My entry for round four of the Speed of Lightening Competition that had to have a happy ending. I'm ashamed at how hard the prospect was, but I settled on one answer and it worked rather well even if delving into the mind of AzkabanBella is a dangerous prospect. This is also obviously linked to my other one shot 'The Pain in Faith'.
Enjoy :)
Nothing was warm.
Everything was in greys and blacks. The walls were filled with coarse stone with cracks that were encrusted with red and brown stains that had accumulated over the years. The bars were a hard grey iron that only revealed darkened hallways, huddled masses of figures in adjoining cells and the even darker guards who glided up and down the corridor.
As soon as the robbed and haunting dementors passed, the cold would peak and ice would often sprout, but, even when they were gone, the chill never left the walls, floors and the prisoner's veins.
It only grew colder the higher it went. It was not only because the stormy North Sea wind had more ability to sneak through the small twenty centimetre windows, but the gruesome guards inhabited the area more thickly.
It was where the High Security Prisoners were housed.
Within the small, stone walls there were masses of screaming and even more eerie silent prisoners who sat straight ahead like they felt nothing at all.
There was only one woman.
Bellatrix Lestrange used to be attractive: She used to have slick shinning black hair, her face used to be lined with a sheen of aristocratic pallor and the curves of her body and sculpted cheekbones had been things of awe.
No longer.
She seemed unrecognisable.
Masses of black hair clumped around her like birds' nests yet it still managed to hang to her hips in something that could almost be used as a blanket. On top of that, her skin was oddly grey, her teeth yellow and chipped and her dark brown almost black eyes were so deep and hollow that they looked like the pits of hell.
Unlike some, she was not silent. She had been imprisoned for fourteen years yet she had never been quiet.
Over and over again her repetitious screams and pleas had reverberated around the prison. "Master! Master! Master!" she had hollered over and over again until her throat was raw, but even then it had only caused her to say something else. "My Lord! My Lord! My Lord!"
Then there would always be a point when her voice would hush, but it would only change from screaming to a speaking volume. "He is alive. He is strong. He is powerful." Over and over again the mantra would continue. It even sounded when she slept as he was always in her thoughts.
It was that simple. Before Azkaban her fanaticism and obsession about the man had been intense and unyielding. When she had heard of his fall she had never doubted his return. She had known his power and abilities. She always had complete trust in him and she always would.
For months Bellatrix had tried to find her lost Lord. It had only ended in two Aurors tortured into insanity and her being thrown into Azkaban. Now, she longed to escape so she could try to find him. He would reward her for her loyalty. She was sure about that.
Her faith had never wavered. It had only hardened into a talisman that burned brighter and engulfed her further.
The recent year had made it more intense.
After that infamous Halloween Night, her beloved mark had faded so it was almost invisible, but steadily it had started to reappear.
She had noticed it from the start. Others may have believed they were insane or it was a trick from their eyes, but Bella had never thought that for she had always known it would come back.
Then, it had burned.
She had not known the date, but it had not mattered. The entire floor of the prison had erupted into cheers and cries.
Bella had been the loudest of them all, though it had only partially been from joy. She had known it meant her Lord had returned, yet she had been unable to flock to his side. She had never failed to appear after being summoned, but now she could not.
Four stone walls had blocked Bella's progress. She had run at them. She had pounded them so much her knuckles had been bruised and her skin had bled, but it had not been enough. "Master! Master! Master!" she had screamed long after the mark had ceased to burn.
It had only been much later that the realities of the burn had become clearer.
She might not have seem him then, but she would soon.
She had been faithful and he was coming for her.
Instead, when the mark had burned over the year that passed, she had continued to scream, but her had mouth always settled over the mark. She had peppered it with kisses and sucked on it until the burn had faded away. She hoped he could feel it, but regardless it had made her feel like she was as close to her glorious Lord as she could be.
She had known it would not have been long.
