As if by some wifely radar - or just the familiarity of having known one another since childhood (he has, she realizes, known her yet longer, and that's a very odd thought to have) - Narcissa's well aware of what he's doing over there and while she refrains (just) from rolling her eyes at him, there's a self-satisfied edge to her smile at his silence. Damned right there's nothing to complain about.
(Her Lucius had been living in some little flat alone, before she arrived, but as ever - Narcissa's presence merited more effort.)
She pauses, briefly, as they enter; no, she doesn't hear anyone else, and the house feels empty. That's...probably for the best, she decides. They'll have a bit of time to get him situated before he's obliged to deal with everyone else, and she'll have time to decide exactly how she's playing this.
"Come and sit," she says, letting the door swing shut behind them, tugging her gloves from her hands, "and let me see what I did to your shoulder." That verbal concession is as nice as she's going to be about hitting him with a jar, for the record; he did start it. "Then you can bathe, and I'll make you something to eat."
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(Her Lucius had been living in some little flat alone, before she arrived, but as ever - Narcissa's presence merited more effort.)
She pauses, briefly, as they enter; no, she doesn't hear anyone else, and the house feels empty. That's...probably for the best, she decides. They'll have a bit of time to get him situated before he's obliged to deal with everyone else, and she'll have time to decide exactly how she's playing this.
"Come and sit," she says, letting the door swing shut behind them, tugging her gloves from her hands, "and let me see what I did to your shoulder." That verbal concession is as nice as she's going to be about hitting him with a jar, for the record; he did start it. "Then you can bathe, and I'll make you something to eat."
No servants, alas, but she's an excellent cook.