She didn't love Rodolphus LeStrange. She knew she never would. It wasn't necessary that she do so – it wasn't even expected. Bella remembered her mother explaining the theory behind pure-blood marriages to her when she was very young – maybe five, maybe six. It was an obligation, she had said, for pure-bloods to marry one another – to keep the old blood-lines strong, to keep the magic strong within their veins. Marriage was simply a means of commerce.

There would be no choice for her, just as there had been none for her mother before her. But so long as she maintained appearances, her mother told her, marriage would be her freedom. Her salvation. So long as she attended her husband's every need, whim, and requirement, she would have income, time, and whatever else she could possibly want at her disposal. She could do as she pleased, so long as she did it discretely.

This was what Bellatrix Black wanted, beyond all else. Her freedom.

So she did what was asked of her – she became a perfect, pure-blooded young debutant. She was respectful; never spoke out of turn or too strongly or to someone she should not speak. She dressed appropriately for a young lady of her class; feminine, but nothing provocative or that would draw attention that was not welcomed by her parents. She studied hard; the appropriate subjects, and spent her spare time at school in study, female friendships, and the proper clubs for a young lady to be a part of. No Quidditch or self-defence for Bella, though she longed to feel the wind in her hair and hear the clang of cold steel.

She didn't date, though many young woman of her class did – it was approved of, so long as it was the right young men – but this suited Bella just fine. She didn't like men. Men took away the power from women. Degraded them. Made them feel inferior. Made them feel worthless. Bella knew she was anything but worthless. She could feel that, given the chance, she could be destined for great things. Great power. So when her parents informed her, in the summer following her sixth year, that she was to be engaged to Rodolphus LeStrange, Bella had simply accepted it. No words; just a bow of her head, a curtsy, signifying her acknowledgement. Following her graduation from Hogwarts (he had graduated some years earlier), they would marry, and Bella would have her reward: her freedom. Her years of perfection would be paid off.

As long as she was the ideal wife, she would be liberated to do as she pleased. To seek her power.

It was that year she had met Amara. Amara was in Ravenclaw, as, in many ways, Bella wished that she had been. The sorting hat had considered it, just as it had considered Gryffindor, seeing the bravery which lurked below Bella's calm exterior.

They met in N.E.W.T. level charms. As so few took it, all four houses were combined into a single class. Amara and Bella were paired together, and found an instant connection. Bella thought it was her eyes that had done it, that icy blue stare that saw straight through you, the eyes fixed in an ivory face framed by pale brown hair which came, curling at the ends, gently to rest on the shoulders of her robes. Bella had never realised before that she might like girls, she had thought, simply, that she disliked men because of what they stood for – a prison for women.

Amara changed that. She awakened something in Bella that Bella had not known was there. A feeling. A wonder. It was the simple things that did it: a whisper in her ear, brushing a piece of hair from her face and allowing her fingers to trace, gently, down Bella's face, a hug lasting a moment too long. It took Bella until almost the end of the year to realise she was in love with Amara. That love, was, in fact, what she was feeling. She had never experienced it before.

It was the night before they left that Amara took her to the room of requirement, kissed her gently, and told her to keep in touch, before turning and running away. On the Express home, Bella leaned her head gently on Amara's shoulder and closed her eyes as Amara stroked her hair. She would miss this.

Oh, would she miss this.