Rhyolite Robbie is under the Gemstone Glade Christmas Tree, gently fingering the tiny present he has found. He wonders what precious magic it contains. The wrapping paper is dark green and it sparkles, winking in the early morning sun.

In another world, many many miles away, six year old Neville is crying. Bullied at school, his ego is like an egg that has just fallen on a hard floor. Depression delves deep in to his soul.

Suddenly, a cloud of sparkles softly rain around him. He closes his eyes in disbelief. When he opens them, a tiny light green and grey fairy hovers before him.

“Who … who are you?”

“I am Rhyolite Robbie, made of living crystal! I bring a special gift just for you! I can’t wait to see what it is! Can you open it now?”

Neville is bewildered, but he complies. “Oh!” he mutters. “It is only a seed.”

“But a magical seed, from that most magical of places, Gemstone Glade! Go on! Plant it straight away!”

Neville happily runs in to the garden, making a small hole in the flowerbed nearest his window. He plants the seed and waits. “Nothing is happening!”

“Give it time!” implores Robbie.

By the next week, there is a small green shoot rising from the frosty earth. Neville knows that this is wrong, plants should not grow in winter. No, not wrong – magical.

The week after, a green leaf has appeared. Then another, the next day. Neville sees green fairies flying round the plant when he returns from school. He laughs. What a fun Christmas gift.

The next week, a layer of purple leaves appears. Miniscule amethyst crystals hang from then. Neville laughs again. Taking a crystal, he places it in his bath that night. The waters turn purple, and tiny lilac dolphins jump up and spin over the bath. Neville laughs again. He hopes his mother does not find the plant. What can he tell her?

The next week, there are more leaves, this time blue. Bright blue birds flock around the plant, then they are gone as quickly as they have come.

On the fourth week, Neville runs home to see what changes await. He stops in his tracks. The plant is still there, but all the leaves are red and brown and normal looking. Where has the magic gone?

The next morning, a note is by his bed, a green crystal on top.

“Magic never goes, it just moves on to the next place it is needed. One day, you will see us fairies again. We are never far away.”

Neville takes the note and carefully hides it in a shoebox. Then he laughs. He knew real magic, even if not for very long.

And magic never leaves us, not ever. It is still there in our secret memories, and at night it whispers to us in our dreams.