Mrs. Holmes led Luna Lovegood to her own bedroom.
The warm golden light of the wall sconces cast soft patches across the velvet curtains. On the dressing table, the silver mirror frame caught and scattered fragments of light, and the faint scent of lavender hung in the air.
Luna wandered the room like a curious young fawn, standing on tiptoe to peer this way and that.
Her fingers occasionally brushed the gilt-lettered spines on the bookshelf, or she'd pause, lost in thought, before the crystal vase on the windowsill.
Watching the fairy-like girl drift about the room, Mrs. Holmes suddenly felt she needed to shift to a way of speaking that better matched the girl's rhythm.
Mrs. Holmes pulled over a velvet armchair and gestured for Luna to sit.
"Dear, I noticed you've been looking at the globe. Were you tracing some secret route?"
Her voice was gentle, like a cool breeze, clearly an attempt to ease naturally into Luna's world.
"Oh, not a secret route."
Luna sat down accordingly, her hem lifting and settling again.
She wasn't the least bit puzzled that Mrs. Holmes hadn't mentioned the Christmas present.
Her large silvery-grey eyes shimmered dreamily in the warm light, as though whole galaxies swam in her pupils. She tilted her head slightly, her tone carrying a touch of naïve earnestness.
"I was just thinking—those dark blue patches on the globe, do you suppose they hide bioluminescent jellyfish who like to hold balls deep in the ocean? Their tentacles keep time with the currents, glowing a soft blue, like little lanterns at a dance."
Mrs. Holmes: "..."
She gazed at Luna's utterly certain expression and thought privately, what boundless imagination.
Just as she was preparing to follow along and chat about this wondrous jellyfish ball, Luna suddenly changed the subject.
"Just like the pink Bubble-Bugs at the Quidditch pitch."
Her tone remained just as light and easy as before—except—
The Quidditch pitch?
Pink Bubble-Bugs?
This topic was rather harder to follow than the jellyfish ball.
But before she could gather her thoughts, Luna had already continued in her sing-song voice.
"That day at the Quidditch pitch, Cho hugged Harry, and Lavender kissed Ron. That's when the pink Bubble-Bugs appeared.
Hermione said that was the power of love, quite marvellous.
So I asked Sherlock if he wanted to try it too."
Luna tilted her head, her lashes were fluttering like butterfly wings, as if she were vividly recalling that sunlit afternoon at the pitch. "He told me, 'Not interested, for now.'"
At this moment Luna seemed to have fully slipped into the memory. She deliberately lowered her voice, imitating Sherlock's calm, faintly aloof tone.
"But he also said, 'If I'm ever interested later, come find me.'"
Mrs. Holmes's eyes flew wide open.
She had absolutely no idea this had happened!
Luna had actually asked Sherlock, right there on the pitch, so plainly, to try cultivating a romance with her?
And what shocked her even more—Sherlock's reply seemed to have left the door open?
Was this really her own son?
Luna, however, remained completely unaware of the shock churning behind Mrs. Holmes's eyes. Her voice stayed just as ethereal and light.
"Then Hermione immediately said, 'If you ever become interested in love later, I could talk to you too.'
"And Sherlock answered her, 'All right.'"
Luna turned her head back, a dreamy, faraway smile spreading across her face.
"So, you see, Sherlock promised—if he's ever interested later, he'll come find me and Hermione.
It's like waiting for the bioluminescent jellyfish to rise up and hold their ball, or waiting for the pink Bubble-Bugs to weave their prettiest nest. I was thinking—maybe once the Crumple-Horned Snorkack migration season ends, or once the Blibbering Humdingers settle down, that might be the right time?"
Though Luna's words sounded rather obscure, tangled up with magical creatures no one else could quite make sense of—Mrs. Holmes still understood exactly what she meant.
In that instant, Mrs. Holmes was completely stunned, her insides were churning like a stormy sea!
She'd only meant to gently probe Luna's feelings, the same way she had with Gemma and Hermione before.
She never in a thousand years expected this to unearth such an explosive piece of news!
Her son Sherlock—that boy who was emotionally dense as a lump of rock—had actually already said yes to both Luna and Hermione, agreeing to cultivate a romance with them at the same time!
Judging by what Luna had just described, she could easily picture the tone and expression Sherlock must have worn as he said it.
No doubt still that same look of utter indifference.
But for Sherlock himself, this was absolutely an unprecedented breakthrough!
