A/N: The result of a boring coach journey. I've never done anything like this before so please let me know what you think!
Also, I'd like to thank SouthKentishTown and Jynx6 for your help! :)
Here is the updated version. Thanks to PurelyPoison and SophiaOfSlytherin for all your help!
Yes, she'd suffered. Suffered more than anyone thought humanely possible. But, of course, not many people thought of Bellatrix Lestrange as human. Not many people realised the devastation it had caused her to hear of her parents' tragic deaths in the fire at Black Manor. They had been the only people who had cared for her, understood her nature. And then, so soon after, there was the downfall of her master. The one she had respected, risked her life for and consequently had spent fourteen long years stuck in a cold, dark cell for. Fourteen years of hell. Fourteen years of gradually retreating into the black mass of her mind. The black mass that had grown darker and darker as the years had passed. Hope had been her only light in the dark. It was the only thing that made her human. As human as everybody else on the planet. She was a human who had been led the wrong way. She'd been led astray to follow, in everybody's mind, an evil man. But, to her, that man was God. Her hope in the darkness. Someone who deserved her undying loyalty.
Those cowards who had scampered off the minute the Dark Lord had disappeared had never been loyal. They had never deserved her master's kindness and patience. The worst was her sister's husband. Lucius Malfoy. The family name said it all, 'mal foi'. If they had been named 'bad faith', then it was obvious there was a reason behind it. The Dark Lord should never have trusted him. Heaven knows why Narcissa allowed herself to be married to him. He had gone whimpering and pleading to the ministry as soon as he had felt their master's fall. However, when the Dark Lord returned, and when he came for them, she would be rewarded. Rewarded for her devotion. And they would be punished.
She shivered where she sat; the howling wind around the prison was something she'd never got used to. It curled through the cracks, seeking to seep into every corner of the room, whispering in her ears, a constant murmuring that never went away. Then there was the despair. The despair that acted like an unwanted presence, hanging in a heavy cloud and wrapping itself around the inhabitants, descending them into the madness they all feared. Except that she didn't care anymore. She wasn't afraid of it. She embraced it. She used it to her advantage for it kept her strong. So much so that she didn't care when she was punished because she viciously fought off one of the wardens in her cell. One who was attempting to make her realise her place. She was a woman, probably the only woman in the entire prison. That caught the attention of the men. Especially as it was a feisty woman, a wildcat. One of upper class. One who thought very highly of herself. A pureblood. And a member of the ancient house of Black.
Her family were like royalty; of noble blood, and everyone had known to respect them. The Blacks had always believed in pureblood superiority, but she, she had taken it one step further than any of them had ever dared. She more than believed it. She lived it. They were all cowards, they would never turn their wands against the Mudbloods and muggles while the Ministry were in charge. She still loved them, but none of them would go as far as she wanted to go. That was when she turned to her master. He took action. He turned against the Ministry. So she respected him, and as time went on, she learned to love him, to yearn for his praise. So much so that she became fanatical, obsessed. She forgot about her family, neglected them, instead, spending all her time pleasing her master. The Dark Lord had admired her dedication and, to her delight, she soon became his favourite. His first lieutenant.
She looked down, admiring the faded Dark Mark on her arm. How proud she was to carry the mark, to have helped rid the world of some of the filth that plagued it. Her mark didn't deserve to carry the dirt and grime that coated it. Someday, one day, when her master came for her, when she was free again, she would clean it properly and carefully, but for now… she bent down and ran her tongue over it, leaving a glistening strip of strikingly pale skin, adorned with the washed-out grey of the mark tattooed onto her skin, the only thing that had given her hope through these dark years. Except it seemed darker now, more visible. It was probably her imagination, her insane mind giving her false hope, but she clung to it; to the belief that her master may be coming for her, returning from wherever he had been forced to retreat. And that when he did, she would be able watch as Mudbloods cowered before her once more, as they writhed with agony, as their eyes went blank and glassy in death. She shivered in delight. Every Mudblood would fear her name, dread that they were next, that she would seek them out. And she would, one by one. One by one, she would massacre them until there were none left. Until she had completed her lifetime mission.
She stared ahead of her, at the dark, dingy wall, damp with the spray of the sea surrounding the prison. She didn't think she'd had a wink of sleep from the moment she'd arrived. Every time her eyes closed, they were filled with unimaginable horrors, horrors that had her jerking awake once more. She used to be beautiful, desirable, but that had gone. Her shiny, raven hair that used to spiral so seductively down her back was reduced to a mass of crazy black curls. Her face was gaunt and thin, her dark eyes underlined from her lack of sleep, her fingernails long and gnarled, yellowed and rotting. No one would desire her now. Not that it would matter. If she had her master, she wouldn't care. He was all she wanted. More than her sanity, her husband, her beauty. More than anything.
A dementor drifted past her cell and she resisted the urge to spit at it. Dirty clumps of rags and dust were all they were. Once, they had supported her master, yet now, now they were the Ministry's dogs, sucking up any happiness she felt, leaving her with thoughts of her master's punishments, his cruel words and of things she didn't want to remember; couldn't stand to remember, of things that had left her sobbing and screaming in her cell, shaking the bars in a desperate attempt to break free. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to last, but she knew one thing. She'd go on until death, she'd hold onto the last thread of hope until the end. The very end. But he would come for her. He would return and her reward would be great, magnificent. She would have his respect for sticking by him, for still believing he would return, for trying to find him when the others thought all was lost.
It had been Barty Crouch Jr who had found out that the Longbottoms' knew where their master was. Alice and Frank had been a few years below her at school, but she could remember them. Everyone could remember them. The romance story that had fled through the school, the rumours that they had been together ever since their first year. Oh yes, they had been a bright young couple in their time, clever and sweet, and completely unforgettable, until they forgot themselves. When her beloved master had gone, there was no one better than two little lovebirds to take her revenge out on. And she'd enjoyed every minute of it. Watching their bodies convulse right before her, especially little Alice. Little, delicate Alice who had seemed to dance for her on the floor until her eyes were glazed over in madness. Until she had been broken.
It took Bellatrix a moment to realise she was smiling. Smiling until a twinge in her arm had her glancing down. There her eyes widened in shock, memories forgotten. This couldn't be her imagination. Not this time. It was too vivid; too real. It seemed that maybe she wouldn't have to hold on till the end. There would be no end. Her Dark Mark was a shadowy grey, much darker than before. Even as she watched, it got darker, edging to a midnight black. The twinges got worse and worse with every moment that passed, dissolving slightly into a dull pain. A pain that got sharper and sharper until she should have been screaming in agony. Instead she was laughing, cackling in delirious joy.
Her master was coming for her at last.
Hope had finally broken through the darkness.
Hope that had turned into reality.