The warmth emanating from him wrapped around her. How she wished he would touch her.
“I am well, Neville. Another great lesson with your fan club,” she quipped, knowing he would blush at the words. Neville didn’t love attention; he just automatically received it.
“It is my favorite time of the week.” Her breath hitched slightly, wondering at the potential meaning of his words.
What do you have in store for us this week, Ms. Parkinson?”
“Roast beef and tomato sarmies, paired with a small batch apricot brew.”
“You spoil me, Pans.”
“It is the least I can do. You have made this place thrive, Neville. I couldn’t do it without you.”
“Ahhh, yes, you can, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“I am serious. Your expertise is bar-none, but the way you connect to others, the passion you have for your craft. It is inspiring.”
She handed him the paper packet wrapped sandwich, and he instantly unwrapped it, a bright smile forming at the sight.
He shrugged slightly. “Your vision, my execution. We make a good team.”
She could feel the blush burning from her rounded cheeks to the tip of her ears. Neville's smirk turned devilish.
“Er… yes, we do,” was all she could croak out. She took the opportunity to open up her own sandwich.
Neville held up his bottle of beer and tipped it towards her, indicating he wanted her to return the gesture. She grabbed her own beer and tipped hers forward, causing a melodic clink to reverberate across the gardens.
“To the continued success of your Memorial Garden.”
“Cheers to that.”
They spoke well into the evening, topics varied from plants to procure, business dealings she had during her busy days as an entrepreneur, and his inability to get the dirt from under his fingernails every evening.
She enjoyed her time with Neville. She searched for the courage to ask for more.
As she packed up the leftover wrappers and empty bottles, Neville's fingers brushed against her temple, moving a small strand of dark black hair around her ear.
Before she could react, he stood up.
“Same time next week?”
“Of course, Neville.”
“I look forward to it.”
He moved to leave, but something caused him to pause. Turning back to face her, looking nervous and unsure.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing you more nights of the week, though.”
Her heart leapt. “Oh, yes, well… same.”
“How does Friday sound? I can make you something this time.”
“I would love that.”
With a broad smile, his sun-tanned face alight, she couldn’t help mirroring one back towards him.
“Then, I will see you sooner than next week.