Evan awoke, gasping, a small hand reaching up to his forehead. He frowned, chewing on his lower lip. In his dream his forehead had hurt, but now that he was awake the pain was gone, like it hadn’t been there at all. Like it was all imaginary. It had felt so real.

He was all alone. He curled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Where was he? What was going on? He didn’t know anything. The room he was in was dark and empty. The emptiness was overwhelming. The spaces around him were so big and dark and scary.

He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but there was something wrong with him sleeping all alone in a bed. He turned in his bed, his legs swinging over the edge of it. He shivered a little as his blankets fell off of him and his bare feet touched the frigid tiled floor. He closed his eyes, sighed, and stood. He was so cold.

He walked carefully across the room to the door. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be here. He needed to find something, somewhere specific. He didn’t know where it was, only that he wasn’t there yet. His legs guided him down the torch lit hallway, his arms wrapped around his bare chest.

There! He saw a door and it felt strangely right to him. He reached a hand up and wrapped it around the cool metal knob, turning it carefully, and stared at a closet containing mops and brooms and cleaning products. Evan smiled. He didn’t know why, but this felt right to him. This felt like where he should be spending the night. He stepped into the closet and pulled the door shut behind him, curling up with his head against a wall. I’ll lock myself in these walls, Evan thought, because out there I’m always wrong. He wasn’t sure where the thought come from. All he knew was that despite the cold, he only felt safe now that he was in a broom closet.

***

The buzzing was getting louder. Severus frowned as he lowered the heat and added some parsley to the potion that he was making. He had decided as he stared at Evan’s sleeping form, that he needed to brew a batch of nutrient potions. It wasn’t something that they normally had available in the Hogwarts stores—it wasn’t their job to beef up children—but Evan certainly needed it.

He stirred the potion seven times counterclockwise, wishing the buzzing would just shut up, and moved to stir it clockwise. His hand froze, his eyes widened. The buzzing! Damn it! Banishing his potion, he swept from his labs and raced to the infirmary.

How long had the alarm bell going off? Evan must be frightened to death, wide awake without Severus there to talk to him. Severus tried to imagine what he would do in that situation, but he couldn’t fathom it. Evan had no history that he remembered, only instincts that he had gleaned because of Harry’s history.

He threw open the door to the infirmary, bursting with apologies and platitudes befitting a child. No use. Evan was gone.

Severus stared at the empty infirmary bed, his heart sinking into his bowels. He’d been a father for a couple of hours and he had already lost the kid. Why had Harry entrusted him with this job? He was clearly the most incompetent cretin that ever walked the Earth.

“I need somebody’s help,” Severus whispered, shooting signals in the air. “Is anybody listening?”

The response was mercifully quick. Dumbledore tumbled out of the fireplace looking particularly grave. “Severus?”

“Potter took the reincarnation potion,” Severus said, forcing himself to be calm. Fortunately for him, Dumbledore was one of the most collected people in the world. The old man would take whatever information Severus gave him calmly for now, saving questions for a more prudent time. “He… The new him, I mean. He got out.”

“Got out?”

“I went to my rooms to pack. To take him home. When I came back he was gone.”

Dumbledore gave Severus a disapproving look that Severus knew the he deserved. “Well, how old is he? I need to know what we’re searching for.”

“I don’t know,” Severus squirmed beneath Dumbledore’s gaze. “There wasn’t time. He needed to sleep, I needed to sleep. I thought I could check later.”

“We will discuss this later,” Dumbledore said coolly. It was not a request. Severus swallowed, nodded. He deserved Dumbledore’s criticisms, whatever they may be.

They asked portraits where to look for the boy. Several of them had seen Evan heading down the corridor, and by the next corridor the portraits had seen nothing. Severus hoped that meant that Evan was contained in one of the classrooms in this hallway, and not that he had merely escaped the notice of the portraits.

“Evan!” he called. “Evan, where are you, buddy?” He tried to keep his voice nice, although he could tell that there was a hint of panic in the back of it.

***

When Evan woke up the second time, he was scared. Now he wasn’t tired, only confused, and he was pretty sure that the man from yesterday—his Papa?—didn’t know where he was. He was going to be in trouble. He could feel it in his tummy. Evan stood up. The broom that he had been sleeping on for half the night toppled over and slammed loudly against the wall behind him. Evan’s hands reached up to cover his ears. A slight whimper escaped his lips.

He opened the door and looked out into the hallway. It looked so different in the daylight. He stepped out, feeling very vulnerable. Which way was the room he was in last night?

How did I get so far away, Evan wondered. It hadn’t seemed so far away last night when he was walking, but now he was scared and alone. I’m lost here, Evan whispered. I’m so scared. He wanted someone—he wasn’t sure who—to come find him. He tiptoed back the way that he thought that he had come from, shivering and whimpering. Tears were streaming silently down his pale cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to cry. Not ever. He ran a haggard arm across his face, smearing snot and tears across his elbow. He was going to be in so much trouble!

That was when he heard the sound. A voice calling for him. Calling for Evan. He was Evan. He froze, listening to the voice. He was going to be in trouble when his Papa found him. Should he run away? Except that he was scared, and alone, and he didn’t want to be. He stared silently down the hall toward the voice, and then he took a tentative step forward. Another. A third. He reached the end of the hallway and there, looking the other way from him, was his Papa.

“Papa?” Evan whispered, his voice choked and scared.

The man turned around, his face narrowing. Evan scrunched up his face as the man approached, raising his arms above his head to block it. He felt a light touch on his arms, pulling them down to his sides, and then he was being pulled into his Papa’s arms.

“I thought I lost you,” his papa whispered.

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” His Papa brought out a stick and tapped Evan lightly on the head with it. Evan frowned as his Papa looked at the stick, muttering to himself. Finally he looked up at Evan with interest.

“You turned four last week.”