Bellatrix was there, hooded and masked, during the earliest commotion of her cousin's capture. He was first interrogated by a group of which she was part, and that was a coarse and brutal introduction that set the tone for everything later. It's time now for a visit of another kind. He might hear before seeing that he's no longer alone. Her wand-sheath was made with other garments in mind, and with excess weaponry, it sits too heavily over what she's wearing. Moving toward him, her steps and the rustle of fabric are accompanied by a sound of metal clinking against metal. Her wand itself is drawn from the very start.
She's arriving directly from a lavish social affair, the kind of thing she attends as upkeep on her public life. He can't think it's wholly for his benefit that she's wearing an evening gown. It's an elegant backless thing, with fitted sleeves by necessity, in an unforgiving shape that restricts her movement more than she'd like — but then, this won't require agility, will it? She'll admit that the contrast with his own condition is purposeful. She means for him to glimpse something of her life, of how it's proceeding in accordance with the choices she's made. That she faces him unmasked is a testament to her sense of security. It speaks to her confidence that he will never escape to name his captors.
There is, of course, the necessity of extracting information from Sirius, very specific information wanted as soon as possible. She lives each moment with fevered impatience to fulfill commands, but she could never be impatient with this, with him. She credits her cousin with resilience — no, stubbornness — and thus expects to prise no secrets from him on this occasion. This is for her personal satisfaction. A social visit, to her mind, and on those grounds some formality should be observed.
She flicks her wand, one sharp movement, roughly pulling his restraints forward and up, to their limits. He must be half accustomed to being puppeted around, but she knows how to keep the strain on his joints, not in the chains. She wants him hanging to attention, rather than swinging there limply. His weight's been on his wrists for too long, which alone must hurt, but not quite as she'd like. It isn't enough to rely on prolonged discomfort; pain should be distinct. It should rise and fall like breath.
"Stand when a woman enters the room."
He seems to take a certain pride in his atrocious manners. Among his humiliations will be a forced compliance with the standards of etiquette his mother might expect of him, were she here. Satisfied with his mimicry of posture, Bellatrix performs a straight-backed curtsy.
"Sirius Black," she intones with mock civility, resenting that he retains the family name whilst doing it such injustice, but using it all the same. "Shall we reacquaint ourselves?"
no subject
She's arriving directly from a lavish social affair, the kind of thing she attends as upkeep on her public life. He can't think it's wholly for his benefit that she's wearing an evening gown. It's an elegant backless thing, with fitted sleeves by necessity, in an unforgiving shape that restricts her movement more than she'd like — but then, this won't require agility, will it? She'll admit that the contrast with his own condition is purposeful. She means for him to glimpse something of her life, of how it's proceeding in accordance with the choices she's made. That she faces him unmasked is a testament to her sense of security. It speaks to her confidence that he will never escape to name his captors.
There is, of course, the necessity of extracting information from Sirius, very specific information wanted as soon as possible. She lives each moment with fevered impatience to fulfill commands, but she could never be impatient with this, with him. She credits her cousin with resilience — no, stubbornness — and thus expects to prise no secrets from him on this occasion. This is for her personal satisfaction. A social visit, to her mind, and on those grounds some formality should be observed.
She flicks her wand, one sharp movement, roughly pulling his restraints forward and up, to their limits. He must be half accustomed to being puppeted around, but she knows how to keep the strain on his joints, not in the chains. She wants him hanging to attention, rather than swinging there limply. His weight's been on his wrists for too long, which alone must hurt, but not quite as she'd like. It isn't enough to rely on prolonged discomfort; pain should be distinct. It should rise and fall like breath.
"Stand when a woman enters the room."
He seems to take a certain pride in his atrocious manners. Among his humiliations will be a forced compliance with the standards of etiquette his mother might expect of him, were she here. Satisfied with his mimicry of posture, Bellatrix performs a straight-backed curtsy.
"Sirius Black," she intones with mock civility, resenting that he retains the family name whilst doing it such injustice, but using it all the same. "Shall we reacquaint ourselves?"