An indescribable surge of wild joy swept over her—even more than what she'd felt upon hearing Gemma's and Hermione's willingness.
Because this time, the one who'd given her the surprise wasn't one of the three girls—it was her own son!
That Hermione girl, honestly—how could she keep something this important quiet for so long?
She grumbled the thought silently to herself, momentarily forgetting all about Luna's talk of Snorkacks and Bubble-Bugs.
Not only was her face lit up with an uncontainable, radiant smile, but her voice had begun to tremble with excitement.
"Oh! Holy Mother Mary above!
Dear Luna, is this really true?
At the Quidditch pitch? He—he actually said yes to both of you at once?"
In that moment, she nearly wanted to leap up and go hug her son, who was still off somewhere bickering with his brother or simply spin in a circle on the spot. This was, without question, the best news of this Christmas—no, the best news of any Christmas, ever!
Her dear Sherlock had finally come around!
Luna looked a little bewildered by Mrs. Holmes's sudden overwhelming joy, a flicker of confusion crossing her silvery-grey eyes.
But she blinked gently and nodded, honest as ever.
"Yes, ma'am.
It was right after Harry caught the Golden Snitch, while the cheers in the stands hadn't even died down yet.
After Hermione saw Lavender kiss Ron, she said the power of love was greater than anyone imagined.
I asked Sherlock first, and Sherlock said yes. Then Hermione asked him too, and Sherlock said yes again."
"Wonderful! This is truly—this is truly—"
Mrs. Holmes was overjoyed nearly to the point of madness. She reached out and seized Luna's hands, gripping them tightly.
She was so overcome that the force of her grip made Luna give a small "ow,".
For several seconds Mrs. Holmes was too flustered to form a clear sentence, her eyes were gradually reddening, glistening with tears of excitement, before she finally found her voice again.
"Thank you for telling me this, Luna, dear!
This makes me happier than any secret I've ever known!
You're right—the most wonderful things are worth waiting for!"
In that moment, the look she gave Luna was filled with a warmth and delight she had never shown before, as though she were gazing at her own daughter.
By the time Luna carried the Christmas present the Holmeses had prepared for her father out of the bedroom, she still didn't understand why Mrs. Holmes had gotten so worked up just now.
Wasn't it all just an ordinary little thing?
She tilted her head, fingers idly tracing the patterned surface of the gift box, and made her way lightly down the stairs, already turning over in her mind how best to surprise her father once she got home.
Of course, Mrs. Holmes hadn't forgotten Gemma's parents either—their gifts were already prepared and ready for her to take home.
As for Hermione's parents, those could simply be handed over tomorrow when they came to collect her.
And so Christmas of 1995 passed, wrapped in warmth and unexpected delight.
The flames in the fireplace slowly died down, leaving behind a lingering warmth, while outside the window snow drifted softly down, lending the night a quiet stillness.
The next day, the Grangers arrived at King's Road as promised.
They were bundled in heavy winter coats, and faces bright with anticipation.
The original plan had been for them to collect Hermione and head off skiing.
No one quite knew what Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Granger had murmured to each other in the kitchen, but the two of them kept breaking into knowing little laughs. In the end, the arrangement changed—the Holmes and Granger families would go on the trip together.
"Sorry, Mum, Dad—the skiing trip runs a bit long, and I might—"
Standing in the front hall, Mycroft's face carried a look of apology.
He'd clearly promised his parents he'd spend more time with the family this holiday, but staying home and going away were two entirely different things.
Given the peculiar nature of his work, he had no choice but to reluctantly let it go.
"It's fine."
Ever since learning yesterday of the three girls' feelings, Mrs. Holmes's mood had been as clear and bright as clouds parting to reveal sunshine. She shot her elder son a look of clear disdain.
"We weren't planning on inviting you along anyway."
Mycroft: ???
Hadn't they agreed the whole family would go together?
What, was he not even considered part of this family anymore?
Especially seeing the unconcealed disdain in his mother's eyes toward him, set against the pure delight in her eyes when she looked at Sherlock beside him—the contrast couldn't have been starker.
So, because he hadn't brought a girl home, he was—sorry, apparently!
Still, this flicker of negative feeling passed in an instant.
The thought that he wouldn't have to face his mother's marriage-pressuring for a good while now was enough to lift his spirits again.
"My dear brother, that alone simply isn't enough."
Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock beside him, hands in his pockets, expression blank.
Unsurprisingly, he found his brother utterly indifferent to the upcoming ski trip.
