Twenty-three years later

Twenty-three years later, there were no more Lestranges – no more Blacks, even – to inherit the Manor. The gardens were no longer places for midnight trysts with danger, the bedrooms no longer havens for romances that should not have happened. People no longer stood out on the balcony to kiss their lovers under the watch of the night. Scorned admirers were no longer sent away in tears.

The Manor was not empty, though.

Draco Malfoy, to whom the Manor had been left, sat upon the balcony that New Year's Eve. He looked out over the grounds, wondering vaguely about the stories that the Manor had held in the past.

A footstep sounded behind him, and he turned around to see Luna, pale hair fluttering in the night breeze, looking at him.

"You'll get cold sitting out here," she told him dreamily, looking around. "And I hope you're being careful to avoid the nargles in the mistletoe."

"I am," he told her, finding himself smiling.

Luna closed the glass doors of the balcony behind her and sat next to him, smiling serenely. "It was ever so kind of you to invite me here for the holidays."

Draco said nothing, only took Luna's hand lightly in his. The two of them stared out over the grounds, not needing to say anything. Their thoughts were easy enough to hear.

Happy New Year.