"Stay. Okay. Okay." Sirius nodded several times, his head bobbing a bit strangely, like something attached to a dangling string. "Sure. That's fine. I'll stay right here. Good luck!" he called after half-Remus-half-wolf as it loped toward the stairs. He chewed on the cuticle of his thumbnail and looked warily at the nearest torture device, which was something that was half muggle, half magic. Something triggered by blinking, Sirius dimly recalled, that involved dozens of razors sliding against flesh. It made these perfect little stripes, each a millimeter apart.
When the spell had dissipated, Walburga leapt to her feet and stumbled backward until her back slammed against the bars. She gripped them tightly between her fingers, her eyes on the werewolf. Half of her hair had been ripped out; the torn, claw marked scalp was bleeding profusely. She breathed heavily. She was incensed, incensed, that her worthless, pathetic, disowned moron of a son would bring this...this thing, this freak, this mudblood into her home. Let alone the fact that he was shagging it, twisted pervert that he was. She really should have just killed him dead. She should have kept him in a cage, and watched him die. Slowly.
"So you're here to do Sirius' dirty work. How typical. He never could do anything himself. I used to think his father was the most worthless member of the family, but I've been proven wrong. Orion stuck his prick in a great many things, but he never stuck it in a beast. A dirty blooded freak. You both should be dead." She didn't know if the thing even understood her, nor did she care.