27th November 1995
There was a shoot growing through a gap in the wall of Bellatrix's cell.
She did not understand how it had come to be there, for the fortress sucked the life from anything that may have had a chance to live. And yet here it was, sprouting through the stone in a tangle of leaves and impossibility.
Bellatrix heaved herself unsteadily to her feet, using the damp wall to support her. It was dark inside the cell, but she could just make out the sprout by the moonlight that had dappled the wall through the bars on her door. She felt a sudden and intense temptation to rip it from the wall and to tear it apart, but as though a restraining hand had been placed over her heart she heard his voice, as he had always used to placate her.
Patience Bella. The fun is yet to begin.
Despite the darkness that smothered the cell, Bellatrix knew what colour the sprout must be. A deep, rich green, just as the tree she had once burned with the Dark Lord had been. They had called it the Poison Tree, for it had been liberating to pick off the muggle filth who had come running to investigate the source of the commotion with the burning venom of their wands.
The memory of the Dark Lord resounded within Bellatrix's mind, for he had not come for her. She had rejoiced at his return to health when she had felt the bite of the mark, faded on her arm, and had known what it must have meant. But she would wait, watching the bars of her door with shrouded eyes for tomorrow and the next day and the next day, because although he had not come to save her today there was still hope.
There was still tomorrow.
A/N: Of all the prompts I was given, I found this the most difficult to write. It is inspired loosely from the poem The Poison Tree by William Blake.