Two For Joy
It's been four days and Bellatrix can't stop looking. Every few minutes she lifts her sleeve to inspect her Mark and gaze at it proudly. There's a crimson glow on the skin around the brand. It's sore, but Bella refuses to touch it, not wanting to risk damaging something so precious. The Dark Lord had decided some weeks ago that Bellatrix and her sister, both their husbands, and Bellatrix's brother-in-law, had proved themselves worthy enough to take the Mark. Bella had been overjoyed at the thought; a physical display of her beliefs and loyalty. A permanent connection with the Dark Lord. Rodolphus had leaned over to kiss her but Bellatrix turned away, eyes only for the Dark Lord. She made a good pureblood marriage for her family, and she cares for her husband but nothing more. This moment was between her and her Lord. It was not for Bellatrix's husband to intrude on the joy. The thrill of being granted the Mark was short-lived however, when Narcissa had looked nervous and the Dark Lord had asked what she was afraid of. Narcissa had muttered that she thought it inappropriate for a woman to take the Mark. Lucius could tell her when she was needed, she claimed. She would not be on the front lines of battle, and they planned to have children so would not want them to ask difficult questions about their mother's tattoo.
"Then you will answer," Bella had hissed, "That it is a sign of your devotion to your Master!"
"My Lord…" Narcissa mumbled.
"Where is your loyalty?" Bella spat. Cissy was being cowardly. Self-serving. She would reap the benefits of the Dark Lord's work without showing true devotion. Cissy the sissy, just like when they were children.
"Quiet," the Dark Lord ordered, and Bellatrix had shut up immediately. The Dark Lord looked down the table at the Malfoys. Narcissa met his eye and looked frightened but fierce. It was an expression Bella remembered on her sister's face since Bella had threatened to decapitate Cissy's dolls in the nursery. The Dark Lord considered for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he chuckled quietly and said, "Mrs Malfoy, you will not have to take the Mark. Your husband doing so is proof enough of your allegiance."
Bellatrix had wanted to argue, but the Dark Lord's word was law, and more importantly it was truth. The assembled had nodded and the Dark Lord had moved on to discuss other matters. Bella had avoided looking at Narcissa for the rest of the evening, and had vowed to herself that once she got her Mark she would flaunt it at Cissy as much as possible. Examining the Mark now, she decides that she will make sure to mention the red soreness around it, to show Cissy the pain that those who are truly loyal will happily suffer to show their devotion.
As Bellatrix is thinking this, her husband bustles into the room asking about dinner. He does this often; assuming that because she is a woman the kitchen is her domain. That's the expectation of their parents' generation, but Bellatrix knows she will do more. She is a true Slytherin; she has ambition. She will not be confined.
"Don't ask me, ask Wodby," Bellatrix snaps. Their good-for-nothing house-elf, given to Bellatrix as a wedding present from Rodolphus' parents, is ancient and smelly and taking longer than ever with her duties nowadays, "Give her a kick,"
Rodolphus doesn't go to find their house-elf, and instead inquires, "How is your Mark?"
"Fine,"
"Mine hurts. Does yours?"
"Not much," Bellatrix answers quickly, pushing her sleeve back down. Her husband walks over and puts his arm around her shoulder.
"I am so proud of you," he whispers into her hair.
"Me too,"
"We will do good work for the Dark Lord,"
Good? Rodolphus and Rabastan may do good work for their Master, but Bellatrix's service will be great. She will be his most faithful servant, his closest confident, his best lieutenant. Bellatrix will maim and kill and die for her Master, while her baby sister will not even take the Mark. Cissy's beauty has seen her far, but Bellatrix will go further. She will go farther than them all.
"Ask Wodby about dinner now, dearest," Bellatrix murmurs, pecking her husband on the cheek.
Rodolphus kisses her softly and drifts away to the kitchen. Once he is gone, Bellatrix roles up her sleeve again. She shuts her eyes and presses her palm to the Mark, imagining the Dark Lord doing the same with his own. Her Mark will heat at the touch of his and she will rush to him, ready to do his bidding; her service in pursuit if purity. Bellatrix grimaces, smiling as she presses her Mark harder. The pressure is joy. The pain is bliss.