Bellatrix's Performance

Rodolphus waved his hand.

The servants who were still tidying up stopped what they were doing, placed the plates and wine glasses back on the long table, and silently withdrew.

The House-elf were even faster, disappearing before the servants even left, without even stirring the air.

The Banquet Hall doors closed.

Bellatrix stood in the center of the hall, still holding the wine glass in her hand.

Her gaze fell on Regulus, but she didn't speak immediately.

She tilted her head back and drank the last drop of wine in her glass, twirling the glass in her hand before casually placing it on the edge of the long table beside her. She began to walk around Regulus, her high heels clicking on the floor tiles, a slow, deliberate rhythm, each step catching the echo of the previous one before it had completely faded.

Her skirt trailed behind her, drawing an arc on the ground and making a soft scraping sound, like a snake gliding across a stone slab.

Her body swayed slightly, her left hand hanging down, her right hand raised, her fingers tracing random lines in the air, like conducting an orchestra that only she could hear. Then she laughed, no longer with the fervor of her speech, the kind that was meant to be seen by a hundred people; that was over.

Now it's just for him to see, it's more relaxed, more joyful, it's the kind of laughter that rises from deep in his throat.

She's already given speeches to a hundred people; now she just wants to hang out with one person.

This man couldn't escape; he left his father, mother, brother, and cousin behind. In her view, this was tantamount to bringing the ceremony to her home.

She had wanted to go to Grimmauld Place because she wanted to make Orion and Walburga bow down in front of them.

Now there's no need to go; he's gathered everyone himself.

So she can play for a while first.

Regulus stood still, his face expressionless.

Bellatrix walked around behind him, the sound of her high heels echoing a few times behind him, then turned to her right, tilting her head as she passed him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

Keep walking, until you're directly in front of him, then go around him, walking almost halfway around, and finally back to your right.

"Everyone's gone." There was a sense of satisfaction in her voice, as if she had the entire stage after clearing the venue.

She walked around to face Regulus, took a step forward, and whispered in his ear.

She was even a bit taller than him, and when she bent over, her curly hair fell down from her shoulders, almost brushing against his collar.

"You certainly know how to pick your time." Bellatrix's voice was like a whisper, her breath brushing against his ear, carrying a hint of alcohol.

Regulus didn't move, didn't reply, and didn't even move to the side.

Bellatrix took a half step back, a smirk playing on her lips, her eyes sparkling. Her gaze slid across his face as if she were looking at something interesting, not in a hurry to unravel it. She started walking again, stopping to his left, her pace slowing, her tone softening, and her voice becoming even quieter.

Does your aunt know what you've done?

She didn't stop walking; the hem of her skirt swept past his feet.

"Or is it that only your uncle knows?"

Bellatrix continued walking, circling to the other side, her voice suddenly rising before returning to normal volume, loud enough for everyone in the Banquet Hall to hear. "You were right to stay, Regulus."

She stopped circling around, faced forward without moving her feet, turned her head to look at him, and a vein in her neck stood out.

"We're family, so everything is easy to talk about."

She turned to face him, raised her hand, placed it on his shoulder, and gently squeezed it with her fingers, showing affection.

"Regulus, my dear cousin."

She patted him on the shoulder twice, then her hand slid down.

She took a step back, her smile still the same—affectionate and warm—but the smile in her eyes began to fade little by little.

"I feel confused." She tilted her head, her speech slowing down.

"One Heir of the Black family, and two half -Half-bloods openly sheltered at Hogwarts."

She held up two fingers and waved them in the air. "Have you thought about what this means?"

Regulus remained silent, simply standing there, looking at her with an expression of calm, as if gazing at a painting hanging on a wall.

Bellatrix stared into his eyes, withdrew her hand from in front of him, took a step back, tilted her head to the other side, and narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Or do you think this kind of thing won't reach my ears?"

Regulus finally spoke, his voice soft and flat, as if uttering a trivial remark about the evening's weather. "My cousin is well-informed."

Bellatrix paused for a moment.

This answer surprised her because it said nothing at all.

After all that circling around and all that talking, Regulus only says this?

There was no explanation, no rebuttal, no admission of wrongdoing, nothing at all.

Then the corners of her mouth turned up again, only the curve was tighter than before. "I gave you advice before, at Hogwarts."

She took a step forward, her face less than half a foot away from his, close enough to see the gray iris patterns in his pupils. "More than once." Pupil to pupil.

Why do this?

Regulus looked at her and simply replied, "Just doing it."

Bellatrix's expression froze; the muscle under her left eye twitched, but quickly, it was just a very brief pause.

smoothly?

