Scars {Pansy Parkinson}

34.

Lucille Blaire Evans

"Good morning, Lucille. Is Pansy still asleep?" Mr. Parkinson steps into the kitchen with a smile. He's the complete opposite of his wife. "Yeah, she's still asleep. Would you like some breakfast?" I smile back at him, scooping up some egg onto a plate. "Of course, it smells amazing." He nods, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

I place some bacon and pancakes on his plate and pour coffee into another mug. "This is lovely, Lucille, thank you." He says after I place his plate in front of him. "Thank you, Mr. Parkinson."

"Please, call me Oliver."

"Well, isn't this a nice surprise?" Pansy pops up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and placing her head on my shoulder. "Do you want some pancakes?" She nods. "You should try her bacon, it's crispy but not too crispy," Oliver suggests. "Would you like some more?" I softly laugh, placing more on his plate after he nods.

After eating breakfast with Pansy and her dad, I find the greenhouse her mum was talking about to see Mrs. Parkinson watering some daffodils wearing only a black silk robe. I believe I'm a kind person, but that woman is not afraid of death. "Those look beautiful, Mrs. Parkinson." I walk around the tables with plants and flowers in pots.

"Mhm, I have to re-pot them and some others." She slightly nods, keeping her attention on the flowers. "If you'd like, I can help you," I suggest, stepping closer to her. "Please, you'll probably just kill them." She scoffs.

I see where Pansy gets her stubbornness from.

"Actually, I don't think I've killed a plant in years." I clear my throat and lift my chin. She turns to me, narrowing her eyes and raising one of her eyebrows. "Well, then, what's the hardest plant you've taken care of?" She folds her arms over her chest. Why is she making it so hard to get on her good side?

"In my opinion, I've got to say a gardenia or a fiddle-leaf," I answer. "Fine, but If any of them die because of you, you won't be allowed in here, these are like my kids." She says strictly. "My mum was like that, she would name every single one of her plants with the first letter of the plant. Like, Sussy sunflower or Randy the rose." I chuckle but she still seems unamused.

"You can grab a pair of rubber gloves over there." She points towards a plastic tray of garden supplies, grabbing a few empty terracotta flower pots. "I actually like the feeling of the soil, it's quite grounding." I nod. "So do I." She mumbles.

For I moment, all I can think about is how much I used to do this with my mum.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Pansy pops into the room. "We're re-potting some plants." I grab one of the flower pots Mrs. Parkinson told me I could fix up. "Ooh, can I help?" She asks with an excited tone, resting her hands against the wooden table. "Pansy, you don't know the first thing about repotting a plant." Her mother shakes her head, gently pulling some violets out of its current pot. "I can try. I once grew a succulent...it died a month later but that's not the point."

"You managed to kill a succulent and you expect me to let you help out? Don't be foolish."

Pansy shamefully looks down and slightly nods. It's quite obvious that they don't get along very well. "Hey, Pans, could you fill that pot there halfway with soil?" I break the silence in the room, making Pansy look up with a small smile. She does as I ask and continues to help me out.

"I'm going to go wash my hands." Pansy sets down the pot and rushes inside. "Would you like me to make some tea for us, Mrs. Parkinson?" I offer her as we walk inside. "You're really giving the house-elves a break since you've been here." She washes her hands in the kitchen sink.

"Well, I was just raised that way." I shrug. "Maybe you should teach Pansy a few manners." She hands me the same black mug she drank her coffee out of this morning as the tea kettle begins to whistle. I pour the boiling water into the mug and place lavender tea in it.

"Would you like some honey?" I pour myself some tea. "No, thank you, and... call me Dahlia." She shows me the slightest smile. And based on what I see, she has a nice smile, just like Pansy.

"Dahlia? Like the flower? That's a lovely name, I see you kept the flower names going." I softly laugh, sitting with her by the kitchen island. "My mother's name was Jasmine." She takes a sip of her tea, showing even more of a smile.

Pansy Parkinson

I walk out of one of the guest bathrooms and skip over to the kitchen where I heard Lucille and my mum conversating. My mum seemed to like her. I sit next to mum and notice a smile on her face, I don't think I remember the last time I made my mother smile like, and there's Lucille barely trying, and making her even laugh.

"Lu, do you want to go watch some Christmas movies in the theatre?" I interrupt their conversation. "Oh, um, okay, sure." She nods. "You and my mum seem to like each other," I hold onto her hand once we leave the kitchen and walk up the stairs. "Yeah, she's not as scary as she seems."

We get to the theatre room, grab some blankets, and take a seat in the front. We spend the rest of the day cuddling and watching movies together. "What are you guys watching?" My dad walks into the room. "Just some Christmas movies, but she fell asleep," I whisper, referring to Lu.

"Aww, I'll leave you two alone." He kisses the top of my head, walking back out of the room. The sound of the door closing, making Lucille wake up. "What? Did he steal the presents yet?" She lifts her head off my shoulder to reveal a red mark on her cheek.

"I'm watching a completely different movie now, my darling." I caress her red cheek. "How about you go take a quick bath and I'll meet you in my bedroom to continue sleeping?" I turn off the screen and fold our blankets. "Okay,"

I get an idea as soon as she heads over to my bedroom bathroom. My mum seemed to be in a good mood, so I'll make it even better by making some coffee, which she really enjoys. It's depressing, but I just want her to give me the same smile she gave Lucille.

I grab a white mug and prepare some coffee, placing two scoops of sugar and some milk. I bring the mug over to the living room where she's adding some final toques to our Christmas tree.

"Hey, mum, I made you some coffee, two spoons of sugar." I smile offering her the mug. "Not right now, Pansy, I'm a bit busy. And I don't like sugar in my coffee, you're friend, Lucille knows how I like my coffee, and that's not my mug." She shakes her head.

"Oh," I sigh and throw out the coffee.

Of course.

Now that I think about it, Lucille's fucking perfect, even my mum likes her, she treats her like a daughter of her own and has shown her more affection in a day than she has to me in seventeen years.

I shouldn't be jealous of my girlfriend, but it's impossible when she can make my mu happy but I can't.