She’d been in a mood since arriving in the village. She’d found herself a horrible little pub and had eaten nothing much peanuts and a little ale before finally opening up the damn journals and finding that the two was filled with both allies (and her Dark Lord) and disgusting creatures with a sense of humor that would have made Sirius chuckle. Thankfully, Rodolphus had found her before she began to hex people. The temptation had been great.
“Would you like my list in chorological or alphabetical order, dear husband?” Bellatrix asked, looking perfectly serious as she turned around in the cottage and sneered at the look of the incredibly simple home.
“I’ve been in more fashionable poor houses. I’m still not convinced this isn’t really purgatory or hell. It seems rather fitting, doesn’t it?” Bellatrix let her fingers mover over the walls, two of them collecting the dust that had collected from being the walls of a basic bachelor and not a married man with a wife who loved exacting in details to later abuse house elves over missing later. She spun on the spot and faced him, face carefully collected. Her black hair was done up in the bun she’d often sported later in their marriage, before Azkaban, and her dress was of a dark velvet green. It had, in fact, been a gift from another Death Eater seeking favor. Bella had taken the gift, and promptly forgotten the whelp’s name. He had been a halfblood, after all.
“Well? Do you plan on looking like a schoolboy given lines or are you going to at least attempt to be cheerful? One would think that you weren’t happy to see your wife.”