Aware that she's being humoured, Narcissa's willing to accept it under the circumstances and she smiles, faintly, as Bellatrix alters her goal. Discretion has always been more her style - it's inconvenience and mess that she worries about, ultimately, not her sister's capabilities - and to be frank she's slightly more concerned by the notion of Bellatrix tending to her education. That seems like a statement that bodes, and to what can be nothing good.

"Young as you said," she says, one hand on her hip as she glances around the street they're standing on, the cape of her dress billowing over her elbow. Her gaze is dragged back to the Mark, for a moment, but even now it's too familiar to much shock her. She's seen it often enough on her husband's arm, too. "I rather think all this wretchedness speaks poorly of whatever leadership is claimed here, besides..."