Summary: Draco is odd, Luna thinks, but she can forgive him for that. After all, he may have been a Death Eater and he may get grumpy with inanimate objects, but he has a precious talent. He can tell when Luna is losing it, and she needs that right now.

Disclaimer: Sadly, living in Edinburgh and having ideas on trains does not make me J.K. Rowling.

"You grew flowers, in my cellar, and I never thanked you for it."

It was the first thing he said to her, after the war, awkwardly. Everything about their conversation was awkward on his part - trying to find her in the Great Hall, trying to remember the words he meticulously prepared, trying to hear her reply without leaning in too close. After all, no-one wanted a Death Eater within touching distance. She smiled, that big honest smile, and he caught a few phrases of what she said in response.

"I like flowers… They weren't too hard to grow… The Mesties did most of the work… I was so happy to give them a home…" Though he didn't hear most of it, the Great Hall was so bloody loud, Draco knew he wouldn't understand her words anyway. What he understood was that with barely anything to eat or drink and no chance of escape, little Luna Lovegood had spared some of her water every day to keeping those plants alive. He had never seen anything so pretty, when he found them the day after Harry's grand breakout.

"I still have them, you know," he said nervously, "in the cellar, on the window sill. They've grown quite high."

Luna stepped closer, into his space, so close one could imagine she was about to kiss him. "Do you? Are they in the colours of the four houses, because the Mesties promised they'd try but it's not very easy to make a green and silver flower, is it?"

"Uh, just about," he said, distracted - distracted by the blood clotted on one side of her head, staining her fair, straw like hair. "Luna, were you hurt? Because there's a patch of blood - I can't see how I didn't notice before -"

"Oh, that, yes one of the Death Eaters cast a blasting spell, I went right over. The wall was kind enough to pull me through afterwards, but it was rather a nasty knock." She blinked slowly, as though enjoying the sensation.

"And why couldn't I see it before?" Draco asked, instinctively reaching out to check the wound wasn't too large or deep, then dropping his hand. Few of the winning side had wanted him to make it through this battle, and the people nearby who had been discreetly staring were now openly glaring. "That's a pretty bad wound, you should get it checked out."

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes telling him to glance at the medical station set up at the front of the hall. To say it was busy was an understatement. "I shouldn't faint, at least for another few hours," she said, perfectly tranquil. "So I don't see why I should sit there when I can sit here. Don't you think a bench is more comfortable than stone steps?"

"Yes, of course, but-" He sighed in frustration; there was clearly no point arguing. That dreamless expression was coming over her face, the one he recognised from school, and if comparing her to a diseased rodent hadn't gotten a rise from her, calm protests never would. "Look, I know you can't go home, because your home was destroyed. Where are you going to stay?"

She shrugged, clearly unworried. "I don't know. But it seems I have lots of friends, so I think one of them will take me in."

Maybe. But your loyal, brave friends have never been very good at remembering you, have they? He struggled with himself for a moment, debating what to say, what the right thing to do was. Words had always come easily between him and Luna, but that didn't mean they were the rights ones. He relented to his instincts though. "Well, do you want to stay with me? At Malfoy Manor?"

She stared at him in shock, blinking rapidly now. For a moment, she stopped floating and crashed back to earth, was normal in her surprise, couldn't quite get why he had asked her - he didn't know why he'd asked her - and her thoughts were clear in her silver-grey eyes. "I - I don't think so, Draco, my friends would be-" She couldn't say it.

"Angry." She sounded so uncertain, so upset. "I won't be there - we both know I'm going to be arrested soon, I accept that. But what about the flowers, Luna? Someone has to water the flowers."

This logic saved her - this was logic she could understand. That he was dangerous and an enemy and that her friends wouldn't like it was all one thing, but the home of the Mesties was another.

"Okay, okay. Just to water the flowers." And then she touched her head, blinked woozily, and stumbled - unconscious - into his arms.

When Luna woke, there was rather too much light and not enough air. The lack of oxygen bothered her little, since childhood she'd never been quite able to balance her breathing, but the lights were a real nuisance. She screwed up her eyes and grimaced - her mouth, she had just realised, tasted like wood chips - and she did a quick mental check of her limbs.

