After the brilliant light and polished marble of the Transfiguration wing, the corridors of Beauxbâtons leading to the greenhouses felt cooler, earthier, and sweetly humid. A faint mist clung to the moss-covered stone floor, and the air was scented with mint, crushed petals, and something distinctly woody—almost ancient.
The Magical Botany wing, nestled against the château's southern gardens, was a sprawling collection of glass-domed conservatories, open-air green plots, and enchanted arboretums. Vines curled lazily up the iron framework of the greenhouses, pulsing faintly with the quiet rhythm of magical life.
Eira and Marin strolled side by side across the gravel path, their uniforms slightly sun-warmed, books hugged to their chests.
"I heard today we're studying a plant that's used in Felix Felicis," Marin whispered with wide eyes. "That's… like… top-tier potion stuff, isn't it?"
Eira gave a soft nod, her curiosity piqued. "It's not something they teach us to brew for years. The ingredients alone are hard to get."
The students gathered at Greenhouse Three—one of the largest. Its door, shaped like an arch of twisted hazelwood, opened at a soft command from within.
Professor Lioré stood near the central workbench, smiling warmly as students filed in. He was a tall man with silver-blond hair tied back in a loose ribbon, and kind, perceptive brown eyes. His voice carried the softness of rustling leaves and the warmth of afternoon sun on stone.
"Come in, my dear ones," he said, motioning them toward their stations. "Today's lesson is something very special."
The greenhouse was alive with quiet magic. Humming orchids drifted in midair, potted ferns bowed gently to passing students, and a vine lazily plucked a fly from the air with a snap of its pink blossom.
Professor Lioré waved his wand, and at once, a floating image bloomed in the center of the classroom—a luminous, pale-blue plant with narrow, glowing leaves and long, hair-fine roots that seemed to shimmer like stardust.
"This," he said reverently, "is Desideria Draco. Known in the older magical texts as Dragon's Whimroot."
A soft murmur rippled through the students. Even Eira found herself leaning forward.
"Desideria Draco," he continued, "is a rare and deeply enchanted plant. Its root, when properly distilled, is one of the vital ingredients in Felix Felicis, the famed potion of fortune. While the entire potion requires months of careful brewing and several rare substances, it is this root that gives the potion its famed effect—the subtle manipulation of probability, the gentle tug of fate."
He let the words hang for a moment.
Marin raised his hand.
"You may ask"
"How does a plant influence luck?"
Professor Lioré smiled. "Excellent question, Mister Marin."
He gently touched the floating image of the plant, and it spun slowly, revealing its glowing filaments.
"Desideria Draco is not merely magical—it is destined. It grows only in places where fate itself is constantly rewritten. Environments of pure chaos and creation. And there is no greater such crucible," he said, "than the dwelling place of dragons."
A hushed awe swept the room.
"This plant is not sown. It does not obey gardeners or charms. It appears of its own accord in dragon breeding grounds, and only where the magical residue of draconic fire has altered the land—sometimes over centuries."
He walked slowly between the rows of students, his voice carrying the gravity of old truth.
"Why dragons? Because they are beings of raw, untamed destiny. They do not simply live—they bend the world around them. Where their fire touches earth, the landscape is forever changed. Magic thickens. Time sometimes warps. Life grows strange."
He raised his wand again, and a new image appeared: a rugged, wind-beaten cliffside with several dragons soaring above it, their shadows casting tremors across the forest below. Among the scorched rocks, glowing softly between cracks in the stone, bloomed clusters of Desideria Draco.
"Romania," he said quietly. "The largest concentration of these plants is found in the wild dragon preserves in the Carpathians. The Romanian Ministry guards these areas carefully—partly to protect the dragons, but mostly… to control this."
Eira watched the image intently, fascinated.
"The roots of Desideria Draco are extremely delicate," Professor Lioré said. "They must be harvested under a full moon, using enchanted silver gloves, or they disintegrate. When prepared correctly, the root releases a compound called Fortunelle—a magical essence that synchronizes with the user's intent, subtly aligning future events toward success."
A few students scribbled rapidly in their notebooks.
"It doesn't grant miracles," Lioré clarified, "but it amplifies opportunities, minimizes interference, and increases alignment between desire and result. That is… if your intentions are pure."
He looked around meaningfully.
"Used foolishly, Felix Felicis can lead to overconfidence and recklessness. That's why it's restricted to very specific situations—Auror missions, political negotiations, even Quidditch finals… but rarely more than a few drops."
He let that settle before finally clapping his hands once.
"Now! We will not be working with the real Desideria Draco today, of course. But we do have a cousin species—Desideria Minor—which shares some traits and can be used to study the root structure and magical aura."
He waved his wand toward the back wall, where several pots floated forward—each containing a small, pale blue sprout surrounded by fine, glowing tendrils.
"Handle with care," he instructed. "And try to feel the magic in the air around it. These are shy plants. But if you approach gently, they sometimes open."
Eira and Marin were assigned a pot together. As they leaned over, the sprout trembled slightly, its leaves curling like fingers folding shyly.
"It's like it's breathing," Marin whispered.
"It's listening," Eira said softly, reaching forward with slow, calm hands. As her fingertips hovered just above the soil, the little sprout uncurled its leaves—and for the briefest moment, the glow pulsed brighter.
Professor Lioré passed by, watching.
"Very well done, Miss White. It responds to quiet confidence."
After the hands-on examination and a few sketches in their field journals, the bell rang faintly outside the greenhouse, signaling the end of the period.
Students slowly packed their things, but Eira lingered.
"Professor?" she asked, stepping toward him.
"Yes, Mademoiselle White?"
She glanced down at the now-closing leaves of the Desideria Minor. "Can this plant ever be cultivated in a personal garden? Or greenhouse?"
He gave a soft laugh—not unkind. "A common question among potion enthusiasts."
"But no," he said gently, "it is impossible. The true Desideria Draco does not grow where it is tended—it grows where it is forged."
He gestured toward the enchanted image again—the dragons circling in the Romanian skies.
"It needs not only the magic of dragons—but the chaos of their fire, the ancient saturation of wild, untamed land. These plants are born of instability, of power beyond human control. To tame such a plant is to kill what makes it miraculous."
"So they can't be grown—only found?" Eira asked.
"Not found," Lioré corrected, his brown eyes thoughtful. "They find you, when the land deems you ready."
There was something poetic, almost sad, in his tone.
"I see," Eira murmured.
He gave her a small smile. "But you ask the right questions. That is the beginning of real magic."
As she turned to leave, he added, "And Miss White?"
"Yes?"
"If one day you ever find yourself where dragons sleep… watch the ground. You may see blue light beneath your feet."
Eira smiled quietly and nodded before stepping out into the golden light of the courtyard, where the afternoon had fully awakened.
Marin was waiting for her by the stone bench beneath the whispering willow.
"What did he say?" He asked.
Eira sat beside him, brushing dirt off her sleeves. "He said that tell Marin to not flirt with other people's girls and beaten black and blue like his hair ."
Marin blinked. "You are always having the most dramatic answers, you know that?"
Eira chuckled softly. "Maybe. Or maybe I enjoy seeing you get your Karma ."
They sat in silence for a while, the sun warm, the greenhouse mist trailing like perfume across the gardens.