Bellatrix was largely unaware of how very intensely she did come across. There were occasions that she played it up, naturally, but her movements, her expression, in her day-to-day existence, she was oblivious to. She twisted to face Rita and leaned against the arm of her chair, her upper body completely at odds with the angle of her lower half.
"I suppose not," she conceded, and looked as though she might say more. Merrythought called the class to order, and around them chairs scraped, books rustled and ink pots were swiftly unscrewed. Bellatrix didn't move, watching as Rita settled herself to take notes. She turned to the front eventually, last out of the entire class to do so, and tug the tip of one finger into her text book, approximating the page. She missed it by one.
When the note arrived she glanced at it, and then blinked and rolled her eyes. Thinking Skeeter was looking to gossip about Rodolphus, whose dark, handsome features made her a target for ill-placed jealousy from unworthy people, she scrawled back: