Luncheon Among the Starblooms
It was an accident, really. Draco Malfoy hadn't meant to step through the shimmering curtain of ivy that marked the garden's threshold. He had been wandering—brooding, if he was honest—along the wooded edges of the countryside when a peculiar glow caught his eye. One step too close, and the magic had wrapped around him, drawing him into a world he hadn't anticipated.
"Ah, you're here," Luna said brightly, as though she'd been expecting him. She stood in the center of a clearing, cradling a cluster of luminous blooms in her hands. The flowers looked as though they had been plucked from the night sky, their petals shimmering with constellations.
Draco opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Lovegood," he said finally, his voice stiff. "What is this place?"
Luna tilted her head, her silver-blonde hair catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy. "It's my garden, of course. Though it isn't entirely mine. The plants have their own ideas about things." She gestured around them, and Draco followed her gaze.
The garden was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was wild, yet harmonious, with plants growing in impossible arrangements. Starblooms glowed alongside dark, curling vines that whispered faintly as they moved. A stream wound through the clearing, its water sparkling with golden motes that floated like fireflies. Above them, dragonflies with iridescent wings hovered lazily, their hum like a distant lullaby.
"I didn't mean to intrude," Draco said, though his eyes lingered on the peculiar beauty of the place.
"Oh, you didn't," Luna replied. "The garden decides who it lets in. You must have needed to be here."
Draco frowned but didn't argue. Instead, he followed her as she drifted toward a table nestled beneath an ancient tree with bark that shimmered like stardust. The table was set for two, with mismatched plates and a teapot that occasionally let out a small sneeze of steam.
Luna poured tea into Draco's cup without asking. "Starbloom nectar," she explained. "It helps you see things clearly—though not in the way you might expect."
He took a cautious sip. The tea was surprisingly light, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on his tongue.
"I don't know what you think I need to see," Draco muttered, though there was no malice in his tone.
"Not think," Luna corrected. "Feel."
As they sat, Luna began to talk—mostly about the plants. She told him about the Starblooms, how their glow was brightest when the garden was content, and how their roots connected to an underground network that hummed with ancient magic. She showed him the Murmuring Ferns, whose leaves quivered with soft, musical tones, and the Sorrowvine, a creeping plant that absorbed sadness and transformed it into blooms of quiet joy.
Draco found himself listening, truly listening, for the first time in years.
At one point, Luna reached out to a nearby bush covered in tiny, bell-shaped flowers. "These are Moonlit Chimes," she said, plucking one delicately. "They ring softly when you hold them. Here, try."
Draco hesitated but took the flower. It was cool against his skin, and as he held it, a faint, melodic chiming reached his ears. It was oddly soothing.
"Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, gesturing to the garden. "Why tend to all of… this?"
Luna smiled, a distant, dreamy expression on her face. "Because it's alive. It reminds me that we're all part of something bigger. And because it's beautiful, even when it's messy and wild."
Draco didn't reply, but for the first time in a long while, he felt something close to peace.
As he left the garden that day—guided by a path of glowing moss that lit up beneath his feet—Draco glanced back once, catching a final glimpse of Luna amid the Starblooms. She looked at home there, surrounded by the magic and the wildness, a part of the garden herself.
For the first time, he wondered if he, too, could belong to something so wondrously untamed.