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"Still can't believe we've got permission for this," said Gwen, as she traced her wand through the air and linked a few floating pumpkins round the living room. She turned back to James when the task was completed, deflating. "It feels... wrong, almost, to do it without... her. She loved Halloween."
James did not have to ask who. He twisted his lips, back facing Gwen as he put together finishing touches on Harry's costume, and lifted a shoulder in response to Gwen.
"She'd want us to go on, wouldn't she?" he managed, and together Gwen and James pictured a Halloween party without Marlene; the only way to imagine it was incredibly dull and lifeless.
"Quick, James," said Gwen, drawing in a heavy sigh, after a short glimpse to the clock above the kitchen sink. "They're supposed to be coming at eight, I thought. Do you think plans changed? Oh, how dreadful, if we prepared the entire house and nobody can still come—"
"Gwen," said James, using the hand that wasn't holding Harry to grasp his wife's shoulder. "It's only quarter past seven. Breathe. They'll be coming."
The whole soiree had been Sirius's idea, in the first place—an innocent little get-together; they hadn't all been in the same room since the Potters' birthdays, and even though they still wouldn't really have everyone, Sirius insisted on the party.
In early September, Peter's mum had come down with something dreadful of a Spattergroit-strain ("Really not that much a loss," Gwen had said, to which James hummed his agreement and they both wordlessly moved on with their day) so Peter had to attend to her round the clock and apologised profusely when his invitation had been rejected. Remus had been a grey area for a while, what with the full having fallen the night before the thirty-first and his uncertainty as to how well he would be feeling.
"And, James," said Gwen, thinking of this, "maybe get a bottle of Pepperup out for Moony—I have a feeling he may need it after last night."
"You always think of everything, don't you?" he had hummed, brushing past her through the kitchen to get to the medicine cabinet. "By the way, Sirius is dressing up as some sort of Muggle singer. He says not to tease or he's leaving."
Then Harry had begun to cry, and James decided with a heaving sigh that it was now or never to get the damn costume on him, and Gwen had watched for a good long while (trying her very best not to laugh) before jumping in to take control of the situation. Harry's favourite had always been Sirius, but he'd never been any good at stopping himself from melting into his mummy's touch, his wails shifting steadily into soft, curious coos.
"I hope you're right," she sighed now, sleeving her forehead. "Otherwise we'd've wrangled him into this for nothing, haven't we?"
James beamed at the child in his arms with nothing short of a father's pride, and he hiked him further up against his hip. "I wouldn't say for nothing, Gwenny. How lovely a pumpkin does he make, hm? Can you say boo, Harry?"
