Evan stared at the floor. It was made out of short planks of wood, but they were shiny and smooth. He could see every twist and curve in the wood, but when he reached his hand down it all felt the same. It was strange. Very strange.

He was lying on his stomach on a couch that he and his Papa had flooed into, his pointer finger trailing across the floor. His Papa was making dinner, and Evan was supposed to be staying right here. He didn’t mind—the couch was white and fluffy, and he was really comfortable—but he felt like he’d been saying still a lot since the potion. Was he sick or something? Why else would his Papa make him stay still all the time and not do anything? But he didn’t feel sick.

He slipped a little on the couch. He caught himself by the palm of his hand and found himself staring upside down at the underside of the couch. He saw a great ball of grey dust at the back of the couch. He frowned. He should get that. Biting his lower lip, He put his other palm on the floor. He slid both hands closer to the couch, and then he picked one palm up an reached beneath the couch.

The dust was really far back. He slid his body down a little bit lower, stretched his hand towards the back of the couch…. BAM! He slammed his head onto the floor, his back flipping over like a giant somersault. His breath whooshed out of his lungs in a giant gush.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, concentrating on getting his breath back. His head hurt. A lot. He closed his eyes, not letting himself cry out. Choke back tears. Crying was bad. He stood slowly, shakily.

The floor was red with blood. Evan’s eyes widened. Dang, dang, dang. The perfect floor was all messed up! He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. His Papa would be mad about that. He was wrecking this evening already.

He looked around, trying to think. He needed to clean it up, quick, before his Papa saw. What would he clean it up with? He didn’t want to ruin his Papa’s things, but what did he have that he could clean it up with? Nothing but the clothes on his back.

He pulled his sock off of his foot, a sock that his Papa had given him, and knelt on the floor, running the cloth along the floor. His white sock became bright red with blood, but at least here was no blood on the floor any more. He stuffed the sock into his pocket and stood up. His head swam, white fog dancing in front of his eyes. Frowning, he reached a hand up to his head.

Ouch.

Not good, not good. His Papa would notice his head being all bloody, and he would look around to see if Evan had gotten it on anything. What if he had missed a spot? What if his Papa found his sock?

He needed to find a way to fix this. He looked around. His Papa had gone to the kitchen to make dinner. Maybe if he could find a bathroom, he could clean his head up before his Papa noticed anything was wrong. He went into the hallway, searching for something that looked like a bathroom.

He turned down the hallway and padded along, looking into each door that he came to. No bathroom, no bathroom, no bathroom. Where was the bathroom?

Severus had no idea what a four year old ate. He had a feeling that kids were picky, but what did that mean that Evan would eat? And should he be catering to Evan, if indeed he was picky? Severus had certainly been forced to eat his share of broccoli and spinach as a kid. He frowned. He was ruining this banquet already, letting his mind take over. He ought to just make a decision.

He ended up making macaroni and cheese with ham and corn in it. It was a simple meal, but it seemed pretty well-balanced. Casting a charm on the pot so it would stay warm, he went to collect Evan from the living room.

Evan was gone. Severus frowned, but this time he didn’t panic. His manor was large, but it was nowhere near as large as Hogwarts, and his wards were set up so that he would know if Evan had left the house. At this point he was more irritated than anything; Evan had been wide awake when Severus left him on his own, and he had known that he was supposed to stay put. There was no reason Evan shouldn’t have been able to manage that for the ten minutes that Severus was gone, which meant that he was being deliberately rebellious. When did he get all confident?

He wondered if it was James Potter’s genes that were causing Evan to get into trouble. Neither Severus nor Lily would ever have gone off looking for trouble, but James would have if it seemed like fun.

Scowling, he left the room and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction from which he had come. If Evan had gone that way, Severus would have heard him. As he moved further down the hallway, he noticed that doors that had been closed before were now open, almost as though Evan was looking for something.

“Evan?”

No answer—not that he had expected one. Evan was certain to know that he was in trouble for wandering off. He was probably hiding.

He heard water running. Frowning, Severus jogged down the corridor toward the bathroom, pushing open the door. The faucet was indeed running, wet strands of toilet paper strewn across the floor. Lying in the middle of the floor was Evan, his skin unnaturally pale. He was covered in blood, and in his hand he held a wad of bloody toilet paper.