having coffee with your love
or the story your father told you long ago
Sunday, July 2 * Afternoon
Sister's files had proven to be as useful as ever.
Bellatrix, hidden once more in the shadow of a tree, inspected the facade of a block of flats. One of them contained someone with whom she had a pressing appointment.
Still, one did not rush into a strange building. The taste of the place must be obtained, the information granted by all of the senses assimilated.
... There were remnants of powerful wards here, still thrumming in the earth. They occupied her attention for a trice as she gauged their purpose.
While she was doing so, a loathsome Muggle machine approached, with all the noise and smoke and abandonment of the dignity due a wizard that entailed.
Bella began to reach for her wand — though it would ruin her efforts at concealment, some things would not be tolerated in her presence — when she recognized the rider, who had parked the motorcycle and took off his helmet.
She followed him with her eyes as he walked jauntily down the pathway.
Harry disappeared into the building.
Bellatrix settled in to watch for a time more. Had this been a test, somehow? Would the knowledge that the Death Eater's daughter had gone to someone else to eliminate Croaker displease him?
Perhaps his business was with someone else entirely. Perhaps they would leave soon, in which case her "present" could be deposited in Miss Greengrass' home in her absence.
It was business best conducted in silence, after all. Now that the screaming was over.
Bellatrix watched, and thought. It did not matter. She had usurped nothing; Croaker fell to her before any Dark Lord — new Master or the old. A few moments, and she would ascend to the flat, whatever its occupants thought.
Proof she had, proof she would deliver.