Entitled

Chapter 121

The next morning, the world outside the cabin was hushed, the blanket of snow muffling any sounds and lending an eerie stillness to the air. The fire in the hearth had burned low overnight, leaving just the faintest embers glowing in the ash, and the early morning light filtered through the frosted windows, casting a pale, gentle light across the room.

You stirred first, the weight of the previous day's events still pressing down on you, making it difficult to find the motivation to leave the warmth of the bed. But the quiet, the stillness—it called for some kind of normalcy, a simple routine to ground you in the midst of everything that had happened.

Slipping out of bed carefully so as not to disturb Severus, you wrapped yourself in a thick robe and padded quietly into the small kitchen. The provisions you had brought with you were sparse, just the essentials for a few days of retreat, but it would be enough. You set to work, your movements slow and deliberate as you gathered ingredients for a simple breakfast—eggs, bread, some fruit you had managed to pack.

The silence in the cabin was profound, almost as if it were a physical presence, pressing down on you, reminding you of the weight of the world outside. The events of the previous night—the attack on the Burrow, the conversation with your father, the tension that had followed you here—hung over you like a cloud, casting a shadow over what should have been a day of peace and celebration.

As you cracked the eggs into a pan, the sizzle was the only sound, a small comfort in the otherwise quiet morning. You moved methodically, toasting the bread and slicing the fruit, arranging everything on two simple plates. 

There was no need for anything elaborate—this was not a day for indulgence, but rather a day for finding solace in the small things, in the quiet company of the one person who understood the weight you carried.

Severus stirred as the smell of breakfast began to fill the cabin. You heard the rustle of sheets, followed by the soft footsteps as he made his way into the kitchen. His presence was a quiet comfort, a steadying force in the midst of the solemnity that hung between you.

"Morning," you said softly, turning to offer him a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Morning," he replied, his voice low and rough from sleep. He moved to your side, placing a gentle hand on your back, his touch warm through the fabric of your robe. There was no need for words—he understood the heaviness in the air just as well as you did.

You handed him a plate, and together, you moved to the small table by the window. The view outside was starkly beautiful, the snow-covered landscape stretching out in an endless sea of white, broken only by the dark silhouettes of the trees. It was a view that usually brought you peace, but today it only served as a reminder of the isolation, the separation from the rest of the world.

You ate in near silence, the quiet only broken by the occasional clink of silverware against the plates. The food was simple, comforting in its familiarity, but it couldn't lift the somber mood that had settled over you both.

"I'm sorry it hardly feels like Christmas," you said after a long moment, your voice barely above a whisper. You kept your eyes on your plate, unable to meet Severus's gaze, not wanting to see the reflection of your own sadness there.

Severus reached across the table, his hand covering yours, his touch gentle but firm. "It's not your fault, Violet," he said softly, his voice carrying that steady assurance that you had come to rely on. "There are forces at play far beyond our control."

You nodded, still not looking up, but you squeezed his hand in return, grateful for the comfort he offered. You knew he was right—there were things happening in the world that overshadowed any attempt at normalcy, at celebration. But it was hard not to feel the loss, the absence of the joy and warmth that should have accompanied the holiday.