He answered, but it was as good as not answering at all.

This is not what she wanted.

He could say he cared about the honor of Pure-bloods, he could say those two Half-bloods were just tools to consolidate their position in Slytherin and then discard them, or he could even say it was a carefully planned political statement.

He could even tell her to her face that he simply didn't want to listen to her.

Even if we consider this a deliberate provocation against the Pure-blood Faction?

But he only said it was convenient.

All she wanted was something she could accept, refute, and continue acting out.

But she couldn't catch it.

This was just a pointless statement, a statement that rendered all her prepared lines futile.

Bellatrix's fingers clenched and unclenched, the smile on her lips held on, but it seemed to be held up with some effort.

She took a half step back, then raised her eyebrows and smiled back, as if amused by something absurd.

So?

She tilted her head slightly, with an exaggerated look of confusion, and repeated the word in an almost singing tone.

So?

She told it to everyone present as a funny family story.

"I wrote the letter, and I spent so long carefully considering the wording."

She turned towards Orion, then towards Walburga, spreading her hands, her tone almost too sincere, as if recalling something that had kept her up at night. "I'm afraid if I'm too lenient, you won't care; I'm afraid if I'm too harsh, it will hurt our relationship."

She sighed, but it was an exaggerated sigh.

"And then what did you reply to me? One word, So, written in ketchup."

She laughed out loud, as if she thought the whole thing was so absurd it was worth bringing up for everyone to judge. She shook her head with laughter, her curly hair swaying over her shoulders. Then she turned towards Walburga, her eyes filled with grievance.

A look of confusion flashed across Walburga's face, which quickly turned into embarrassment.

She only knew that Regulus's reply was very arrogant, but she didn't expect it to be like this.

So?

Ketchup?

The Heir of the Black family wrote back to his cousin using ketchup!

She shifted her gaze to Regulus, her lips pressed into a thin line, a mixture of disappointment and anger, and a sense of unfamiliarity that she wasn't used to. Her son was right in front of her, but she suddenly felt as if she didn't recognize him.

He looked at Bellatrix, his face expressionless, as if none of this concerned him.

He knew this moment would come; not a single word he said at the dinner table was true!

She turned her head to look at Orion, but Orion didn't look at her; his gaze was fixed ahead, and he didn't even blink.

She sensed something was wrong, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. She opened her mouth to say something, but Bellatrix's voice had already started again.

She shut her mouth.

When she looked at Regulus again, the temperature in her eyes dropped.

She couldn't help but glance at Orion again. Did he know?

She didn't want to think about it anymore, but suddenly felt a little cold.

"Regulus, why don't you at least use ink?"

Bellatrix raised her hand, hooked her index finger in the air, shook her head, and gave a wide, helpless smile, "Ketchup, do you know what that letter in my hand tasted like that day?"

The room was so quiet you could hear the candle wicks burning.

Bellatrix turned her gaze away from Walburga and fixed it back on Regulus's face.

The eyes are still the same eyes, the corners of the mouth are still the same curve, but the message conveyed by the whole face is different.

"So, you mean you don't care?" Her voice lowered, no longer as emotionally charged as before.

"They don't care about my advice, nor do they care about that Dark Lord's good intentions."

Her pupils contracted slightly. "I don't care about being Toujours Pur."

Regulus looked at her.

Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort's most fervent follower, is the true the Master of this banquet tonight.

Regulus then thought of Venda Roxier.

She carried out the most ruthless tasks in the most sophisticated social settings, holding a glass of champagne while committing the murder.

After Grindelwald's downfall, she disappeared into the shadows of Nurmengard, but those who saw her said that the witch remained elegant even after her defeat.

Both generations of Dark Lord had such a woman by their side; she held a high position and played a significant role.

But the art styles are Taiyi.

Bellatrix is actually quite beautiful when she's quiet.

He had the distinctive features of the Black family: a high nose, deep-set eyes, thick black curly hair, and pale skin.

If she wanted to, she could be another Narcissa; just looking at her silhouette, she exudes nobility.

But she refused.

She chose madness, she chose frenzy, she chose to scream and wave in public, she chose to unleash her passion like fireworks. If you had to say, Venda was the French Black Rose, Bellatrix was the English Black Poppy.

Regulus pulled those thoughts back from his mind.

She even brought up Voldemort, but that's all she went for.

She said so much, but he didn't want to respond to a single word. He found it boring and didn't even have the desire to refute her.

It's time to move on to the next step.

He shifted his gaze from her face, over her shoulder, and onto Rodolphus, where the Entrance Hall and Banquet Hall met.

"Rodolphus, there's something I'd like to say tonight in person."