December, 1980
Alice carefully splits the challa with delicate fingers, feeding one of the golden pieces to her husband Frank. The house was filled with care, love, and oil. Alice had always hoped that during this time of year, her child would find the smell of homemade bread and latkes synonymous with a feeling of deep love. Neville sat up in his high chair, teething on the wooden dreidel his nona Ruth had carved for him, watching his parents dance around the kitchen to the humming of Mi Yimalel.
הן בכל דור יקום הגיבור
גואל העם
Alice's gentle voice was overtaken by the harsh, off key tone of Franks, making the wizards laugh together. The Longbottoms loved nothing more than to host this holiday with their family gathered round, but through the war it was tough to gather everyone in one spot with little to no harm. So this year, they’d settle for just the three of them. It was more than enough.
“Next year we’ll get everyone together, Metukà Shelì.” Frank whispers, noting the severe lack of voices. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Promise.”
“How can you be so sure, Fracisle? Hmm?”
“Well, we've got our very own גיבור right here!” Frank picks up his small child, removing the dreidel from his mouth as he carries him into the family room. “He's going to be the most brave wizard the world has ever seen. Isn't that right, yingaleh?”
Frank meets the eyes of his wife standing in the doorway, short hair tucked behind her ears, tea towel in the pocket of her flour covered apron, pink puffy cheeks. She was a true vision of beauty. Frank could not believe his luck that Yahweh chose her just for him.
“He takes after his old man, he's going to be perfect in every conceivable way.” he suggests, trying to make his favorite woman in the world laugh, those sparkling, crooked teeth only adding to her looks.
“If he takes after you, mein mensch, we have a lot more baby proofing to do.”
Frank rocks their baby to sleep in his arms, opting to whistle his favorite holiday tunes rather than showcase more of his horrid skills. Alice had told him since 3rd year he couldn't carry a tune if it were in a cauldron. He assures Neville's eyes keep open until they've lit the 4th candle on the menorah, seeing his pupils dilate at the vision of the flame, just for his eyelids to flutter shut once more.
“Let's go to bed, dear. This time next year, all of my cousins and grandparents will be crowding Nev and we’ll have wished we had this time.”
December, 1981
Neville longed for a certain warmth, but his cries were not getting through to Grandmother. He could see the fire up high on that shelf, and wondered why she wouldn't let him get closer. He wondered where all the singing went, and all the laughter. He wondered why mum and dad were still gone, he didn't want grandma anymore. She didn't laugh, or sing, or hold him in her arms. He never heard that one nickname anymore, he didn't hear anything mum and dad used to tell him. There was no love here. Not in the form of words, or touch, or even that smell in his old house.