A city in chaos doesn't make for the warmest of welcomes, and Narcissa discards the idea of bothering with the CiD for now; she knows how it works, at least, but from what she hears outside the walls of the Valhalla, now is not the-

Wait.

In the act of tucking the CiD away in her purse, wand in her hand in its place, she stops by a window and listens, straining, for the voice she thought she heard a moment before. There- yes- someone else's hand prevents her opening the window and she takes a sharp step backwards, driving her heel into his foot and her wand up under his chin.

"Oh, sir. Do excuse me."

That was Bellatrix out there.