Harry was a one year old madman and his parents loved it. Everything was a curiosity to explore, a mess to be made, a joke to be discovered. This Halloween, his second, had been no exception.
One year prior, James and Lily had mutually insisted on celebrating Halloween because it was their son’s first proper holiday. Harry didn’t do much more than coo at his parents while they carved pumpkins, decorated the house, and played spooky songs.
Today, however, had been perfect.
He’d giggled madly at the paper bats Lily enchanted, and spent all morning on his broomstick, zooming after them. When he caught them, he’d immediately burst into tears until she reworked the charm, and the game could begin again. In the end they were crumpled balls, not recognizable as bats at all, but it made no difference to Harry.
Uncle Padfoot had dropped off a pumpkin that stood as tall as his godson and Harry skipped naptime to carve it. They spent the afternoon sat on the kitchen floor, James and Lily laughing and their toddler tried to eat the pumpkin guts. He scrunched his face in distaste before slinging them all over the floor.
The commotion had attracted the cat, who rarely left her hiding spot these days. Her curiosity was rewarded with Harry’s slimy hands, grabbing for her tail so he could force feed her pumpkin seeds. (She immediately retreated to safety again.) While Harry had chased after the cat, James had carved a snitch into the pumpkin. Lily dimmed the lights, and it was magic. They delighted in Harry as he oohed and aahed at the “‘nich” in the pumpkin.
After dinner they all snuggled on the sofa in front of the fire. Harry sat on his mum’s lap, tired out from the day’s activities, and she let him try cider for the first time. He loved it, begged for more, until she cut off him off at the third.
He’s not a tiny baby anymore, they agreed, and they feel hope for the first time in a long time. The Charm had been the exhale for the breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding in. They were still hiding, yes, but they were safe, safer than they’d felt in nearly two years. Their relief was palpable.
Their conversation turned to Christmas. What to get Harry? A frog, perhaps, or a miniature Quaffle. Probably both. They discussed their own favorite childhood traditions and narrowed down what they wanted to incorporate for Harry this year, now that he was old enough to properly participate.
After an hour or so, Lily set Harry down to rinse the mugs out in the sink. Harry made a dive for the pumpkin, twinkling on the hearth, but James intercepted him, distracted him with puffs of smoke from his wand. The old standby still worked, if only for a few minutes.
Lily watched them for a moment from the doorway. It had been a lovely day, but Harry’s eyes were drooping even as he giggled. It was long past his bedtime, and she announced as much to her son as she took him back in her arms.
To her husband, she mentioned the bottle of wine she’d set out on the counter and asked him to pour two glasses. They could carry on with their own celebrations, couldn’t they, after she put their very happy, very tired little boy to bed.
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