A/N: This was written for Round 8 of the Quidditch League, in which I'm Beater 1 for the Montrose Magpies. I've put all the prompts at the bottom of the fic so as not to give anything away but I'd like to say thank you to 'The Dreaming Hare' for the wonderful headcanon that inspired this fic.

As always, a huge thank you my amazing team too for being supportive, incredible betas and wonderful people.

Magic Paints Her Soul

It had taken Luna a very long time to realise that people simply did not see the world as she did.

Even as a child, she had seen magic. Not just the spells that she had been raised surrounded by, or the ones which were common in every magical home — as well as a number of more unusual ones thanks to her mother's experiments and creations. Luna could see magic as it caressed the reinforced beams in her bedroom ceiling. The soil of their vegetable patch glowed after her father walked over it; it was in the very air they breathed.

For years, she had tried to pretend, to try and deny what she could see every day. Wrackspurts and Blibbering Humdingers, after all, were simply facts. Her father and other people from all over the world had reported their existence — who was Luna to contradict them?

Nobody, not even in all the books in the Hogwarts library, of which she scoured through the vast majority, could describe why she could sense where the staircase was going to move to with her eyes closed. The worst part was that no one cared to understand.

Professor Flitwick had merely smiled. In hushed tones, Madam Pomfrey had suggested to Professor Dumbledore that the delusions could be due to the trauma of watching her mother die. The Headmaster, in turn, had told her to be proud of her abilities and do her house proud. It had been brushed over, and so Luna had begun to accept that she was different.

Without knowing it, her friends had helped. They were a kaleidoscope, each person a different shade. Suddenly, Luna had gone from watching a world of colour to being enveloped by it one. She'd had to adjust to their teases, to the sparks that wrapped around their hands and words.

"You're too old for this world," Neville had said once, echoing a sentiment that had followed her since she was six years old. Maybe seven.

They had been sitting in a hidden alcove on the fourth floor, and Luna had started to cry because the colours which Hogwarts had always been awash with were dull now. Muted, mutinous swirls of rust mixed with dejected, ashy greys. She had sobbed about how the castle felt betrayed and angry, and Neville had put an arm around her. Dimly, Luna had wondered if he was going to do something — a great deal of the girls and boys had started to turn to each other for comfort, finding no other way to get through the long nights filled with the echoes of cries and screams.

Her stomach balked at the thought.

Instead, Neville had listened to her unsteady breathing and even less steady mumbled words. He had come to the conclusion that she was an old soul. He knew that Luna saw the world differently; it wasn't until she found herself in the dark dungeons under Malfoy Manor that Luna discovered she wasn't the only one.

After all this time, there was someone else who saw the world in colours. Someone else saw the magic which permeated through their very existence.

(Everything, except, of course, the Muggle world. Luna did not like to visit often, at all. It made her sneeze and her eyes feel heavy.)

Garrick Ollivander had to introduce himself, for the Lovegoods traditionally did not go to Ollivander's for their wands. Luna had crafted her own with her mother's guidance when she was nine. Three weeks before her mother had died.

Garrick had listened with interest as Luna described the process. Tired, in pain and despondent at the situation she found herself in, Luna had let it slip about the magic. She waited for him to brush it off, to make a joke, to ignore the remark completely. Instead, he gave the abnormal response of nodding sagely.

"We are the same, you and I," he had said hoarsely.

Their conversations bled into a friendship, which shifted into many hours of him whispering secrets to her, so sure was he that they were about to die, ensuring the loss of all his family's vast and secretive knowledge, that which made them exceptional Wandmakers.

The Battle was violent, colours which shrieked and burnt her retinas. It hurt almost as much as her father's betrayal — how could he not see that Harry and the others were as much family to her as he was? Months passed and Luna spent more time with Garrick, trying to heal by the sea.

Home was not Hogwarts any more, where the colours flickered, still slow to come back to life. Home was not the house she had grown up in. Home had started to become a fairytale, ironically like the ones her friends thought she was so fond of.

Weeks turned into months. At one point, the funerals seemed never ending, a gaping chasm of grief. Luna began to think that after everything she had been through over the last year — years, if she really took the time to think about it — she would never recover.

