"How's my little girl?"

The sound of Cygnus's voice jarred Narcissa out of her sleep. She had been curled up in bed with pillows and blankets over her head, a pounding in her temples and a churning in her stomach, but when she heard her father, she sat up immediately and stroked her hair smooth, smiling up at him.

"I'm fine, Daddy," she said, as sweetly as she could manage with the stars popping before her eyes from her headache. "I feel much better than I did yesterday. I thought you had work today," she added a little doubtfully.

He sat down on the foot of her bed and Narcissa leaned back a little again, looking around the room and avoiding her father's eye. She stared unseeingly at the vase of roses that her mother had ordered be put upon her dressing table to "brighten up the room" – as if Druella ever cared about how Narcissa's room looked. The frame creaked a little as he shifted his weight upon it and stroked his daughter's leg through the blankets.

"I told the Minister I needed to stay home," he said. "I can't let my little girl stay here all alone with only the house-elves when she's ill."

"I'd have been all right, Daddy," Narcissa told him, still not meeting his eye. "You didn't need to stay away from work with me."

His eyes narrowed, and one brow twitched up in a familiar, suspicious little motion. Narcissa's heart sank.

"Don't you want me at home, then?" he asked. His voice, previously quite jovial, had taken on a dark edge. "Here I am, trying to be a good father for my little girl, and she tells me that I should leave her all alone in the care of house-elves." He said the words "house-elves" with so much disgust that Narcissa cringed.

"No, Daddy, that's not what I meant…" she whispered. Guilt churned in her stomach – she hated upsetting him.

"What did you mean, then?" he demanded. Narcissa's lip quivered, and she shrank back, eyes down and filling with tears that she struggled to hold back. Her heart was pounding hard and fast and her legs and hands shook, though she couldn't have said exactly why.

"Only that I didn't want you to feel like you weren't a good Daddy if you left me alone at home," she said tentatively. "I know your work is important…"

"Not as important as my little girl." He kissed her forehead, perhaps with a bit more force than was entirely necessary, then sat back, looking at her. Narcissa's cheeks flamed and she could not meet his eyes.

"You're very like your mother," he said at last. "You look just like she did when we were first married."

"Thank you…" she said nervously, unsure what the proper response was. Her headache was getting worse and she wished that her father would just leave the room and leave her alone so that she could curl up again and not have to think.

Cygnus leaned forward, putting his hands on either side of Narcissa's head and turning it slowly from side to side. Narcissa held her breath, frightened of doing anything to upset her father again.

"You're as beautiful as she was…" Cygnus breathed.

"Is she at home, Daddy?" Narcissa asked quietly. Her vision was clouding over with spots, and it was all she could do to even speak.

"No, darling, she isn't," whispered Cygnus. "It's just you and me, my little girl…"

His hand moved suddenly, and pressed over Narcissa's mouth and nose. It took Narcissa a moment to become aware that she couldn't breathe, and when she did, her whole body lashed out at him, twisting and writhing and trying to break her grip. She did her best to scream, but the sound came out muffled, and he was forcing her down onto the pillows, and pulling the covers back and Narcissa was crying and his hands were on her, pulling her off the bed and onto her knees on the ground and everything was going black–

"Narcissa? Narcissa, wake up!"

Narcissa's eyes snapped open. She was drenched in sweat, tangled in her blankets, and her whole body was shaking. Cygnus was leaning over, looking quite afraid, his clothes and hair slightly rumpled, though nowhere near as badly as Narcissa's own.

"Wh… wha… what happened?" she whispered brokenly.

"You were having a nightmare," he told her. "Thrashing around… are you all right?"

"I… I feel a bit ill," she said. "Not very bad, though."

"Would you like a drink? Water? Milk? Vodka?"

"No, Daddy," Narcissa said, shaking her head. There were tears in her eyes and she couldn't have said why, because her headache didn't feel as terrible as she had a little while ago. "Th- thank you, Daddy. I think I'd like to go back to sleep."

"All right," he said, standing up. "If you need anything, call for me. I don't trust my little girl's care to the house-elves," he added with a small frown, then smiled again, looking down at her indulgently. "Feel better soon, my little girl."

"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, not breathing easily until her door was shut. She sank back onto her pillows, shaking.

"It was just a dream," she told herself, whispering out loud. "Just a dream. He wouldn't hurt you."

She started to stand up to go wash her face, and winced. There was a pain in her lower belly and between her legs, and a fresh blotch of blood staining her sheets and nightdress.

Damn it.

Narcissa's face flamed crimson, and she pulled the sheets from her bed, dragging them into the lavatory, throwing them and her nightdress into the bathtub and running cold water to wash the stain out. Water swirled pink – the same pink as those roses in my room – down the drain, and Narcissa found herself mesmerised by it.

She should have asked Andromeda how long she was supposed to bleed for, and how much. She hadn't bled for days, and now it was dripping down her thighs again and it hurt. It was disgusting, all this blood, all over, and it made Narcissa's stomach turn more even than her illness had before Cygnus came into the room. She looked up, away from it, trying to settle her stomach, but it only made things worse.

Oh dear–

Narcissa was just barely able to get to the toilet before she tasted vomit in the back of her mouth. She spat up mouthfuls of sick, hot tears coursing down her cheeks as she heaved over the bowl, wishing she had eaten so that there would be something in her stomach to dilute the acid.

For a moment, Narcissa stared at what she had thrown up. It was mostly clear liquid – she hadn't realized how long it must have been since she had eaten, if that was all there had been in her belly – but swimming in the water like great, horrible maggots or worms but liquid, were a few splotches of something thick and pale.

Her stomach turned again at the sight, and she quickly flushed it all away, not wanting to think about what that liquid might be.