Science. Date: Summertime, back in the day (the day being when Bella is twenty and Sirius is eleven) Time: Evening Location: Black Residence Character: Bellatrix and Sirius Black
Having family visit was nice, but it wasn't without its complications. Long errands through the night meant that Bella's typical aversion to breakfast was compounded by a desire to be in her bed. In smaller groups it was fine, but with her parents, aunt, uncle, two younger sisters, and cousins all in the same room, Bella found her thoughts rather inclined to wander. Especially when Cissy insisted on going on and on and on about Lucius Malfoy. Bella didn't particularly hold anything against Lucius, except for the fact that she figured she knew him better than Cissy did. While it was unlikely that she'd ever completely approve of the men likely to get her sisters, she wondered just how well Cissy understood Lucius' professional aims. The corner of Bella's mouth lifted at the idea as she stirred the simmering contents of her cauldron.
The room adjacent to the library had been commandeered for her personal use several months ago. It had been transformed from another sitting room into a room dominated by long wooden tables, which were topped with a sort of organized clutter. One table was practically overflowing with parchment, covered by the haphazard lace of her obscure, swooping shorthand. The rest supported a landscape that hinted at a potions laboratory, though there were clearly too few cauldrons for such a claim, with its vials, scales, beakers and copper instruments. Bellatrix had been an exemplary student when her interested was courted, and exceptionally bored the rest of the time. The only way she had endured Potions without being driven completely mad was to cozy up to the professor, get her partner to do most of her work for her, and focus her attention on more interesting pursuits. There was still no substantial evidence as to exactly what had caused the explosion in her fifth year, apart from the rumors of Gryffindor's involvement; no doubt spawned by McNair's hollering as he'd pulled her, laughing, from the dungeons through the billowing smoke. She'd have resented the gesture if it weren't so funny.
Tapping the wooden spoon free of liquid, she noticed the room had begun to smell like freesia. She wasn't quite sure if that was good or bad, but the liquid had become thin, almost watery, and the colour of molten silver. At least this time it wasn't that putrid green. The steam rising off of it was a light lilac, and that seemed encouraging. Grasping the wooden handle jutting off the side of the small cauldron, she moved off her stool to pour a bit of liquid into a glass cylinder. After extinquishing the flame with her wand, she returned the cauldron to its cast iron stand. While she waited for it to come to room temperature she replaced her wand with a quill, jotting out little notes to herself about the exact steps she had taken this time. Dictoquills worked all well and good, but if you had a mind to keep your workings private, it was best to do notes by hand.
The impulse to inch up her sleeves when she wrote was a habit she'd had to relearn to surpress. For one, it looked ridiculous. More importantly, however, was the desire to keep her arms covered. There were glamours that could be used, but Bella didn't care for them. Most people regarded her as eccentric enough to overlook her habit of wearing long sleeves all year round. What a useful thing, to be thought of as strange. It allowed even the most peculiar practices to be dismissed with little to no consideration at all.
Her smile curled a bit sharper before she tapped the end of the feather against her lower lip, trying to recall what the brew had smelled like before it turned floral.