From the huddled mess in the corner of her putrid cell, Bellatrix raised a messy head with dark eyes wide as the skin around her forearm erupted in pain.
"Master! Master! Master!" she cried in her trademark show of faith as she settled her mouth over the mark to try to recreate his presence.
It could have been days. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. The time was inconsequential to those who had spent more than a decade in prison.
Somehow the area came alive.
The upper floors were the loudest with screams of joy and pleasure emitting from those who possessed enough sanity to register the events. Bangs and clashes flared from below, though no dementors appeared.
Bellatrix did not move nor did she join in any cries of elation. Her screaming voice was only filled with her usual shouting chorus, "My Lord! My Lord! My Lord!"
Even as footsteps sounded and the bangs increased she did not move or react.
With a final loud crash, the door at the far end of the corridor erupted off its hinges, slamming into a barred cell. The echoes of merriment grew louder as masked figures that were so different to dementors swept from the door. If the Death Eaters were not wearing masks, the prisoners may have seen their shock at gazing at old friends who looked like emaciated corpses.
The only one with his face uncovered, Lord Voldemort, entered the hall. Now Bella was not the only one calling, "Master".
The tall thin figure of the Dark Lord examined what was in front of him, his face strangely expressionless. No one could pick what he was feeling. With a curt nod to the freed followers, an unspoken order swept the ranks. In their eagerness to obey, they exited his side and rushed to each cell unlocking them and reaching the side of the prisoners.
Voldemort walked through the middle. He paused at intervals to stare at followers who faces appeared so different or to occasionally offer an odd word that could have been construed as praise.
At the end of the corridor he stopped for the longest period
It was a strange act for Lucius to remove his mask on a raid, but he had. His pointed face and blonde hair were revealed as he kneeled beside the huddled mass that was Bellatrix whose mouth continued to brush against the mark on her arm that had long since stopped burning.
From the moment Malfoy had entered, she had shrugged him off like he was a pest. Her mind was focused on one man and no one would ever draw her attention away.
"Bella!" Lucius urged trying to shack her arm even though such grime would normally disgust him. "Look at me. Don't you remember me?"
She did not. "Master! Master! Master!" It was the only reply she made as her eyes remained glued to her mark.
There was panic and uncertainty in Lucius' grey eyes as he gave up attempts to make her see sense. Putting an arm around the thin woman who was practically just bones, he was about to heave her to her feet until a spider like hand stopped him.
Lucius looked up at the figure and straight away he respectfully stepped aside.
Still Bellatrix did not look up. She had barely registered Lucius. Her thoughts were only on her Lord and her loyalty. It was hard to connect the dots.
With dark eyes glued on the parts of her mark that were not obscured by her face, she noticed a long white finger join her mouth on her arm. Like a well hidden memory it seemed familiar, but it was like it was being half underwater and she could not completely remember its connection.
The hand moved to her face. It lightly caressed her cheek and then moved to cup her jaw.
Bella closed her eyes.
It felt so nice. It was so vivid and glorious.
Like him.
Her words stopped as she concentrated on the delightful feeling.
The hands became more forceful as it wrenched her face away from her arm and moved her head to stare upwards.
Her eyes remained closed.
She did not want to wake up.
"Bella." A voice spoke softly in a high cold voice she longed to hear. "Open your eyes, Bella."
Even in her dreams she could never disobey him.
Dark eyes fluttered open and stared up into a scarlet gaze.
He was different than she remembered. Gone were waxy trails of skin, bloodied eyes and balding black hair. Instead they were replaced by mask-like features, a snake-like nose, bald hair and red eyes that were slitted like cat's pupils.
It did not matter.
She knew it was him.
Her lips quivered upwards in a gesture that had not graced her features in so long her muscles probably creaked.
"Master," she said hoarsely her gaze fixated on his face. She was sure she could never look away. "My Lord."
After fourteen years her faith had been rewarded.
Bella was with her Lord again.