Sharpen your will
Most of the others had been weak.
Sure, at the Longbottoms’ house they had shown strength: Barty had used his position in the limping ministry to get the blood traitors’ address. The Aurors might still have been vigilant for the Death Eaters, but the average ministry worker was far too overjoyed by the Dark Lord’s demise to care much if the son of the head of DMLE asked a few questions about an auror’s home.
But at the trial they already showed weaknes: Barty had screamed bloody murder as if he hadn’t been doing just that for the past years, as if he hadn’t been serving his rightful master, doing His unquestionable bidding for saving wizarding society. Rodolphus and Rabastan had just slumped on the wizengamot tribunal’s seats, already falling to the aura of the dementors, barely responding to the tightening chains on their hands and entirely oblivious to the questions they were asked. All the others had been broken far too easily.
But she had remained strong.
She had held her head high, even in the defeat of her master, even in the humiliation of being bossed around by filth and half-boods. She joyously recounted all that she had done in her master’s name, explaining to the faithless how her master’s demise was but temporary and his second coming would bring victory and purity to wizardkind.
But her words of salvation had fallen on deaf ears.
“You’ve listened to Andi’s ramblings for seventeen yars, Bella, what can a couple dementors do to you?” she muttered once the cell’s door clanged shut, the wards shimmering to full capacity as the auror added the final rune to the entrapment circle. “The bitch already started talking to herself, ‘spose she’ll be a sight to see in a few years '' he laughed coldly, elbowing his partner “see you never again, psycho!-Let’s get out of here and meet the others at the Cauldron, heard there’s still a party going on for the boss Shit Eater kickin’ it!”.
And then she was alone. For the first time in quite long, there were no voices outside, not even His voice to guide her.
But inside it was so loud. Without the aurors’ patroni keeping it at bay, the dementors’ aura was at full power, soaking her bones and tearing to the forefront of her mind the demons that up until then she had managed to keep at bay.
Despair. The Master had been defeated, his name ridiculed. They said a mere child, that same impure child that He had set off to destroy, had killed him.
Failure. Had she been a better servant, he would have trusted her to delete the toddler. She could have died in his place, and he would have still been in their midst.
But even when the dementors’ hungry voids descended on her, sorching once more her failures into her soul, devouring all the memories of Him, His praise, His pleasure at the successes she reaped for Him, even then a spark of hope remained within her.
In the eternal night of her cell, the icicles in which her breath turned and the pain were the only sign that time was passing. But even then, when the pain was utmost, she had her arm to hold onto as an anchor.
Because even if the wards and the guards drained away all her magic, His never ceased. It was barely a whisper, a feeble sting amid the storm of despair that was her guards’ gift, but it gave her a centre, a fixed point in which to find her own eye of the storm.
Because it meant that somewhere, weak just like His Mark was, He still was. Therefore he would return, “and you must be ready for his return, Bella.
You already failed him by not dying in his place, by not working hard enough to earn his complete trust. Had he trusted you, he would have brought you along, and you could have saved him, and he would still be in your midst.
This is the second chance he never gave anyone while leading you, your chance to become His perfect servant, and you are taking it. Sharpen your will, Bellatrix Black. Mould yourself into the weapon your Master will choose to wield. Sharpen your will, so that he may brandish you and shape the world to his liking.”
So she did.