Lucius remains standing for the time it takes for him to drain at least half his glass, long, measured sips, before settling when she does. Food over wine, then, taking up utensils and letting them hover tentative over his plate of food before dividing out a rather large mouthful. Politely and unhurried, but he is hungry, and there's little doing to pretend otherwise. And the food is good.

He is also listening, and glances up at the mention of her death. Doesn't make sense. Moody died in the battle that took his first wand. A sips his wine-- generously-- and then rolls it in its glass in absent, thoughtful gesture. "That is what she would think," sounds curdled. It isn't like Lucius and Bellatrix have ever gotten along famously, but his voice is even sharper, now. "Where I am from, you are not the one who dies." If he can say anything good of his reality, it would be that, of the bad things that did not happen but could have.

He divides out a morsel of food with his fork, without bothering to set down his wine to do it. "But this sort of thing happens often, does it?"