Mycroft narrowed his eyes slightly, the corner of his mouth was curling into a smile heavy with meaning.
"In that case, let your dear brother give you one more little gift."
Happy times always seem to pass too quickly.
In the blink of an eye, the year had turned to 1996.
As the winter holiday drew to a close, the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts set off once more on their return journey.
After coming back from the ski resort, Hermione, Gemma, and Luna made several more trips to Sherlock's house.
The living room often echoed with their laughter—sometimes discussing their Hogwarts coursework, sometimes swapping stories from the wizarding world.
Thanks to Luna's characteristic bluntness, during one of their chats she happened to let slip what had happened at the Quidditch pitch.
From then on, Gemma too learned about Sherlock's arrangement with Hermione and Luna to "cultivate a romance."
Naturally, she wasn't about to be outdone—she spoke up right then and there, declaring she'd resolutely be joining in as well.
Given that she'd already graduated and had precious little time to spend with Sherlock as it was, this was hardly a moment to hold back.
That she hadn't gone back to Romania this past year, and had joined the Order of the Phoenix instead, was certainly partly due to Voldemort's return reshaping the wider wizarding world. But wanting more time near Sherlock was, without question, an important reason too.
Just as with Hermione and Luna, Sherlock agreed just as readily and without hesitation.
Hermione and Luna weren't the least bit surprised by this.
Given Sherlock's temperament, of course he wouldn't favour one over the others.
What none of the three girls had expected, though, was that Fleur Delacour would also show up at the Holmes house during the holiday.
It turned out, once they asked around, that this wasn't such a rare occurrence at all.
As it happened, back in the summer of 1995, Fleur had taken a job at Gringotts.
Since the Delacours and the Holmeses already knew each other, and her workplace wasn't far from the Holmes house, at Mrs. Holmes's warm invitation she would occasionally come by for meals.
In Fleur's own words, she simply couldn't stand English cooking's culinary darkness any longer—it was unbearable for a witch accustomed to French cuisine. If she went too long without coming to Mrs. Holmes's house to improve her diet, she doubted she could stand to stay in England at all.
As it turned out, the more often she came, the more Fleur also took the opportunity to have Mrs. Holmes help "improve her eagle" (improve her English).
Over the course of all this, Mrs. Holmes grew fonder and fonder of Fleur's straightforward nature.
Every joy and sorrow showed simply on her face, there was nothing roundabout about her—like a sunflower blooming with wildness.
Mrs. Holmes had originally set her heart on matching Fleur with Mycroft, but things hadn't gone smoothly at all.
Not to mention that Mycroft was never around, run off his feet with work day after day—Fleur had come by so many times, and the two of them had genuinely never once crossed paths.
Even Fleur herself seemed to harbour an odd sense of distance where Mycroft was concerned.
Every time his name came up, she'd unconsciously furrow her brow, a flicker of unmistakable wariness would appear on her eyes, as if she were somehow a little afraid of him.
This left Mrs. Holmes rather puzzled.
Mycroft might be a touch serious, but surely not frightening—that didn't add up at all!
What surprised her even more was that Fleur seemed to take a considerable interest in their younger son, Sherlock, instead.
Probably owing to having competed together in the Triwizard Tournament—the two of them did have that history in common, after all.
"Hard to imagine you'd actually come see me off."
This time they'd finally managed to cross paths—Fleur had offered to head to King's Cross together with the rest.
Sherlock sat in the front passenger seat, turning to glance at Mycroft in the driver's seat, his tone was laced with undisguised disdain.
Since the group traveling together was rather sizeable—Sherlock, Hermione, Gemma, Luna, Fleur—the Holmes family's Rover obviously couldn't fit everyone.
As a result, Mycroft had somehow procured a roomy black sedan from who-knew-where, and personally took up the role of chauffeur for Sherlock.
"My dear brother, you truly wound me, saying such a thing."
Mycroft glanced left out of the corner of his eye, noted the disdain on Sherlock's face, and smiled faintly.
"I am, after all, your own brother—and isn't it only natural for an elder brother to look out for his younger one? Ladies, wouldn't you agree?"
His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, toward Gemma and Fleur seated in the back.
Gemma wore a red sweaterwith her hands resting in her lap.
At Mycroft's words, she merely arched an eyebrow slightly, the corner of her mouth was curving into a faint smile, but said nothing.
Fleur, hearing this, blinked in slight surprise, then quickly turned to look out the window at the streets flashing past.
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