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It is with a new kind of fervour that Bellatrix walks across the hushed corridors of Hogwarts, head held high and shoulders squared, eyes narrowed with a twisted amusement as she watches the students hurry their footsteps as their eyes fall upon her. She feels like nothing short of royalty despite the continuous tingling on her left forearm and despite the heavy burden thrown upon her back that would have made anyone crumble; for this is exactly what she wanted, this is exactly what she has worked hard for all these years - to be bestowed with the immense honour of working for the Dark Lord.
Granted, the Hogwarts inhabitants have always been scared of her, including some of the teachers, owing to her family history. But the fear with which they looked at her now was entirely her own doing, and had nothing to do with her family. She has proved herself to the Dark Lord, she has done what he had told her to, she has punished the blood traitors staining the grounds of Hogwarts, and given them what they deserved. Abbott would no longer dare spew hatred against the Dark Lord's name in front of her, the Weasley twins would think twice before daring to cross her path. She had shown them their place, let the Hogwarts inhabitants know what would happen to anyone who would speak against the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord was pleased. He was very pleased indeed. He had praised her that night in front of everyone, even the rest of his death eaters; death eaters who were considerably older than her, and Bellatrix had relished in the look of pure loathing in their faces for surely none of them had received such heartfelt praise from the Dark Lord, least of all at the age of sixteen.
Bellatrix reaches the Astronomy tower, which is empty, and climbs the spiral staircase to reach the top. It is only when she's at the edge of the tower, looking directly over the grounds shining in the pale moonlight, that she allows the look in her face to crumble. Ensuring that she is completely alone, Bellatrix pulls up the sleeves of her robes to reveal the Dark Mark on her forearm - a scathing skull drawn in deep black ink with a serpent for a tongue brands her skin. It tingles, a sharp shooting pain that just won't stop. It distracts her constantly, pulls her attention from what is important and she has to resist the urge to look at her arm again and again. The Dark Lord has assured her the pain would subside after a few weeks, but Bellatrix wishes she could apply some potion to soothe the pain.
No sooner that the thought crosses her mind that Bellatrix chides herself. She roughly pulls the sleeves over her arms to cover the Mark. No, this won't do. She cannot give in to mild pains such as this. Did she really expect that working for the Dark Lord would be easy and painless? Certainly not! She should be prepared to face the worst obstacles of her life, and being weakened by a mild tingling in her arms just won't do. What would the Dark Lord think of her if he knew what she had been thinking? Furious with her herself, Bellatrix stomps out of the tower and heads for the dungeons, where she is certain her sisters are eagerly waiting for her, wanting to know of the mission that the Dark Lord has honoured her with.
