Bellatrix, however, seemed far harder to please. The older witch leaned back into her seat and twirled an errant curl, dark eyes nearly shut and lips thin, smile vacant. Her skirts had been replaced with a pair of muggle shorts, black and short enough to let her legs run on and on. The stuffy top she usually wore during the day had been replaced as well, this time with an item out of Hermione’s dresser. Grey tank top, no bra, nothing else to adorn her body except the jackdaw skull hanging from her neck. She looked, Harri noted,  relaxed.