Teddy is screaming. Not crying, screaming, red-faced, hair flashing neon orange like a warning sign. Harry bursts into the room looking like he’s survived another battle, shirt half-buttoned, one sock missing, and baby formula on his cheek.

“Okay okay I swear I only turned around for two seconds!” he says, practically tripping over a blanket as Teddy wails louder. “Why is he doing that thing with his hair? Is that normal? Is he overheating? Is this a Metamorphmagus meltdown? Do babies… melt down?”

He jiggles Teddy desperately while glancing at you with the wild eyes of a man who has not slept in 36 hours.

“I tried the bottle, the blanket, rocking him, singing to him, he hated ALL of it. He even glared at me, I’m sure of it.”

Teddy shrieks again. Harry flinches like he’s been hexed.

“Please, love, tell me you know what’s happening because I am this close to owling McGonagall and asking if there’s a spell for calming down tiny shapeshifting babies.”

He pauses, breathless, clutching Teddy like a lifeline.