Entitled

Chapter 103*

The next morning, as you sit in the quiet of the cabin reading a book, an unexpected owl swoops in through the open window, landing on the edge of the table in front of you. 

Its talons grip a tiny box, which it drops with an air of urgency before taking flight again, leaving you alone with this mysterious package.

Your heart skips a beat—no one but Severus knows where you are, so who could have sent this?

Curiosity piqued, you reach for the box. It's small, barely large enough to hold anything of significance, yet its weight suggests otherwise. You undo the delicate ribbon and lift the lid to reveal a note resting atop a small silver hinged tea strainer.

The note is simple, almost cryptic: Use this at 5pm this evening. There's no signature, but the wax seal catches your eye— a phoenix, its wings outstretched in flight. The emblem is unmistakable; it has to be from Dumbledore or the Order.

As the hours pass, the unease in your chest grows. Who else could know your whereabouts? Why would Dumbledore contact you in such a roundabout way? These questions swirl in your mind, but the lack of answers only heightens your anxiety. When the clock nears five, you stand, the silver tea strainer clutched in your hand. With a deep breath, you use your portkey, the familiar tug behind your navel whisking you away from the safety of the cabin.

You land on a windswept hill, the air around you sharp and cold. The landscape is barren, the grass whipping around in the strong gusts of wind. And there, standing in the distance, is Dumbledore, his robes billowing around him as he waits, his expression unreadable.

Immediately, you draw your wand, pointing it at him with a steady hand. "Is this a trap?" you demand, your voice cutting through the howling wind. "What do you want from me?"

Dumbledore raises his hands in a gesture of peace, his eyes calm and steady as they meet yours. "I assure you, I have no intention of turning you over," he says, his voice gentle yet firm, carrying easily through the wind.

Your grip on your wand tightens, anger flaring in your chest. "That's not entirely true, is it, old man?" you snap, the words laced with bitterness. "You gave my name to the Aurors."

A flicker of regret passes over Dumbledore's face, but he doesn't falter. "I did what I had to," he replies, his tone sorrowful. "Harry was with me. I couldn't afford to let him think that my loyalties might lie with someone connected to Voldemort. He needed to trust me, to believe that I am unwavering in our fight against the darkness."

The mention of Harry sends a chill through you, and you turn away from Dumbledore, unable to meet his gaze. "So Harry knows who I am now," you whisper, the weight of the revelation pressing down on you.

Dumbledore's voice softens further, almost a murmur against the wind. "He knows who your father is, yes. But he understands, perhaps more than you realize. I have sworn him to secrecy, and he will not betray your trust."

You close your eyes, the reality of the situation sinking in. Harry knows. The boy who is supposed to be the beacon of hope, the one destined to defeat Voldemort, now knows your darkest secret. It feels like a betrayal, yet you understand Dumbledore's reasoning. He is, as always, playing the long game, making sacrifices for the greater good.

But that doesn't make it any easier to bear. You never wanted Harry to know this, that it is your father who is set on ruining everything that is good.

"I never wanted this," you say, your voice barely audible over the wind. "I never asked for any of it."

Dumbledore steps closer, his presence a calming force despite the storm raging within you. "I know," he says softly. "But we rarely choose our fates, Violet. We can only choose how we respond to them."