Good, all there, and her toes wiggled joyously. She had a rather odd fear of being an amputee, and she liked to check in the mornings, and sometimes during class and while brushing her teeth, that she was still as fruitful in limbs as before.

Having established that she had to be in a hospital of some kind, unless Fleur had again decided to disinfect the whole cottage, Luna opened her eyes. Ah yes, the sign for St Mungo's was displayed quite clearly, and she had little reason to believe it was a trap. The guards of her cell had done that a few times, pretended to let her escape so they could drag her back, or taking her into the big hall to make her run and run whilst they watched and laughed... But this was a place she knew well. Her mother had died here, in a single bed room. She had thought she recognised the smell of the disinfectant.

Most of the other patients were sleeping, though a few were talking in low voices to visitors, and one exhausted looking nurse was changing the bandages of a young man with blistered, scorched skin. Luna waited for her to finish, then gestured her over.

"I'd like to leave now, please," she said, trying to be authoritative but mostly just sounding young. "I can care for myself at home."

The nurse's half-focused eyes did a single sweep of her body, then flicked over her charts, then she nodded. "Will someone pick you up, dear? You've had no visitors yet."

"No, I'll floo," she said firmly for once, twisting her legs and pushing out of the bed. "Are there any forms to fill in?"

The nurse laughed, though the sound was weak and breathless. "Pick yourself up a couple from front desk, if you like, but don't trying handing 'em in. Give it a week, then send them by owl. Gosh, never thought I'd say Mungo's was more interested in patients than forms."

Luna agreed at once that was the best plan, then helped the nurse to scourgify the bedding for another patient. Once done, she gathered her things - which consisted of her cloak, a few bottle of potions she wouldn't take and her wand - then she headed out to the reception, concentrating very hard on not seeming like the wreck she was.

The atrium was a mess of crowds pressing close together to shout and exchange rumours, and untreated patients huddled in chairs. It seemed she'd slept the night, for the morning sun was streaming through the windows and the Prophet was being eagerly clutched by many of the conscious witches and wizards around.

"Excuse me," she asked when she came upon one witch clutching the paper with both hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Could I share that paper with you?" Normally Luna wouldn't have asked such a thing of a stranger, as most people seemed to find sharing to be an odd notion, but today it seemed the rules of everyday life had become muddled and forgotten.

"Of course!" The lady said, taking the bumblebee-shaped handkerchief Luna offered. "My goodness, I can't believe it's over at last. My husband - he's muggleborn, he had to flee the country - my goodness, he can come home!"

Luna smiled warmly at her, and peered at the front page. VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED BY THE CHOSEN ONE, SHACKLEBOLT MADE MINISTER took up half of the cover, and the rest was details of the battle, mostly incorrect. On the next page they had at least had the decency to warn that information was hard to come by, above a list of all those captured, killed or missing. Finally she found what she was looking for, though not quite in the form she expected.

CHOSEN ONE PROTECTS DEATH EATERS - shortly after the battle, wanted Death Eaters Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy as well as their son Draco Malfoy were arrested without protest, though one most unusual event occurred. Harry Potter, who had just hours before defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sent word with a house-elf that he wanted the three prisoners "not treated like animals, if you don't mind". When asked to comment as to what they'd done to deserve the forgiveness of the Wizarding World's Saviour, Mr Malfoy had replied that "he's not a bloody God, in the name of Merlin, he defeated the Dark Lord with a first year spell." When it was pointed out that Mr Malfoy had willingly called you-know-who the Dark Lord, he refused to comment.

Luna smiled thinly, and passed the paper back to the woman. She had read enough - if Draco had truly been arrested, then it fell to her to water their flowers. Hurriedly she pressed through the crowds, keeping her head down in case someone recognised her (after all, the Daily Prophet had listed her as killed in the battle) and joining the back of the queue for the fireplaces. It was a truly odd thing, that though all of the rest of the hospital was in a state of unabashed chaos, British wizards still kept order at queueing stations.

