Disclaimer: Written by Bad Wolf. Because Cricket can't write hp.


It is dark and cold. Everyday is. Within my cell, I curl in a corner to plan my days activities. Sadly there is nothing to do, except sit in my mind like every other day, filled with unattatched thoughts that, if they were parchment, would have edges tattered with use.

I run my hands up and down my arms to warm them with friction.

Suddenly, I hear a bang.

A door?

I scramble up to catch the tiny slivers of sunlight through the bars of my cell, gripping the cold metal tightly. A man has entered the prison.

"Oh, you there!" I call, waving my arm happily. I do so love people. My voice is hoarse from screaming, then disuse, but soon rights itself enough that I can make myself heard. "Hello!"

The man rears away, repulsed.

"Oh yes, do tell, what day is today?"

The man takes in my unruly, long hair and my tattered grey dress. He sniffs superiorily. Eventually he decides I can be trusted with the information. "October the seventh."

"Oh, joy," I trill. The man sneers, then sharply turns with a swish of his cloak and continues away down the hall of the prison.

I settle down carefully in the corner again, rubbing my arms. Hmmm, October the seventh, I muse. One year to the day.

I hold out my left arm and inspect it. A snake and skull combination slithers in ink around my vein patterns, my only company in isolation.

I glance quickly at the far wall. Behind the great bricks is my husband. I could care less about him.

My true love, the one whom I was imprisoned defending, who was certainly coming to rescue me, the greatest man of all time, the symbol behind my tattoo.

My Dark Mark.

Despite the Dementors everywhere, I laugh out loud.

Lord Voldemort, my true love and master, is surely coming for me, Bellatrix LeStrange, his most loyal follower, who bears his mark.

I regret nothing.