Entitled

Chapter 128*

The mental summons from your father comes suddenly, a cold, invasive presence that creeps into your mind and pulls you from the peace of your morning. You feel a chill run down your spine, the sense of foreboding that always accompanies his summons settling heavily in your chest. Without hesitation, you prepare yourself to leave, knowing that whatever he wants, it won't wait.

Severus, who has been watching you closely, senses the shift in your demeanor immediately. He steps forward, his eyes dark with concern as he takes your hand in his. "Be careful," he says softly, his voice steady but filled with a deep-seated worry. "Keep your mind clear and your mouth respectful. You know how he can be."

You nod, the weight of his words and the unspoken warning in them sinking in. "I will," you promise, squeezing his hand tightly. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Severus's grip on your hand lingers for a moment longer before he lets go, his eyes never leaving yours. "Remember," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity, "we're in this together."

You offer him a small, grateful smile, and then, with a deep breath, you turn away. The portkey—a small, silver ring—sits in your palm, its weight a tangible reminder of where you're going and who you're about to face. You close your eyes, feeling the familiar pull behind your navel as the portkey activates, transporting you away from the safety of your home and into the cold, imposing estate of your father.

The moment you land, the atmosphere shifts. The air here is colder, more oppressive, the weight of your father's presence pressing down on you even before you see him. The grand, dark halls of the estate loom around you, and you take a steadying breath, forcing yourself to focus as you prepare to face him.

As you step forward, you see him—a tall, imposing figure, his presence commanding and cold. His red eyes lock onto you immediately, and you can feel the weight of his scrutiny, the way he's assessing you before you've even had a chance to speak.

"Where are the children?" he asks, his voice a sharp, icy hiss that cuts through the silence.

Before he can press further, you speak, your voice calm and steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "They're napping, Father," you say, keeping your tone respectful but firm. "They're both getting their first tooth, and it's been an experience."

There's a flicker of something in his expression—perhaps mild curiosity, but it quickly fades as he turns away, gesturing for you to follow him inside. You do so without hesitation, your footsteps echoing through the grand, dark halls as you follow him deeper into the estate.

He leads you to a large, dimly lit room filled with heavy, ornate furniture. The atmosphere is as oppressive as ever, the air thick with the weight of unspoken expectations. He moves to sit in one of the high-backed chairs, gesturing for you to do the same.

Once you're both seated, he turns his sharp gaze on you, his expression unreadable. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his tone deceptively casual, though you know better than to take it at face value.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, choosing your words carefully. "I'm tired," you admit, keeping your voice measured.

His eyes narrow slightly, his gaze piercing as he studies you. "Are you tired because of the children," he asks, his voice cold, "or because of the other burdens you've been tasked with?"

"Everything," you reply honestly, knowing that there's no point in trying to hide your exhaustion. "It's all weighing on me."

He leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a pause, a moment of silence that stretches on just a bit too long, before he finally speaks again, his tone sharp and probing. "Do you regret killing Dumbledore?"