Narcissa had been sorely tempted to do exactly what Lucius had suspected; send a Howler to unleash her anger and worry and remain at home with Draco. She just couldn't quite bring herself to abandon Lucius to the tender mercies of the St Mungo's staff when he'd been injured. Beside which, she wouldn't believe he was truly alright until she saw him with her own eyes.
Still, she was hardly going to take a 4 month old into the hospital. It was full of germs, full of sickness and death. No, he'd be safer at home. It left her in something of a quandry but finally, with the promise that she would know the moment Draco cried or something was wrong, she had left Draco with Hetty, the nursery house elf.
She swept onto the ward in a wave of cream cashmere and expensive perfume, dismissing the healers before she reached the private room bearing the name 'Malfoy, L'. The door closed quietly behind her, leaving her alone with her pale, bruised, admittedly hurt-seeming husband.
"Lucius," she murmured, shrugging off her cloak and leaving it abandoned at the foot of his bed. "How are you feeling?"