Chapter 55

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The loch house hums with the mundane chaos of a late morning, the mid-century kitchen bathed in soft sunlight filtering through the balcony door. The retro tiles gleam underfoot, and the walnut cabinets catch the light, but the scene is anything but serene. You're at the kitchen island, folding a pile of laundry fresh from the dryer in the nearby laundry closet, the warm scent of clean linens mingling with the faint aroma of coffee lingering from breakfast. Shirts, pajamas, and tiny socks form neat stacks, though your progress is slow, interrupted by Baron's fussing. The two-year-old, in his dinosaur t-shirt and shorts, clings to your leg, his dark curls bouncing as he whines, arms raised, demanding to be picked up. "Mummy, up!" he cries, his voice shrill, his face scrunched in frustration.

Across the room, Severus sits at the dining table with Stevie and Charlie, their arithmetic workbooks spread out, pencils scratching as they tackle simple addition under his watchful eye. His black shirt is crisp, his dark hair tied back, but his jaw is tight, his patience fraying with each of Baron's outbursts. The twins, their dark hair mirroring their father's, are focused but distracted by their brother's noise, Charlie glancing over with a giggle, Stevie frowning as she erases a mistake. Orion, your golden retriever, lounges by the balcony door, his ears twitching at the commotion but his eyes half-closed, accustomed to the family's chaos.

Lucius is out for the day, enjoying a rare outing with Draco and his three-year-old son, Scorpius, leaving you and Severus to manage the household. You try to focus on folding a pair of Charlie's pajamas, but Baron tugs harder at your olive-green overalls, his whines escalating to a wail. "Bear, please," you say, your voice gentle but strained, using his nickname as you crouch to his level, brushing a curl from his face. "Mummy's almost done, then we'll play, okay?"

He shakes his head, his face red, and stomps his foot, uninterested in promises. You sigh, standing to fold another shirt, but his cries grow louder, piercing the kitchen's fragile calm. Severus's voice cuts through, sharp but controlled, as he addresses the twins. "Focus, Charlie. Five plus three is not nine." His dark eyes flick to you, a flicker of annoyance in them, Baron's tantrum clearly testing his concentration.

You try to ignore the tension, grabbing a stack of folded clothes, but Baron's wails are relentless, his small hands smacking the island. Severus's patience snaps, his voice low but edged. "Can you manage him, princess?" he says, his tone clipped, his hand pausing on Stevie's workbook. "We're trying to get through this."

"I'm trying," you say, your voice tight, forcing a smile to keep the peace. You scoop up the laundry basket, balancing it on your hip, and look down at Baron, who's now clinging to your leg, tears streaming. "Come on, Bear, let's go upstairs," you say, your tone firm but coaxing, hoping a change of scenery will help. He follows, still fussing, his bare feet pattering on the stairs as you head to the nursery, Orion trailing behind, sensing your stress.

The nursery is a haven of sage-green walls and whimsical murals, the twins' beds neatly made, Baron's crib piled with stuffed animals. You set the basket on the floor, starting to sort clothes into drawers, but Baron's mood spirals. He grabs a wooden block from a pile by the crib, throwing it across the room with a frustrated yell, his face crumpling as he screams. "Bear, stop," you say, your voice sharp now, kneeling to his level, trying to catch his flailing hands. "We don't throw things, okay? Let's calm down."

He doesn't listen, his tantrum in full force, and as you lean closer, trying to soothe him, he swings his arm, a block clutched in his fist, catching you square on the lip. The sharp pain stings, and you gasp, touching your lip, your fingers coming away with a smear of blood, the skin split. Baron freezes, his eyes wide, but his tantrum resumes, his screams louder as he throws himself onto the floor, kicking.

You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry, the pain and frustration overwhelming. "That's enough," you say, your voice trembling but firm, scooping him up despite his squirming. He's heavy, his limbs flailing, but you carry him downstairs, your lip throbbing, Orion following with a concerned whine. In the kitchen, you set Baron in the designated time-out spot—a small chair by the laundry closet, away from the table. "You sit here until you're calm," you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest, wiping your lip with the back of your hand.

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