Bellatrix watched her with moderate interest. Pretty little thing, really, when she wasn't talking -- she was the sort of girl Bellatrix wanted to ruffle. Smudge her make-up. Leave her quivering, stripped of all the gloss and falseness -- begging for more. She liked girls -- not just for their more obvious parts, but for the smooth curve of the throat, the bend of their wrists, the soft belly... all these places that people were vulnerable.
"All alone," Bellatrix confirmed, in a sing-song voice. "So are you."
Poor little Blishwick would be all alone, too, and wondering where the hell Bellatrix had gone. She suspected she would have wriggled free by now, the ties hadn't been all that tight. Cruel, perhaps, to string her up for a little fun and leave her there -- but cruelty was Bellatrix's speciality, and she didn't much care for the girl's feelings. Perhaps it would stir a little indignation from her -- the adoration was beginning to wear thin.
When Rita began to moan Bellatrix leaned back to look at her, a languid, closed-mouthed smirk on her face. She was sure she could make her do better -- the thought entered her head unbidden and lingered there. She didn't miss the odd turn of phrase in the plural prefects, but chose to interpret it as Skeeter's mistake, not a deliberate allusion.
"Is that all you're going to talk about?" she asked her, and pursed her lips. "I'd hoped you'd be more exciting."