The garden was alive. Not just in the usual way one might expect—plants breathing, leaves rustling—but in a way that defied categorization. There were vines that hummed when the sun hit them just right, flowers that sighed in unison when the breeze passed, and an orange tree that seemed to whisper secrets to the wind. In the midst of it all stood Luna Lovegood, her hair a little longer than it had been at Hogwarts and adorned with what appeared to be a live butterfly hairclip, softly glowing. She was wearing a jumper that may or may not have once been a tapestry, and her hands were dusted with a fine layer of soil that sparkled faintly.

"Luna?" a voice called from the gate, tentative and amused. Neville Longbottom stepped into view, holding a basket of his own freshly harvested herbs. He smiled, because of course Luna's garden would outshine any wizarding greenhouse. "I, er, thought I'd stop by. Haven't seen you since… well, forever."

Luna turned, a serene smile blooming on her face. "Neville! You're just in time. I was about to show the gooseberry-grapefruit hybrids how to dance." She gestured vaguely at a patch of small, round fruits bouncing in place like they were warming up for a jig. "They've been terribly shy."

Neville blinked. "Of course they are." He stepped closer, taking in the sheer otherness of the garden. It wasn't just magical—it was Luna magical. A tree with rainbow-colored fruit blinked as he passed, and he could swear the scent of cinnamon was coming from a row of what looked like sunflowers that had mouths. "This is… incredible. Are you growing everything here?"

"Oh, not everything," Luna said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I haven't managed to get the licorice lilies to cooperate with the caramel carrots yet. They keep arguing about sweetness." She reached into her pocket, pulled out a tiny, perfectly rolled joint, and lit it with a flick of her wand. A gentle puff of silvery smoke curled into the shape of a star. "Cannabis?" she asked, holding it out to Neville.

He hesitated. "Isn't that… illegal?"

Luna gave him a look of pure, unfiltered pity. "Oh, Neville. For Muggles, perhaps. For us, it's more like… herbal meditation. It helps align magical frequencies with the natural world. Besides," she added, taking another puff, "it's excellent for keeping the Whimsiflowers from sulking. They're very sensitive."

Neville stared at the patch of bright blue flowers that seemed to be swaying lazily in time with the smoke. "Right. Makes perfect sense."

Luna beamed. "I knew you'd understand. Come, let me show you the cracker tree."

The "cracker tree," as it turned out, was a gnarled, ancient-looking thing with leaves that crunched audibly when touched. Luna plucked one and handed it to Neville. "Go on, try it. It's rosemary-flavored today. They change seasonally, you know. In winter, they're more of a cinnamon-ginger mix."

Neville bit into the leaf, which was, indeed, a cracker. "That's… incredible," he admitted around a mouthful. "I don't know how you manage all this."

"Oh, it's simple, really," Luna said, wandering further into the garden. She gestured to a glowing red-and-gold tree that seemed to shimmer as though underwater. "That's where I've been experimenting with magical fruits. This one grows star apples that burst into constellations when you bite them. And over there," she pointed to a patch of vines, "are the singing cucumbers. They're dreadful in salads, but lovely for serenading tomatoes."

Neville followed, torn between laughter and awe. "Luna, this is… it's amazing. But do you ever, I don't know, feel lonely out here?"

She paused, looking at him with those wide, silvery eyes that always seemed to see a little more than she let on. "Lonely?" she repeated. "Oh, no, not at all. The garden is alive, Neville. It sings and breathes and reminds me every day that we're all connected. We magical folk forget that sometimes—that we're still part of the earth, no matter how much magic we weave into it. Besides," she added, plucking a glowing fruit and handing it to him, "I have visitors. Like you."

Neville held the fruit, which pulsed faintly in his hand like a tiny heartbeat. "What's this?"

"Try it," Luna said, smiling. "It tastes like memories of sunshine."

As he bit into the fruit, a wave of warmth spread through him, filling him with a strange, contented happiness. He looked at Luna, who was watching him with quiet satisfaction. "You're brilliant, you know that?" he said.

She shrugged. "Not really. I just listen. The earth has so much to say if you're quiet enough to hear it."

And as they sat together in the garden, surrounded by humming plants and whispering trees, Neville couldn't help but think that Luna Lovegood might just be the sanest person he'd ever met.