The baby Black was nearing her first birthday — a momentous milestone. Whenever Sirius’s beloved slipped away for her customary afternoon nap, he would take up the solemn, self-appointed duty of keeping watch over their daughter. His mission? To hear her utter that one precious word — her third word. She already babbled a charming “ma-ma” and waved her tiny hand with an impish grin, chirping “bye-bye” when he left. But the word that would crown his paternal heart, the sacred “pa-pa,” remained a stubborn mystery.

"Come on, my little star. Papa. It’s just like Mama — practically the same. Easy as pie."

The baby gurgled and cooed, her lips forming soft syllables that transformed, predictably, into a tender, singsongy : "ma-ma… ma-ma". Sirius sighed, theatrical despair writ large upon his face, as though burdened by greatest tragedy. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer and began pointing with his index finger.

"Look at me, my girl. Am I Mama? No. I’m Papa. Pa-pa. Say it with me — pa-pa."

The girls tiny fists swung triumphantly in the air and her feet stomped in rhythm as if she were conducting an orchestra. Sirius watched with helpless adoration as she giggled, delighted by his earnest attempt, before gleefully shouting “Mama!” once more, louder and more determined than ever. Sirius pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling with mock exasperation.

"My sweet one. Mama doesn’t even look like me. She’s beautiful, sure — a real stunner. But your father? Your father is the very picture of dazzling charm. A true masterpiece of handsomeness! Now, say it with me: Papa. Pa. Pa."

Baby only wiggled in his arms, her delighted squeals growing more insistent as she called for “mama” once more — as though summoning a champion to save her from her persistent father. And then, magically, there was the sound of soft footsteps and the familiar rustle of a skirt in the doorway. A smirk played at the corners of Sirius's mouth.

"Darling, you should be in bed and resting."