Bellatrix had no particular opinion of Rita Skeeter. She was just another girl in the year, one she hadn't spent much time with. It irked her a little that she had strolled in and sat down without asking, as Bellatrix was used to a certain degree of deference -- she didn't have to throw her family name around much to get it, either. She tilted her head to look sidelong at her, her dark eyes narrowing imperceptibly before she sat up and, in a singular motion, flipped the book shut.
She did not return the smile, but raised an eyebrow -- when Bellatrix bared her teeth it tended to be an aggressive motion. It was almost never pleasant, rather more a snarl or a vicious grin. Most people lit up when they smiled, but not her. She communicated everything with her large, dark eyes and tightly wound, strange hand gestures. She glanced at Rita's usual place, and then ran her eye over her pretty, fair features again.
"Hello," she returned, and allowed her fingers to stray and pick at the dried ink on the lip of the pot. This was unexpected.