Andromeda was straightening her sister’s wedding veil, the stark white of the tulle contrasting with Bellatrix’s ebony hair. She could see her elder sister’s reflection flinch in the mirror in front of her. It was Bellatrix’s wedding day. One month after graduating from Hogwarts, her parents had struck a deal with the Lestrange Family, stating that their first born children were to be wed, and now the day had finally come. Bellatrix had, at first, put up a fight. She did not want to become a prim and proper housewife; she was destined for far greater things than drinking tea and taking care of snotty children. Andromeda repeated her question: “Bellatrix, do you love him?”
“She doesn’t have to,” Druella replied, entering the small room occupied by her three daughters. “Is that what you believe marriage is about, my sweet girl?” Andromeda opened her mouth as if to reply, but her mother continued, “Do you think that your father and I loved each other when we were wed?” Druella looked around the room, seemingly waiting for one of her daughters to answer.
Narcissa clenched the arm of her chair. Andromeda paled. Bellatrix’s face remained unreadable. Their mother sighed. “Respectable pure-blood marriages do not require love,” Druella chastised, “they only require respectable pure-blood witches and wizards.” She slapped Andromeda’s hands away from Bellatrix’s veil, undoing the combs that Andromeda had pinned and placing them elsewhere. Bellatrix watched as her mother’s reflection continue to speak, “You will marry Rodolphus Lestrange and you will bear him children. You will become a model pure-blood wife. It is your responsibility as a pure-blood witch and furthermore, it is your responsibility as a Black.” Druella paused for a moment to admire her eldest daughter’s reflection. She then turned to her younger daughters: “And when it is their turn,” she smiled, "your sisters will follow in suit.“
—-
Bellatrix stood behind two large oak doors. She could hear organ music, muffled by the thick wood separating her from the ceremony. On the other side stood Rodolphus Lestrange. In only a few moments, she would walk down the aisle, place her hand in his, and marry a man she barely knew. Her sisters stood behind her, holding bouquets of white roses and baby’s breath. She turned abruptly to Andromeda.
"No,” her voice cracked. Andromeda furrowed her brow in confusion. Bellatrix spoke again, only this time more firm : “No, Andromeda. No, I don’t.”
Andromeda opened her mouth to speak, but Bellatrix had already turned her back. The doors opened. The crowd stood. And with her head held high, Bellatrix proceeded down the aisle.