Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Harry Potter.
A/N: This story is probably going to be a series of drabbles on the effects of the Dark Mark on different characters. I have two done so far; others will be published erratically, when the mood strikes. Please review.
My life, my love, my passion, burning black there upon my arm.
The Mark, those graceful, cruel lines seared into my flesh.
Have you any idea of its exhilaration? The heady joy of feeling its pain course through the veins? Oh, for the fierce elation pumping through the body — it's been so long, fourteen years since I've felt the most amazing sensation on earth. Fourteen years of hell, fourteen years of Azkaban.
But the Mark's been showing itself clearer this year than it has since our master disappeared. And this morning — the very air is charged, and I spring to my feet and pace around the cell. Not even the dementors can empty the air of excitement. And then — at last — at long last — here it is, the euphoria that's been gone so long, and I collapse in a spasm of joy and laugh, laugh until at last I can laugh no more, and then I sit with my back against the wall of my cell and pull back my tattered sleeve and for the first time in fourteen years, I smile at that beautiful symbol.
My life, my love, my passion, burning black there upon my arm.