Entitled

Chapter 58

It is early one morning when you are awoken by the insistent knocking of Wormtail at your door. Groaning, you pull the covers over your head, trying to block out the noise.

"The Dark Lord says to get up," Wormtail calls through the door. "There is a meeting being called at Malfoy Manor this morning."

You roll over, feeling the remnants of last night's firewhiskey swirling in your head. "The Dark Lord can go fuck himself," you mutter, your voice slurred with the lingering effects of intoxication.

Wormtail's voice trembles slightly as he responds. "Please, he will not be pleased if you are late."

With a groan, you throw off the covers and stumble out of bed. You are still a bit intoxicated, and your head throbs with a dull ache. You dress in black robes, the motion making your head spin. You spray on your perfume, hoping to mask the scent of alcohol, and make your way downstairs.

As you enter the sitting room, you see Voldemort waiting, his expression one of cold displeasure. His red eyes narrow as he takes in your disheveled state.

"You reek of alcohol," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper. "And you are late."

"I'm here, aren't I?" you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

He moves closer, his presence overwhelming. "You dare show such disrespect?"

You stand your ground, though it takes all your effort not to sway. "I had a rough night."

Voldemort's eyes flash with anger, but he controls himself. "We have important matters to discuss. Do not test my patience further."

You nod, feeling the weight of his displeasure.

You apparate to Malfoy Manor, and Wormtail appears next to you, holding the still frail body of Voldemort. The sight of him, so diminished and dependent, fills you with a mix of pity and disgust. Together, you make your way to the dining room where everyone is seated without masks, their identities laid bare.

As you scan the room, your eyes land on Severus, and you look for a seat far from him, but there is none. You are stuck right between him and Voldemort. You start smirking to yourself, finding dark humor in the situation.

Voldemort's eyes narrow. "What is so funny?" he asks, his voice cold and sharp.

You suppress a laugh and say, "It would really be more appropriate if we each sat at the ends of the table like figureheads, but what do I know?"

Your words, clearly spoken in a state of intoxication and irreverence, draw the attention of everyone in the room. The tension is palpable as you feel Severus's gaze burning into you.

Voldemort introduces a man you don't recognize, Barty Crouch Jr., his eyes wild and unhinged. "Barty will lead a mission at the Quidditch World Cup," Voldemort announces, "and you will be his second in command."

Your temper flares. "I should be first in line. Barty should follow my lead."

Barty's wild eyes flash with a mix of anger and confusion. He clearly doesn't like the idea.

Voldemort leans down, whispering menacingly. "Cease this insolence, now."

Fury boils within you, but you manage to bite back your retort. Voldemort continues, addressing the room. "You will attend the Quidditch World Cup with Lucius, where he will be in the Minister's box. This is your opportunity to work your way into the Minister's personal office."

You grit your teeth, feeling a wave of resentment. "Understood," you reply, your voice tight with controlled anger.

The meeting continues, but you can barely focus, your mind swirling with rage and frustration. The other Death Eaters discuss their assignments, but all you can think about is how you have been relegated to second place, how you have been humiliated in front of everyone.