In time she reached the front, and nervously she grasped a handful of the floo powder - free, in a desperate attempt to get people to leave - before throwing it in the fire. What would happen if there were Death Eaters at the Manor, if Draco had some kind of cruel wish to see her suffer? Surely he wasn't trying to trap her, didn't blame her for whatever he suffered for allowing Harry Potter to escape? Her thoughts, so rarely dark, clouded in on her. She could picture no worse fate than walking back into that basement, finding the flowers dead and hearing the door lock shut behind her…

No, Luna, she told herself sharply. Draco is good. Trust Draco.

She stepped into the flames, and turned to face the watching queue. Gosh, this was going to send the rumours flying. "Malfoy Manor!" She called, and no sooner had she registered the shock, even horror on her fellow witches and wizards faces, she was hurtling up the chimney. Gates flew past her at dizzying speed, till at last she tumbled to a stop and allowed herself to be thrown out of the flames, graceless and fumbling, landing on her knees.

For a moment, there was a silence. Then came a voice that was undeniably Malfoy-ish, so prim and proper and slimy. "Oh dear me… I see the manners of the low-born still haven't improved," said an ancient, white-haired man in a portrait, his rather large behind resting on an even larger cushioned chair. The likeness to her own maternal grandfather was striking. "And who are you to visit the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy when there is no-one here to greet you?"

Luna struggled to her feet, still woozy from her recent fainting spell. "I'm Luna Lovegood, sir, I was invited here by Draco Malfoy," she said, giving the painted man a cheerful smile he didn't reply to. Instead, he gave her a hard, mildly disgusted stare.

"Young lady, are you not aware of the indignity of visiting a house when the occupants are not at home? It is unfathomable. I bid you leave at once, and call back when the Master, or at least the Mistress of this house is in residence. And make sure to dress more appropriately too!" His sharp look at her jinx-torn jeans wasn't appreciative.

She smiled again, but this time it was the shallow smile of a girl used to being insulted and degraded. "I'm sorry sir, but none of the Malfoy's will be in residence for quite a while, I'm afraid. I'm living here until their return though, and don't worry, I won't let you get lonely." With that, Luna strode straight past the floundering, red-faced portrait and pushed open the door, letting it fall shut with a click behind her.

The entrance hall was lavish, and clearly worth a fortune, and completely and utterly destroyed.

Luna froze by the door, staring in horror at the way it seemed to have been bulldozed by destructive magic. The ceiling was cracked, a huge tapestry of a unicorn blessing torn, and several of the statues were making small whimpering noises on the floor, or at least the chunks of them with the mouthpiece were. Half of a giant chandelier still hung from the roof - the rest was shattered glass on the marble floor.

"Merlin's pants," was all Luna could say, whispering - for the whole house gave off the distinct feeling of being haunted, or some kind of ancient ruin. Fumbling she pulled out her wand, and twice cast a Homenum Revelio - but she was alone. There was not a single person in the whole of Malfoy Manor.

Thank Merlin.

Now to get on with the task in hand.

The flowers had grown to be exceptional.

They had started as small seedlings she had had in her pocket when she was captured, but had flourished to be so large they were overflowing off of the window sill - the light was artificial, a magical trick like the one used at the Ministry, but it was enough to sustain them. When Luna saw them again, she had wanted to cry they were so beautiful, their petals alternating in the different house colours - the red and gold of Gryffindor, the yellow and black of Hufflepuff… Sure, the effect wasn't perfect and yes, a few of the flowers seemed to have become confused and paired blue and green together, but it was still wonderful. And more than anything, it reminded her of her one true home.

She had watered them and - so, so carefully, levitated them off the window sill. It was time to take them out of the basement, and hopefully, it was time for her to leave the basement and never, ever come back. (Blasting the doors off of their frames had been fun, but blasting the whole room into pieces would be even better.)

Slowly, her eyes watering with the effort of a continued levitation - never her strongest skill - Luna took the flowers and placed them right in the middle of the entrance chamber, clearing some glass out of the way with her foot. There - the sun streamed in from a shattered glass window, and the Mesties buzzed quietly with excitement. Smiling widely, Luna bent down to speak with them.

