Harry still has difficulty wrapping his head around the entire thing, looking back. It had been a flurry of commotion in Grimmauld place, he remembers standing in the center of vast, stretching hardwood with a half dozen people all around him shouting about who’s fault it was and what they were going to do about it. They didn’t pay much mind to Harry himself, flat on his back and staggered by the massive feet moving with little care around his tiny form.

All of the voices were too loud, Mrs. Weasley’s most of all, until massive fingers descended from the sky to pluck him up from the ground. He couldn’t tell, at first, who they belonged to - just that they were masculine, a bit calloused, and exceptionally deft. The lift felt like barreling into the sky on his broom, and he found himself walled in between gently curled fingers and a broad, warm chest.

“He’s my godson, I’m going to take care of him.”

Sirius has a tendency to bark with authority, and it seems to end the argument once and for all. He glares down any interlopers, and they trickle out one by one until only Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore are left.

“Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll get you put right,” Sirius’s near deafening voice reassures him, peeling him slowly away from his chest. His face is absolutely massive; Remus and Dumbledore join him in leaning over a bit to observe him, positively blotting out the sky with their bodies. “Here you are, I’m going to put you somewhere you won’t get hurt while we figure this out.”

Harry isn’t sure what he expected, but it bloody wasn’t being lowered like this, looking down, and seeing Sirius pull open the waistband of his trousers and pants to create an opening.

“Wait, what-” he yells, legs kicking, but Sirius doesn’t seem to notice or pay any attention. Neither Remus nor Dumbledore say a word about it either, and those fingers release to drop him the remaining six or eight inches. He falls past the landscape of pubic hair, waistband, the blurry outline of bodies the size of mountains, and plummets into the dark. He lands with an oof on steeply sloping fabric, and goes rolling down it before skidding to a stop right before--

Bloody hell.

He lands with his feet pressed against the wrinkly skin of a sack twice his size, and the looming head of his Godfather’s cock just above him. Above that, the light is slowly eclipsed by the waistband settling back into place. The fabric, no longer stretched out by Sirius’s left hand, unstoppably brings him closer to the skin of Sirius’s balls until he’s face to face with them, pressed against them from the waist down because of the hug of the fabric. They’re not exceptionally tight so he isn’t crushed, but he’s only got about three or four inches of space to move around in without the rest of him pressed flush against them, too.

Remus and Dumbledore evidently find nothing odd about this, because he can hear their too-loud too-deep voices having a steady conversation muffled by Sirius’s clothes. He can only understand every few words — how do you think — change him back — afraid I don’t know — keep you updated —
Frankly, it’s a bit hard to pay attention to them when he’s confronted with the sight before him. Sirius’s balls absently flex a bit, contracting just a sliver with the news he’s hearing before settling heavy and loose again. Harry’s absolutely stunned, rocked still with disbelief at the whole affair and where he is now.

If it were anyone else he’d be fighting, angry, yelling and climbing, but this is Sirius, his Godfather, the male role model he trusts most in the entire world. At the moment, he’s far more bewildered and in shock than he is angry.

Sudden movement jars him from his stupor, with Sirius taking his first steps. The fabric goes a little more taut with the movement of his legs, hugging him gently up against his package. Those move a bit themselves with the momentum, bouncing softly every time his foot lands. It isn’t particularly bad, really, all things considered. They don’t crush him and he doesn’t find himself slipping under them, they’re just rhythmically jostled a bit against his chest.

Once, a lengthy stride as something softly brushing the top of Harry’s head, ruffling his hair like people have done to him affectionately in the past. He startles, and when he looks up it’s to see the soft head of Sirius’s cock hanging down just a few inches above his face. Evidently the environment is such that occasionally a long step or ascending the stairs will dip his cock just enough to touch Harry’s head.

The stairs, by the way, are a bit more of a shake-up. Sirius takes them quickly, a bit of a jog, and Harry finds himself reaching out to hug the stones he’s pressed against for some semblance of stability. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until after his arms are wrapped around as much malleable flesh as he can reach. They flex gently in response.

This walking continues for a few more minutes until Sirius is upstairs, and then he pulls back his waistband to flood the place with light before Harry can stop hugging his balls.

“Alright, Harry?” That enormous face asks from the gaping hole in the ceiling, his voice magnified to something almost painful. He does seem gently concerned, a bit empathetic or apologetic, but not the least bit ashamed of where he’s stuffed Harry.

“I’m fine- but-- Sirius, do I have to be— err-- in here?” He asks, cheeks going a bit red with heat, embarrassed about where he is and what he’s asking. The fact that he’s practically flush against Sirius’s balls while they’re talking, and that he has to move to look around his godfather’s cock to make eye contact.

“Afraid so,” Sirius says apologetically. “It’s the safest place for you right now until Albus finds a way to set you right again. He thinks it should only be a day, maybe two, so you won’t be in there long.”

“But it’s just-- it’s really-- there’s nowhere else you can put me?”

Sirius seems amused, and actually quite a bit fond. “You’ll get used to it. Just-- you pretend you’re not in there, I’ll pretend you’re not in there, and before you know it we’ll be taking you out to fix you. Until then, I’m going to take care of you because that’s my job. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Maybe it’s just that Harry’s so starved for this kind of overt male authority figure that he can’t find it in himself to argue, and when Sirius closes his underwear around Harry again he’s left feeling incredibly conflicted. Burning with embarrassment and confusion, oddly comforted by being so close and so vigilantly looked after by his Godfather, frightened at his situation and... Really, he cannot overstate how embarrassing it is to be in here.

The wizarding world, he supposes, is far less concerned with things like incest — let alone a non-blood relative. It’s also far more open about sex, with wizards and witches having relations with any number of people or creatures. That, he supposes, may be why nobody’s batting an eye about being kept with his Godfather’s cock inside his underwear. Nobody except Harry, who couldn’t have even fathomed this would happen, nor prepare for the next two days of life up close and personal with what Sirius does with and to his privates regardless of Harry’s presence in them.