I return to find Potter crying in distress.

“Aapa!” He deplores, leaning against the railings and pointing at something. I raise an eyebrow and follow his line of vision.

“What, this?” I ask, bending over to pick up a stuffed bear lying on the floor.  Potter yelps, goes up on his tiptoes and pulls at my robes.

I hand him the bear before he does any damage.

Potter then takes the perfectly good pacifier out of his mouth, let it fall simply from his hand and begins to nibble on the bear’s ear with vigour.

I roll my eyes; typical.