"Are you okay there, guys?" She asked, listening closely to their high pitched tones. Mesties were like a magical version of soil, and her father had told her all about how to talk with them. Apparently, they loved their new spot, had been getting quite cramped earlier and were very grateful. She accepted their wishes for good sun on her leaves and stood up, brushing the dust from her knees.

Now, to find somewhere she could put down her things, hopefully before she collapsed again. No need to tell anyone a stunning spell had glanced off her during the battle - everyone knew most patients got better by themselves within a few weeks, if that. The others… Well, there was no need to think too much about that.

Luna hummed a few bars of Weasley is Our King under her breath, and wandered through a few more of the Malfoy rooms. Destruction, destruction, and total and utter nothingness. In some rooms, it was clear someone had had a temper tantrum - in others, blood stained the walls and she quickly closed the door. Finally she found a painting where the occupant wasn't too scared or too uptight to talk to her, and she was given directions to one of the upstairs rooms. Left, left, straight ahead… She pushed open an ornate and rather disgustingly decorated door, and sighed to see an untouched room… With a bed and a writing desk.

At last. She collapsed on the large mattress - she was so going to bounce on this bed later - and summoned the parchment to her. She had so many urgent letters to write, but first…

Dear dad,

I know we haven't spoken or seen each other for a long time, and that a lot has happened. I'm fine, completely unhurt, and I love you very much and would never blame you for anything. Luna paused - was that right? That seemed to suggest she did blame him… No matter, it wasn't like her father to pick at words. I heard about our house - do you have somewhere to live, are you hurt? I'm currently staying with a friend, but you would be more than welcome to join me. His house was quite destroyed by Death Eaters, but no matter, I'm sure I can fix a bit of it at least, to make it habitable.

The battle was quite scary, but I'm fine now, and the War is over. I hope I can see you soon.

All my love dad!

Luna Lovegood.

P.S. My friend's house has Mesties, dad, and they're so friendly! I can't wait to see how much I can learn about herbology from them, I knew you were right when you said the Wizarding World undervalued their gardening knowledge.

Her letter written, Luna rolled the scroll up and sealed it with her wand, an old habit now. She missed her father terribly - he was so wonderfully smart, but she always got the feeling he got quite lonely without her. Most people just didn't understand how wise he was, because they were too caught up in the Great Culture Plot one of the Quibbler's writers had uncovered. It was a real shame, but not one she could deal with in that moment.

She instead began writing little notes to everyone she could think of, to tell them she was quite all right, and one to cancel her own funeral. Though she would quite have liked to see it go ahead, she wasn't a rich girl and goodness knows what the bill would be like. Only when the sunlight had reached the very tip of her arched window did Luna turn to the most and least pressing letter of all.

Dear Draco,

The Mesties are great, and your home is beautiful, though a little unusual in decor. What's with the snakeskin on the big wooden table? Not that I mind feeding a snake, but I haven't quite found him or her yet and it's a little unnerving.

Are you in Azkaban? Because I would have thought they wouldn't trust the Dementors anymore, but I don't know who else could guard you. If you're allowed visitors, do tell me, I'd like to talk to you again. I was thinking some of the broken furniture could be repaired, but I don't want to cause any offense. And I'm pretty sure most of the statues wouldn't let me anyway. Are they always this bad-mouthed? I have a clay figurine of my great-great-great grandmother at home, and she always talked posh, but she was still quite nice.

I hope you don't mind me raiding your larder, if I can find it that is. What a maze this manor is!

Don't worry, and stay strong. You're going to be just fine.

Luna Lovegood

Quickly she rolled up the parchment, smearing the ink, and sealed it. She didn't want to think too hard about it - people were always harder for her than she let on, but not Draco. Writing to Draco was easy, friendly, effortless.

Warm. It felt like being wrapped in a blanket, an extra layer of comfort. Not something she would be telling the others about anytime soon.

Smiling from the corners of her mouth - because she was safe, at last, safe - Luna took her letters, and went in search of the owlery. Soon, she assured herself, her new friend and maybe even her dad would be with her again.

A/N: Hi guys! I uploaded this a million years ago and then abandoned it, thinking it was no good. But rereading it, I'm actually quite proud of it, so I'm going to be updating hopefully every week from now on.