The generosity of tradition
After dinner, the table became quieter. The remnants of food were still there, but everyone had slowed down, digesting in the pleasant lull that came with a hearty meal. The sounds of the street outside filtered through the open window—laughter from children playing, a faint call of a vendor selling fruit, the low hum of the city coming alive as the night crept in.
The Marauders were full, feeling the weight of the meal settling into their stomachs. They had eaten enough to feel content, but not quite ready to leave the table. The spirit of Ramadan, as Severus had explained to them, was one of patience and community—something they hadn’t fully understood until now.
As the last of the khoshaf was finished, Hadeel cleared her throat and looked at her mother. “Mama, can I bring the sweets now?”
Intisar nodded with a smile. “Yes, darling, bring them. It’s time for atayef.”
Sirius, who had been quietly watching the preparations, leaned toward Severus, who was already helping gather the plates. “What’s atayef?” he whispered.
Severus looked up from where he was tidying the table. “It’s a sweet filled pastry. Normally stuffed with nuts or cheese, but during Ramadan, they’re often filled with sweetened cream or nuts and syrup. They’re delicious,” he added, his voice warming with the thought of them.
James, who had been half-listening, immediately perked up. “Sweet pastries? Now that sounds promising.”
At that moment, Hadeel came back in, her arms laden with trays of freshly made atayef. They were golden brown, perfectly folded, and glistening with syrup. The smell was irresistible, a blend of warm dough and sugary sweetness.
Peter’s eyes went wide. “Is that… what I think it is?”
“Yep,” Severus said with a small smirk, reaching for a plate to help serve. “Get ready.”
The Marauders watched as Hadeel carefully arranged the pastries on the table. Severus took a piece, inspecting it for a moment before taking a bite. His eyes closed in appreciation.
“Good, right?” Sirius asked eagerly.
Severus nodded. “I’ll never understand why people don’t make these year-round.”
As everyone helped themselves, the atmosphere lightened. Conversations flowed easily, and the Marauders, despite still being outsiders in this house, began to feel a part of the quiet celebration around them. The house felt warm, not from the heat of the summer night outside but from the shared kindness and generosity that seemed to define every moment.
Saeed, who had mostly been quiet through dinner, leaned back in his chair. “Ramadan’s about sharing. Not just food, but time, care, and kindness. It’s a reminder to be grateful for what we have, and to share that gratitude with others. No matter what we have, we always have enough to share.”
Peter, munching on another atayef, looked up thoughtfully. “I never realized how much effort you put into this… I mean, sharing your food like this, and being so open with it. You don’t see that much back home.”
Nabeela, who had been listening quietly, gave a gentle laugh. “In Egypt, we believe that by sharing with others, we receive more than we give. It’s a blessing that goes both ways. No one goes hungry if everyone shares.”
James leaned back in his chair, digesting the food—and the thought. “So, this whole Ramadan thing is more than just the fasting. It’s about how you live, isn’t it?”
Severus looked over at him, his gaze softening for a moment. “Exactly. It’s not just about what you give up, but about what you give. And it’s not just for Muslims, either. It’s for everyone—an opportunity to connect with others, no matter where they come from.”
Sirius tilted his head. “I still don’t get how you can go without food or water for an entire day.” His voice was tinged with disbelief. “It sounds… impossible.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “You get used to it. You focus on what matters. Trust me, you get more than enough during iftar to make up for it.”
Hadeel chimed in, glancing at the Marauders. “It’s a spiritual thing, too. You learn patience. And when you break your fast, it’s like you’re reconnecting with the world around you.”
Peter nodded, but his thoughts were still on the food. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I could go for another round of atayef.”
The rest of the table chuckled.
Nabeela stood up, walking over to the window where she opened it just a crack, her voice soft as she called into the night air, “Ramadan Kareem,” a prayer meant for the community.
Hassoona had come back inside, having delivered the sweets as instructed, his smile wide as he sat back down at the table, eager to join in the laughter. “I gave the plate to the neighbors,” he announced proudly. “They said thank you.”
“Good job, Hassoona,” Severus said with a gentle smile.
The family continued talking, sharing stories about past Ramadans, about relatives far and near, about their childhood memories, and about the simple joy of being together at the table. For the first time, the Marauders didn’t feel like outsiders. They didn’t feel like they were hiding away, running from danger. They felt like they were part of something bigger.
And for that one evening, amidst the laughter and the warmth of shared food, the troubles of the world outside the apartment seemed a little further away.