(Untitled)

[blackest_malfoy]

If there is one thing that Narcissa Malfoy knows now (and she does know a thing or two, including that making a messenger patronus is really bloody hard to hide from a husband who is a Death Eater), it is that things are never going to be what they were.

The Lord Voldemort is dead, she is both sweaty and bloody (things that she does not

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[flames_within]

The smell of it hits his overclocked senses and has him putting down the cigarette and snuffing it with a thought; he needed to find the blood and the sweat and figure out where it was coming from. The coppery tinge has him looking around, eyes gray with worry until he finally rests on her.

He makes his way over almost immediately.

"Miss?"

Best to play the 'child'; it usually made people think he was harmless, even if that was the farthest from the truth.

[blackest_malfoy]

Two things strike her immediately: he isn't familiar, so that means that he is probably not a Death Eater ... but that if he isn't familiar at least in passing then something might be wrong.

This therefore does nothing to have her relax. She turns up her nose just a little out of habit even though she's bleeding and obviously in no shape to be a pretentious twat, and watches his face carefully.

"Yes?" Just act as if nothing is wrong and maybe the little boy will go away, right? But he doesn't ... feel like a little boy, magically speaking. Her sense of that sort of things is weak, though, and she admits she's disoriented, so she's probably just got herself turned around.

[flames_within]

"You're bleeding," he says quietly, nodding his head to one of the spots where the blood is particularly obvious.

"Do you need assistance? I know some first aid."

[blackest_malfoy]

"I would much rather have my people take care of it," despite the fact that most of them are entirely not fond of her, "or take care of it myself."

But the problem is that she is bleeding now. Who knows when she'll be able to get back to the Order house.