Hey, Soul Sister [Lucius/Narcissa]

Chapter Seven

Narcissa hurtled down the steps as quickly as her legs would carry her, paying no mind to where the rest of her friends were. She made her way onto the Quidditch pitch and threw herself down onto the grass beside Lucius, who had landed hard on his back with his right leg twisted awkwardly beneath him. She quickly produced her wand and cast "Rennervate," hoping that the Stunning Spell was the only thing keeping him unconscious.

He stirred, letting out a soft groan as his face contorted in pain. Narcissa sighed, indescribably relieved that he had awoken so quickly. She reached out to rest a hand on Lucius's shoulder as he started to sit up.

"Don't you dare," she said. "Hold still until we see how badly you're hurt."

He blinked rapidly, his gaze seeming to shift into focus, and she believed he was processing her presence for the first time.

"I'm all right," he said, adding "really" when she frowned at him.

"Have you any idea how far you fell?" she demanded. "You're not all right. Quit being so stubborn."

By this time, the others had converged on the spot where Lucius had fallen. Lenore and Gabriel paused beside Narcissa while Augustus and Walden continued running in the direction from which the spell had come.

"We've got it, mate," called Walden to Lucius as they passed.

"They won't get far," said Augustus, pulling out his wand.

Narcissa shook her head as she watched them dash toward the other end of the pitch. She'd caught a glimpse of the group standing in the shadows opposite where she and the others had been sitting, and she was relatively certain she would've known who was responsible for this even without having seen him, but doing so had definitely confirmed her suspicions.

Even if Augustus and Walden didn't catch up to him now, Narcissa would make sure Thorfinn paid for attacking Lucius.

"We should get him to the castle," said Gabriel, bending down to lift one of Lucius's arms onto his shoulder.

"You lot are worrying for nothing." Lucius shook his head as he started to stand with Gabriel's help. As soon as he put his weight on his right leg, however, he winced.

"Are we?" Narcissa raised a brow. "Hold still for a second and let me see what happened." She crouched to better examine Lucius's leg, touching his knee with tentative fingers that drew a sharp gasp from him on contact. "Sorry," she said quickly.

"I'm going to kill him," Lucius muttered.

"Those two may beat you to it," said Lenore, nodding toward where Walden and Augustus had disappeared.

Narcissa shifted her examination to Lucius's back, standing once again and carefully shifting his now-torn robes a bit to allow her a closer look. "This would be easier without the robes," she told him. "I can't see very well."

Lucius sighed, and as his shoulders lowered, he tensed, evidently experiencing renewed pain. "Fine." He shrugged out of his robes and passed them to Lenore, and Narcissa caught sight of how badly ripped the white shirt that Lucius had been wearing underneath was. She lifted it gently, and he shivered as her fingertips skimmed up his back in the process.

She froze. Among the scrapes and half-formed bruises sustained in his fall was the silver outline of a lioness at the center of his back.

So it's true.

Narcissa's throat went suddenly very dry, and she tried unsuccessfully to swallow. The morning after the momentary lapse in judgment that had led her to kiss Lucius's cheek in the Common Room, as she'd been dressing for class, she'd noticed a change in the mirror—the likeness of a lion had materialized on her back. She'd panicked, naturally. What she didn't need at the moment was another complication, which was all she'd been able to see this as, at the time. After all, she hadn't known whom that particular patronus belonged to, but it was very easy to imagine that it wasn't Thorfinn's, which was sure to ignite a firestorm of backlash from her family. After staring at the image in the mirror long enough to determine that it wasn't, in fact, a figment of her imagination, she'd hurried for her clothes with the intention of saying nothing to anyone about her mark until she'd made some sort of decision or at least knew where to begin.