Sirius whipped around at the anguished sound. Another baby had yanked Harry’s pacifier right out of his mouth, which was now agape and screaming. The other baby had a messy thatch of blonde curls, complete with a thick chunk of hair that looked crusted and stiff with dried applesauce. The baby stared into Harry’s face—beetroot red, tear-tracked, and wild—with a stunned expression, still clutching Harry's pacifier in his little fist.