[identity profile] fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] bait_backup
*It’s early Thursday afternoon, lovely and sunny, and Diagon Alley is almost empty. That’s one consequence of not only the war but Crouch’s curfews and posters and floating eyeballs and the rest of it--the increasing insanity of a man leading the country like a drunken Ahab at the tiller in a storm. No one’s talking about it, and the Prophet is predictably silent, but the empty alley is telling enough. Witches and wizards are staying home regardless of curfew, and the empty shops (half of them shuttered) are a clear enough indictment of Crouch’s policies as any.

But Bellatrix has been terribly virtuous today and done her part to shore up the economy. Gloves at Twilfits, a lacy little thing or two for Roddy, a new series of quills, invitations printed for the upcoming weekend affair at Lestrange Manor, and more, she can’t even remember what she’s bought. But she’s done now, her purchases materialized at home in their glossy wrappings to be cooed over later, and she hasn’t followed them quite yet. She’s enjoying the quiet, the way her heels on the cobblestones actually echo off the shop windows. It’s fascinating.

But then she catches sight of a familiar face--her heartbeat first quickens, then drops, low, low, lower, she’s gloriously calm, now, a slow smile spreading across her face. Sirius Black is sitting at a little table outside the Blue Beetle, engrossed in a book. There’s no one that matters around to see them and she’s still so tickled about her little gift, her little errand of the other night, that there isn’t even a moment of deliberation. Before she even knows what she’s doing her high-heeled boots have carried her right over and she’s sitting across from him, peremptorily and very prettily, with a wide and toothy smile that outshines even the Lestrange jewels at her ears and throat.*

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