“Jen – I did not mean – Jen – Wait –”

But it was of no use. His words came out too late, for she had turned on her heel, left before he could even open his mouth to speak.

He tried to chase her - it was not like Varius, certainly not like Varius, to let her go, this easily; and especially when she was this deeply offended, by something that he had said --- he could not bear the thought of having hurt her! - but she was too fast.

-- He only saw the swirl of silver heels, of a milk-white gown; the flash of silver-green eyes as she paused for half a moment, took a deep breath, and then disapparated.

“Varius!”

He turned, his breathing laboured; his fists clenched, not in anger, but in a disappointment that bordered on frustration - would she never tell him anything? - and calmed down, almost at once: It was Bellatrix, and he did not want her to see that he was frustrated.

Or disappointed.

“Yes?”

His voice was cool, but not rude - there never had been any rudeness in Varius Lestrange. Or, if there was, he had never shown it, at least not to Bellatrix. Or any other lady he knew, really. That was not intentional, either - he was just too cultured for that.

“What happened?” Bellatrix demanded, arms crossed against her chest. “Why the heck did she disapparate?”

Did she really think she had a right to talk to him like that, at this moment? Varius would have glared, if only he could muster enough anger at Bellatrix. He could not, though. Which did, of course, not mean that he was not in the worst possible mood.

“She must have a task to do for him,” he said acidly - any more acidic, his tones, and he might just have spat out the words.

He expected Bellatrix to retaliate, to tell him off for talking to her like that - and, more than that, for daring to speak of the Dark Lord like this. What happened, however, surprised even him.

- Bellatrix turned, and left.


*

She must have a task to do for him.

Varius might have been sarcastic, but Bellatrix knew, much more than he ever would, how true his statement was. The task might not have been the reason Jenna had left - if it had, Jenna would have let her know, before she did. She had not, though, which meant something unexpected had taken place. Either that, or Jenna was generally unhappy, about something - but it was nearly twelve, and it was time she left, anyway.

The Dark Lord, Bellatrix knew, did not tolerate lateness.

She was glad she had walked away from Varius. He seemed testy, tonight, and Bellatrix was sure this had something to do with Jenna. Could he not leave Jenna alone, if that what was the latter wanted from him? Apparently, he could not. Well, she - Bellatrix Black - was not going to tolerate any of his snappiness. He could deal with it, by himself.

Lost in thought – but not too lost to forget how to carry herself with pride, the 'Black pride' as she often called it – Bellatrix found herself an empty table and sat down. An elegantly-robed waiter offered her Firewhisky, but she turned him away, despite the fact that the drink in question was among her favourites.

She had a feeling this was going to be a long night.