The Christmas tree in the corner shimmered with all of his mother’s glass ornaments. The old box of decorations was one of the few things he’d kept when his mom passed away. It felt right; it was a way to keep her with him, if only once a year. Dean squinted, just as he had as a child, so the tree became a sparkling blur of red, green and gold.

There were other ornaments, too: the ones he had made over the years representing different things in his life at the time. The first he’d made was the glittering sword of Gryffindor the year he was sorted. His mother had been very proud of his artistic abilities and had displayed the ornament on the very front of the tree. Dean smiled at it, remembering the slight disappointment he felt on seeing the actual sword for the first time after the Battle of Hogwarts. His was, of course, nothing like the real thing.

He had made some for his friends: a Golden Snitch and a shamrock, which was charmed to glow ‘Erin Go Bragh’, for his friends Harry and Seamus, respectively; a quill, which scratched out ‘Happy Christmas’ on a piece of parchment, for Hermione and a chocolate frog for Ron; a rather cheerful poinsettia and a pair of snow people, for Neville and Ginny; and then there was the beautiful conch shell that he lovingly made for Luna.

He looked over his mantle once again. The holly and ivy were nestled amongst his treasures and the stockings were hung, just so, amid his Christmas cards...

It was Christmas Eve and he’d yet to receive a card from Luna.

He’d gotten a card every year since the time they had spent together at Shell Cottage. Of course, it hadn’t been just the two of them then, but that’s how Dean liked to remember it. When he thought back, he supposed that that’s when it had happened, even though he hadn’t realised it at the time. It wasn’t until later when he’d begun to look forward to her letters and Christmas cards, that he’d found that he’d really been waiting for her. He had fallen in love with her.

She’d been a beacon of hope in a terrible time of darkness at the cottage. The girl who he’d always shied away from – even, horribly, made fun of – became the one person who’d comforted him, rallied his spirit and bolstered him up to continue fighting the good fight. Not only was she not the oddment he once thought, he could appreciate the creative light in which she saw the world.

In her last letter, she’d said that things hadn’t been going well; she had a growing restlessness that her many expeditions just weren’t fulfilling. She said that there was one great adventure she’d been dreaming of for some time and was trying to wrap things up where she was, because she was finally ready for it to begin. That was a couple of months ago and he’d fully expected to get his Christmas card, if not another letter, by now.

He settled into his chair and drifted off to sleep, with visions of a flaxen haired fairy dancing in his head.

Dean jerked awake and blearily looked at the mantle clock: a quarter of twelve. The noise that woke him came again and he recognised it as a tap on his front door. When he answered the knock, he had to blink to be sure he wasn’t still dreaming.

“Happy Christmas, Dean,” Luna said, her breath a crystalline cloud rising over her head.

“Luna!” he cried happily, not at all bothered by the lateness of the visit. “Please, come in.”

She brushed passed him and took in the room as she removed her cloak. Turning towards him, her big blue eyes sparkled in the fire light and a dreamy smile swept over her face.

“I missed your card this year,” he said distractedly, hoping she couldn’t see his heart pounding through his jumper.

“I thought so.”

It was a simple reply, but so full of meaning for Dean. She knew he was waiting for her and now she’d finally come. There was no need for confessions or prose and romantic gesture to signify the beginning: to be in love with Luna just was.

“Oh, mistletoe,” she whispered, closing the space between them.

“I’ve been told it’s full of Nargles.”

“What an exciting way to begin an adventure...”