Work Text:
Rita did not do secrets. She found yours before breakfast, and then all of Hogwarts whispered them by lunch. With the click of her heels on the stones or the clack of long nails on a desk or the smack of gum, a percussion section accompanied the bleach-blonde throughout the corridors, and a lingering sweet perfume followed behind.
Bellatrix Black did not do subtlety. Everyone knew her fiance was a Death Eater. Everyone knew the muggleborn in the Hospital Wing lay there by the work of her wand. Her voice rang out in the classroom, in the Great Hall, in the Slytherin common room, loud and posh and entitled, matched by a toss of long black curls over her shoulder and a predatory smile.
Bellatrix and Rita existed in the same dormitory, two beautiful girls with so little in common except a refusal to be quiet.
And they were loud.
It’s just that Bellatrix’s Silencing charms were superb, and Bellatrix drank in every shriek, gasp and moan from the sharp-tongued half-blood she elicited with her own skillful tongue between soft, pale thighs.
The best way to keep a secret was to let the world believe you could not keep one.