All righty. So I am a fanatic of Alice in Wonderland. I am a fanatic of Luna Lovegood. I am a fanatic of the Draco/Luna ship. So it was only inevitable that I end up doing a story in which all three are tied together in some way shape or form.

I have been in love with Draco/Luna for ages. I firmly believe that they would have been perfect together, but sadly, I had no say in the matter. But I do not discourage from the fact that they aren't canon. I'm surprised I haven't written a story about them sooner. I guess A Very Potter Sequel just inspired me to do something Potter-tastic. AMAZING show, by the way. I could not stop laughing. :D

Actually most of the inspiration I got for this story was from All Time Low's song "Painting Flowers." Hence the title.

Anywho, one with the show!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I probably would have no need to post fanfiction about it.

"What the hell are you doing?"

In retrospect, Draco shouldn't have been too surprised by the scene before him. This was Loony Lovegood he was looking, after all. No one else probably would have been as curious as he was if the situation were presented toward them. Most people probably would have either laughed at her or ignored her and walked away. But the fact that the younger girl was covered from head to toe in red paint, bending over a half-white, half-red rose was something worth asking about what the hell she was doing, and anyway, the mess before his eyes was too confounding to laugh at or ignore.

"Oh, hello, Draco," she greeted brightly, blinking up at him with her orbs for eyes. It didn't matter whether he liked her or not; he knew all too well that those eyes could watch him from afar and still manage to see into the depths of his soul. He hated being so violated.

"I asked you a question, Loony."

"Well, what the hell does it look like I'm doing?" she asked in the sincerest, most biting-free way possible, almost causing Draco to snort and manage a light smile. He contained himself in time, however. "I'm painting the flowers."

"Painting the flowers," he repeated. It was sad how unsurprised he was really reacting. "And why would you need to do that?"

She tilted her head to the side, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. The move left a large streak of red across her face, but she didn't notice. That, or else she didn't care. "Have you ever fallen down a rabbit hole, Draco?"

"Is that some sort of drug reference?" He refrained from adding, Because that would explain so much. She stood up, and he was able to see how fully soaked in paint she was. Half her uniform was splattered in red. She nearly looked like a work of art right then and there. A mad, jumbled, kind of adorable piece of art.

But he'd be damned if he mentioned that either, even if it was the truth.

"No, silly. It's from Alice in Wonderland. You know, the story about the girl who falls down a rabbit hole and ends up in Wonderland?"

"I'm familiar."

She nodded. "Well, I was rereading it last night, and when I got to the part about painting the roses red, I wondered if you really could paint flowers. And then I remembered that there were a patch of white roses in the courtyard, so today, I decided to—"

"Paint the roses red," he finished for her. Her smile in return was grateful and sunnier than the sun itself.

"Precisely." Stooping back to the ground, she settled herself beside the rose bush and dipped her paintbrush into the can of red paint near her knee. Draco quietly moved behind her. "I've already finished three. I haven't been working at it long."

"You could have fooled me," he remarked dryly. "Did you ever think of what might happen if a professor caught you out here, painting flowers and ruining the shrubbery?"

She shrugged, her delicate fingers hovering the brush over a particular rose. Her brush strokes were careful, as if she'd break the flower if she added any more pressure. "Sometimes, things are worth the consequence, if they're for something you believe in."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And you believe in painting flowers?"

Then, she was quiet. Their silence went on for a good few minutes, her continuing to paint a rose a different color and him watching her do so for some reason that was completely beyond him. When did he resign himself to this level? Didn't he have anything better to do?

"I believe in anything that wants to be believed in and has a right to." Her words were sudden and he nearly didn't hear them, but they were there and so was she and that was that. With a pair of clippers that she had pulled out of her sock, she snipped the end stem of the now fourth red flower. She hoisted herself back up and held the rose out to him, staring at him with those blasted eyes again. "I believe in you, you know."

His grey eyes fell on the red rose, then at her, then at the rose and back to her again. His mouth was dry and dumbly hanging open, so he shut it quickly and wordlessly took the rose from her. Their fingers touched briefly, but it was enough of an electric shock that he would have sent him reeling back, at least if he had no control over himself.

And for now, his worn mask was the one thing he was certain of anymore.

She smiled at him again—Or was it a smirk?—and took another step forward. His feet were firmly planted to the ground as she grew closer to him, till finally, her breath was tickling his jaw. He wasn't sure whether to be afraid or pleased.

And then, she did the most bewildering thing she could do at that point: From behind her back, she pulled out the paintbrush and gently bopped him on the cheek with it, leaving an odd stroke of red just sitting there on his face. She pulled back and giggled.

"Excuse me now, Draco. I have to go get more paint."

With a twirl, she was gone, and he was left with only three things: a red mark of paint on his face, a dripping red rose, and a lifetime worth of confusion that would drive anyone totally bonkers. Voldemort had told him to keep a low profile, but if Voldemort had ever been encountered by one Miss Lovegood, Draco was more than certain that the Dark Lord would lack any answer of how to respond.

The next morning, Draco sat in the Great Hall, half-listening to Crabbe and Goyle's conversation about the first year they scared the previous night. Grey eyes followed every person enter the dining hall, but they only stayed on the petite blonde a year his junior, paint-free this time, when she entered with the Weasley girl in tow. Luna had a habitual spot at the Ravenclaw table—right at the smack-dab end, a few feet away from the rest of the house. She approached that spot as she waved at Weasley, and when she turned back to the seat in front of her, she froze.

A rose sat in the place of her plate, dripping white onto a napkin with a few spots of untouched red sneaking through the paint. She sat down and picked the drying flower up, playing with it in her fingers a little before her head lifted to find the donor of such a gift.

His eyes were the first pair her own eyes saw. If she were to beam at him more, he thought she might explode with light. Control or no control, he simply couldn't help himself. He allowed himself to smile back.

He knew the story of Alice and all of her adventures. A ridiculous muggle tale and nothing more. In fact, it had to be one of the most absurd stories he'd ever heard. Considering Luna Lovegood was one of the most absurd people he'd ever met, it was only logical that the two most mad and illogical things found comfort in one another.

And after painting a flower for the girl who was truly her own kind of Alice, Draco wondered if maybe he was a little mad too.

I dunno if Draco's OOC or not. I know he had all that stress with being a Death Eater and such, but I think I could picture him pausing one day to question his surroundings, AKA, Luna. And I can picture Luna just being Luna, all strange and kind of all-knowing and a little naive. Oh, and awesome. 'Cause that is Luna.

Hope you liked it! ;)