A/N: the problem emerges...read, review, and discuss!

Chaolite

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I gather Samson's shed hair in the empty room's corner with my wand, wanting neither to touch nor throw it away. It's a terrible, faltering guilt, to love and feel devotion but no happiness for it.

A large brown owl, Bella's owl, flies in through the window and lands on the brown mass. The bird sticks his leg out impatiently. I take the note and shoo him away. The way his yellow claws curl around the hair makes it seem as though something has died. It makes my skin crawl to see. Hooting irritatedly, he flies off without another look.

I unfurl the little note and glance over the scrawled words.

"Father is dying. Come immediately."

My stomach turns. Father is dying, the words echo in my head over and over. My father, the Titan, is ill. How could it be? He, the untestable, immortal lord of our house. It wasn't true, it couldn't be! Everything is full of chaos, blinding and twisting. Sorrow clouds my mind and fogs my heart. What are we without him? What is our ancient house without the unyielding pillar that is Cygnus Black?

Aunt Walburga has gone insane with Sirius run away, Uncle Alphard is pliable as a clay, believing everything he hears, and Uncle Orion only wastes the family fortune fortifying his home. Who will keep our legacy strong? Regulus? The thought of my timid cousin who plays with his house-elf all day is laughable.

I do not even remember to grab my cloak before I Apparate to my father's house. The wind bites me harshly as I wait on the steps of my once beloved home.

Bella lets me in hurriedly and leads me to father's room.

"Be quiet, Cissy, don't startle him," she warns.

I tentatively lean into the door and see that he is lying in a bed of white, his hair nearly all gone. I duck out, feeling desperately morose.

"What is wrong with him?"

"The healers won't say anything except that he's only got a few weeks left. It's not contagious if that's what you're asking." Her tone is rough.

I venture another look at my frail father. "How did it get to be like this?"

"I found him here this morning," she hisses, "collapsed over his desk. Perhaps if someone visited him frequently, it wouldn't have come to this."

"If only," I repeat.

She blames me.

"Go!" Bella pushes me through the doorway forcefully.

I stumble in to the room, suddenly aware of the smell of elderly and sickness. Disinfectant assaults my senses mercilessly, crawling up my nose and through my eyes. My father is motionless on the huge bed which makes him seem all the smaller. His skin is paper thin and stretched over a bald egg-like head. Liver spots and infinite wrinkles mar his once regal face. This image of death parts its dry lips and utters a strangled noise.

He directs his bottomless blue eyes at me and holds a hand up weakly. A sob catches in my throat and I run to him. My poor father, this shrivelled corpse is my father.

I grasp his hand tightly in my own and press it to my cheek.

"I'm here," I breathe.

The dying man tries to raise his head but I place my fingertips on his head and try to keep him still. His cold hand reaches up and runs over my hair as if it were precious gold and he smiles, a sad and heartbreaking smile.

"Druella," he mutters, eyes overcome with emotion.

I wipe away the moisture from the corner of his glassy eyes, and reply softly, "Father, it's me, it's Narcissa."

His eyes focus for a moment as if he were finally seeing me clearly.

Suddenly, he withdraws his hand and tucks it stiffly down into the sheets. He sighs and turns his head away from me. I frantically try to reach for him again but he steels his fingers against his side. He closes his eyes and refuses to acknowledge me.

"Father," I plead.

Still, he shuts himself from me and I know it is futile. It would only anger him for me to try further so I back out slowly to join Bella in the hall.

She glares at me as I close the door.

"He won't speak to me," I concede.

"What kind of out of line drivel did you say?" she asks accusingly.

"Nothing! It's his stubborn pride that won't admit that he's been wrong for years."

Bella's eyes burn fiercely, and she slaps me across the face. My cheek burns like fire where she has struck me. She silences the doorway with her black wand and yells, "How dare you! That's our father in there! Don't you ever stop to think of all he's done for you?"

"He hasn't—"

"Why do you think anyone buys your silly paintings? Father pays people to!"

"But Lucius—"

"Is employed by our father!"

I stop cold. It's all been a lie. I've been living on my father's goodwill this entire time.

Bella does not stop her rampage, not even upon seeing my face fall.

"You know why he won't speak to you?" she cries, "Because he's disappointed that you're still wandering like a child! He's ill with the thought of you becoming the spinster people whisper about. He's ashamed to die with his precious daughter uncared for. Instead, you're still prancing around with that idiot Cohen. Why can't you just be like the rest of us and get married to someone decent so he can have his peace?"

It must be true—father won't speak to me unless I show him that I've grown up. And I shall show him before it is too late. He must know that I have not forsaken his values, that my future and my reputation are intact and will remain so.

But I have so little time.

I must get married.

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