Entitled

Chapter 132*

Content Warnings; This is turning quite dark. SA

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, but you're deep in sleep, your mind lost in a dream that feels so vivid, so real. The image of the trout, gasping on the rocky bank, fills your vision once more. You watch helplessly as it struggles, its body flopping weakly, its life slipping away with every desperate gasp.

You feel a surge of panic, the instinctive urge to save it, to do something. Your hands reach out, trembling as they move closer to the struggling fish. The urge to help, to make things right, is overwhelming. But before you can touch it, a voice calls out to you, gentle yet firm.

"Violet, put it back in the water."

You freeze, your hands hovering just above the trout, your heart pounding in your chest. The voice is familiar, filled with a calm wisdom that soothes the edges of your fear. You look up, searching for the source, and see a figure standing in the stream, the water swirling gently around him.

"It's dying," you say, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and sorrow. The sight of the fish, so helpless and vulnerable, tears at your heart.

"I know," the voice replies, still calm, still understanding. "But put him back in the water."

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of the decision heavy in your chest. But the voice carries a sense of authority, a quiet command that you know you can trust. With trembling hands, you reach down, carefully lifting the trout. It's cool and slippery in your grasp, and you can feel its faint, weakening pulse against your fingers.

You carry the fish to the edge of the stream, lowering it gently into the water. As soon as it touches the cool current, it gives a final, weak flick of its tail before disappearing into the depths. You watch it go, a strange sense of peace settling over you, as if something has been set right, even if only for a moment.

When you finally look up, you see him—Dumbledore, standing in the stream, dressed in waiters, his long white beard flowing gently with the breeze. He's holding a fly fishing rod, casting the line with practiced ease, his eyes focused on the water. The sight of him is so unexpected, so out of place, that it takes a moment for your mind to register who he is.

You jump up, startled, recognizing him immediately. "Professor Dumbledore," you exclaim, your voice a mix of surprise and confusion. "Where am I? What's happening?"

Dumbledore turns to you, his expression kind and serene, as if you've simply interrupted him during a peaceful morning of fishing. "It's your hiding spot, Violet," he says gently, his voice carrying that familiar tone of calm reassurance.

"I don't know what you mean," you reply, shaking your head in confusion. You look around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The river is tranquil, the water sparkling under the golden light of the sun. The air is fresh and crisp, the sound of the flowing stream soothing in its simplicity. But it's the figure in the distance that catches your attention.

You see her—another version of yourself, wading through the water, holding her skirt up to keep it dry as she crosses the stream. The sunlight dances on the water around her, casting a warm glow that seems almost otherworldly. She looks peaceful, content, as if she belongs in this place in a way that you can't quite understand.

Your heart races as you watch her, the dream taking on a surreal quality that blurs the lines between reality and imagination. There's something about the scene that feels familiar, like a distant memory you can't quite grasp. You try to call out to her, to understand what's happening, but before you can make sense of it all, the world around you begins to fade.