Then, Garrick asked for her support to go back to his shop for the first time since being kidnapped, and the world bloomed into colour.

Diagon Alley had always been beautiful, full of iridescent life. Seeing it, even if it were only a flicker of its old self, lifted some of the worry which had been weighing so heavily on Luna's heart.

At the sight of shoppers, gossipers, meandering, still searching for a sense of familiarity, Garrick's back straightened. Luna stayed to help clear away debris. Afterwards, Garrick took her into the back rooms, which had remained warded and hidden from the outside world.

She was the first person Garrick had invited into his workroom since his wife died a decade before. After all that he showed her, Ollivander sat her down and offered her a proposition.

Luna never left.

HPHPHP

[8th April 2009]

The doorbell chimed.

As always, Luna remained in the back for just a moment to let the magic wash over her. First impressions often said a lot. To her surprise, the magical signature she felt was wonderfully familiar, so Luna approached the front of the shop with a broad smile.

"Harry! Mrs Tonks, and Teddy, of course. Today is your birthday."

All three spun around, Harry's eyes crinkling in the corners in amusement.

"Ollivander used to do that, just appear out of nowhere."

"Did he?" Luna asked airly. She cocked her head and turned to look at Teddy, who was staring around the room in wide-eyed amazement.

"I heard, of course, Miss Lovegood, that you took over after Ollivander passed, but I did not really believe it possible, for someone not in the family line, it's astonishing," began Mrs Tonks. "Indeed, you have rather… made your own mark."

"Thank you," Luna said genuinely. "It took quite a bit of decorating to get it just right."

Harry looked like he wanted to laugh again.

There were a few more minutes of small talk and then, at Luna's request, the two adults made to leave. Teddy's hair shifted to a muted shade of green as he hesitantly watched them leave.

"You have his eyes," Luna observed. Teddy's head snapped back around as the door closed, looking at her in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your father; you have your father's eyes."

"I… Everyone tells me I'm just like my mum, you know, because of the

Metamorphmagus thing."

"Oh. Well, no, I don't really see that at all. You look exactly like your father to me."

"My… my hair is blue, Miss Lovegood," Teddy mumbled.

Luna chose to ignore him, instead heading back into the shop. "If you'll come with me, perhaps pick up a box you think looks interesting, we may as well begin."

Having the individual shopping for a wand go through the shop themselves was one of the many changes Luna had slowly brought around. Even when Garrick was still alive, they had had many discussions and lively debates over tradition. He had even let her start to research new wand cores, always supporting her ideas for innovation. Then he had passed away. It had been peaceful, something all those close to him had long expected and Luna had been given everything, his sole inheritor.

Whilst wand-making in Magical Britain was slowly modernising and changing, not much else had changed for Luna — except that now her life had a purpose. Of course, there had been suitors interested in changing her life's course; it was something that Ginny liked to bring up often, but Luna knew that nothing could bring her happiness like magic could.

Watching Teddy test a wand gingerly and finding the perfect fit for him reminded Luna of all of that. She saw the magic of the wand wrap around him, soft buttercup yellows and dusty pinks, like the pastel shades of a morning sunrise.

"On my second try, Grandma!" Teddy yelped, running to the shop's front and pushing the door open to beckon his family back in. Luna had become accustomed to the soft smiles the guardians often had and the excited ramblings of the eleven-year olds. Harry came to stand by her and, noting her expression, sighed softly.

"You suit this, Luna; you really do. You've worked so hard too; I'm proud of you."

Luna blinked.

"Thank you. But really, Harry, there's no need. This is what I was meant to do."

It was clear that Harry didn't understand. Luna had seen the expression a thousand times over. Now, however, it didn't bother her. Luna was happier than she'd ever been as magic spun and sparked around her, wrapped in wands waiting to be chosen.

She was home.

A/N:

Prompts used were:

Headcanon: Luna Lovegood apprenticed as a wandmaker under Ollivander after the war, eventually heading his shop after his passing.

- possible

- "You have his eyes."

- "You're too old for this world."

This fic was also entered in 'Raise a Witch or Wizard Challenge' on HPFC for Month 1 (Option 1)