For the attention of Bellatrix Sekhmet, once scion of the Most Noble House of Black, who has claimed her own destiny,

In you I recognize one who is kindred: one who sees the world not as it is, but as it could be. The shackles of the past need bind us no longer when the Final Dawn breaks above the remnants of yesterday. It is therefore with great anticipation I present to you this invitation to dine with me on the morrow's eve, that we might share our visions.

I will await your exclusive arrival at the Riddle House, Little Hangleton, Yorkshire, at eight PM. Send regrets only with the return of the bird.

Oh, it's - pretty.

Bellatrix has never been so immediately enchanted by someone's handwriting before, and the art's lovely.

'Once scion' - that sets a weird feeling in her chest. Almost a glow. She finds herself grinning.

She doesn't have to commit to anything, of course, just. Sharing. Showing up, perhaps for a nice dinner. Risky, maybe, but what fun things aren't?

She'll need a way to Little Hangleton - she's never been, so doesn't have Apparition near, but she can bring a broom to the closest point she's got and have a nice fly over, maybe. Fay knows Bellatrix needs some time alone, so she doesn't have anything to cancel...

"You won't need to wait for a return letter," she tells the bird. "I'm going, of course."

The raven cackles a bit, dropping the wrappers it tore up into her trash, and then heads out with a jaunty caw.

Bellatrix laughs and wonders what she'll wear. Something elegant... Something new. Nothing like her family.

...She has about twenty-four hours to find a nice muggle dress, doesn't she.

Well, maybe she can meet Fay for lunch. Not a date, strictly business. She'll get some teasing about her mystery liaison, but, well, needs must, and Fay doesn't seem the jealous type. (Not that this is anything to be jealous of yet.)

At five in the afternoon the next day, Fay helps Bellatrix into her new outfit, courtesy of further drains on daddy dearest's account. Panty hose, smooth and silky - she puts those on herself, teasing Fay about not having gotten quite enough dates yet. Shiny black shoes with a low heel and a little bow on the front. A black dress with a layered, swishy skirt that falls above her knees, and a bodice with black lace and bloody red bursts of color. Hair cut to her shoulders then curled so it frames her face. No jewelry or makeup. Wand holster high up on her thigh, concealed by the skirt's volume.

She gives Fay a kiss on the cheek, laughs at further teasing about mystery dates, and Disillusions herself then Apparates a few dozen miles from Little Hangleton, broom in hand. She has enough time it'll be an idle flight over the countryside, even giving herself enough time to actually find the house. It's a scenic enough route, and Bellatrix approaches what her map is pretty sure is the town soon enough - now to see if she can spot the house without landing first...

The Riddle House is obvious, the largest in the area, standing lonely atop a hill overlooking the small village below. A sign at the gate confirms its identity.

The gate is rusted and creaky on its hinges, threatening to fall off if jostled too roughly. The grounds and house are similarly run-down and decrepit, overgrown with weeds and ivy climbing unchecked up the gutters.

Not often used. 'Abandoned spooky house' has a certain aesthetic, though hopefully the inside is a bit nicer. 

She lands near the front door and drops her Disillusionment, leaning her broom against the wall and then stepping inside. 

The inside is not much nicer, if the drift of leaves by the front door is anything to go by.

But after she enters, there's a soft, sourceless chime and the sconces by one of the interior doors flare to life.

She hums and walks over. Anything interesting behind the door? 

A sitting room! It seems to actually be in reasonable condition, shelves of books around the walls, polished hardwood floor, a pair of chairs face to face in front of a fireplace in which a small blaze flickers. The chair she can see is empty, the other has its back to her.

Oh, books. Automatically good taste, there.

She walks over toward the empty chair, glancing at the hidden one as she goes with a little grin on her lips.

There is a woman in the chair, pale of face and dark of hair. She wears robes that are close to black, though a shimmer of green can be seen in their depths as the firelight shifts and crackles. Around her shoulders is coiled a slender snake with scales that glitter like sapphires. She has a hand raised to tickle its snout, and it flicks its tongue at Bellatrix as she moves into view.

...Pretty.

(The only good thing about Slytherin was the snake aesthetic, honestly, and even her Housemates had a distinct lack of appreciation for that.)

"Good evening," she says.

"Good evening, Bellatrix. Won't you take a seat?"

She does, sprawling in the chair as improperly as she can while remaining mostly graceful.

"You know, I don't have anything to call you..."

She smirks, faintly.

"The journalists of Europe had mostly settled on referring to me as the Dark Lady, which is not an epithet I am opposed to."

"Oh? It does have a certain ring to it. Whatever did you do to earn that?"

"Oh, this and that. Grindelwald had made me his first lieutenant by the late stages of his war, which was quite an exciting time for... everyone involved."

She grins, surprised. "Sounds exceptionally exciting."

"And educational, for all his vision was sadly limited."

"And your vision's broader?"

"Beneath his fancy rhetoric, all dear Gellert wanted was to be at the top of the pile. Any systemic reform involved would be entirely incidental."

"Can't say I've ever wanted anything other than getting out of the pile. On top, on bottom - it's all so ridiculous. You're in the same mess either way."

She smiles.

"Precisely, Bellatrix. Vampire or werewolf or muggleborn, if one's name is not listed in the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight, then you will never be respected, even as the noble families themselves wither and die."

A very pretty smile.

"And you're going to change that."

"I am. You have already seen the beginnings of the Final Dawn's work." Pause. "I understand you are a fan?"

"As much as I can be, with how dreadfully little the papers will publish."

"They have not yet accepted what is inevitable. In time, their shortsightedness will be corrected."