Her eye, still fixed on Sirius, closed a few, brief times, and within a few minutes was closed and not opening again. He frowned at first, but when he heard her labored breathing, he relaxed again. He still had his face pressed against the bars, and he closed his eyes and sighed a bit. It was done. His mother was a werewolf. There was nothing pure about her blood now, and there never would be again. This would be her own, personal, living hell.
"Good boy," he murmured, eyes still closed. After a little time passed, he moved back away from the bars and stood up. Imprints of the bars remained on his face. Standing, he peered down at the hag, curiously. "I think we should just leave her in here. I'll leave the door open a bit." He was glad she no longer had a wand either. She would probably be too ashamed of her new self to go out and buy a new one. She'd have to pay some halfwit to go buy her a second hand, or even third rate wand. That was pleasant, and he smiled. He still couldn't believe this had happened. He wanted to dance across the dirty, bloodstained stones and sing (at least he would if he didn't sing off key). "Does her blood taste as rotten as I think it does?"