Severus sprinted to Evan’s side.  Evan was much too pale, his skin at once sweaty and cold.  Severus searched for a pulse and found one, albeit a faint one.  He let out a sigh of relief, and then felt horrible that he was relieved.  Evan’s life shouldn’t even be in question right now!  He’d only had the boy for a day.

He didn’t allow himself an internal rant.  Not yet.  The most important thing at this point was stabilizing Evan.  He pulled his wand from its holster, thanking Voldemort for the first time in his life.  If Severus hadn’t dealt with torture at Voldemort’s hands for so many years then he wouldn’t have become as proficient at healing spells as he was now.  As it was, he managed to heal the cut on Evan’s head with minimal difficulty. 

“Come on, son,” Severus whispered.  “Come back to me.”

And somehow, miraculously, he did.  Severus watched Evan’s eyelids for a moment, the eyes beneath moving back and forth, and then suddenly they popped open and Severus was staring into coal-colored depths. 

“Papa?”

“Evan,” Severus smiled weakly.  “How are you feeling?”

Evan frowned, reaching a shaking hand up towards his head.  Severus caught the hand in one of his own, squeezing it gently.  “No, no.  Don’t touch it.  How do you feel?”

            “I’m sorry, Papa.”

            “Shh, it’s okay.”  Severus gently peeled the toilet paper out of Evan’s hand and picked the child up, cradling him like a newborn babe.  “Come on, we’ll lay you down and get you fixed up.”

            He brought Evan back to the sitting room, laying him on the settee with a unparalleled gentleness.   He summoned vials of potions, deciding that he’d take care of all of Evan’s injuries now. He had intended to leave them until bedtime when Evan would be calm and relaxed, but if he was forced to take care of the cut in Evan’s head right now, he might as well get it all over with. 

            Unstoppering a blue vial, he held it out to Evan.  “Drink this up like a good boy.”

            Evan’s eyes began to water.  “I’m sorry, Papa.”

            “It’s okay.  Just drink this, son.  You’ll be alright.”

            “No, Papa, please, I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  I won’t make a mess again.  Please!”  Evan was sobbing in earnest now.  He reached his hands up to pull at the roots of his hair, and Severus struggled to restrain him, afraid hat he would reopen the cut on his head. 

            “Evan.  Evan, stop that!”  He grabbed both of Evan’s arms with one of his, pinning the boy against his chest.  With the thumb and forefinger of the other hand, he managed to grab the cork from where he’d set it on the end table and finangle it back into the vial.  He set that aside and concentrated on his son.  “What’s gotten into you, child?”

            Evan didn’t reply.  His body had gone limp in Severus’s arms while he continued to cry inconsolably.  Severus closed his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.  Evan would be the death of him.  Everything that he did sent the boy over the edge, and he never knew what it was going to be next.  It was getting exhausting.

            One thing was for sure; he couldn’t let this go on much longer.  It was wearing both of them out.  He had thought that he might get through this while respecting Harry’s privacy and leaving his past alone, but he just couldn’t.  He needed to know what was triggering Evan’s reactions.  He needed to know what had happened in Harry’s past that was affecting his son so much.

            “What are you afraid of, son?” he murmured, carding a hand carefully through Evan’s hair. 

            “Owie,” Evan whispered.

            At first Severus thought that he had accidentally jarred Evan’s injury, but then he saw that they boy’s eyes were fixed upon the potion vial.  He swallowed, not wanting to think about what, specifically, ‘owie’ referred to. 

            “It won’t hurt you,” Severus said, forcing his voice to be calm.  “It will help you.”             “Owie!” Evan insisted.

            “Evan, son, I promise that it won’t hurt you.  It tastes yucky, but it will make you feel better.”

            Evan shrugged, his eyes remaining fixed upon the vial.  Severus sighed, pressing a kiss to Evan’s head.  “What if Papa has a sip of it?  Then will you take the rest of it like a good boy?”

            Evan frowned for a moment and then, slowly, he nodded his head.  Severus let out a sigh of relief.  He had been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get potions into the boy without using force, had been afraid that he would have to damage his relationship with his son in order to help him.  He reached a hand out, unstoppered the vial for the second time that night, and took a small sip from the top of it.  He felt Evan’s eyes on him the whole time and didn’t attempt to trick the boy. He needed Evan to trust him. 

            Evan was shaking a little as he took the vial this time, but true to his word he tipped his head back and swallowed the potion.  His face scrunched up like a sponge at the taste, but then he sighed.  The potion hadn’t hurt him. He was alright.

            “Another, son.  This one will taste a bit better.”

            At Evan’s look, Severus took a tiny sip out of this potion as well before handing it over.  Every vial he gave Evan had to be tested first, and he feared that the dosages would be off.  What if the potions weren’t as effective because of it?  He sighed as he watched Evan drink the last of the potions vials. 

            “Can you take your shirt off, son?” he asked.  “I need to put some bruise balm on you to heal your booboos.”

            “Turn away,”  Evan said.

            Snape frowned.  Evan was a little young to have modesty issues, wasn’t he.   He found himself concerned.  “Why, son?”

            “Cuz I’m awful just to see.”

            Snape felt his chest catch at the sound of that.  He rested his hand lightly on the crown of Evan’s head. “No, you’re not.  Here, let me help you.”

            When the shirt had been pulled away from Evan’s body, Snape was met with the sight of his battered and bruised son.  Evan’s pale skin was pulled so taut against his bones that Snape could count every bone; indeed, every vein, in his son’s body, and every bruise shone like a mottled blue beacon. 

            Snape applied the bruise balm carefully, his hands gentle on his son’s skin.  Still Evan hissed every once in a while and closed his eyes.  Snape was relieved when he finally completed the task.  It was painful to carry out. 

            “All done,”  Snape told his son.  “Do you need anything else?”

            “If you could get me a drink?”  Evan asked.  “Cuz my lips are chapped.”

            Snape laughed and ruffled his son’s hair.  “I’ll give you some water with your dinner.  Come on.”  He held out a hand to his son.  “I made macaroni and cheese.  And after dinner, you and I will have a little talk about what happened earlier.”